Frameworks module, final?

Frameworks I Outline Modulation

Final: 13 Nov, 2007<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[1]<!–[endif]–>

September

Actual

	Session Content
Mon 4th	Introductions: Only 4 students showed up: made for a cozy introductory discussion.
Fri 7th	Introductions, full class: preliminary discussion on Eagleton prefaces and Introduction
Mon 10th	Eagleton Introduction, “What is literature”: In four groups, and with the instructor tackling the last, we went through and discussed five different definitions offered and deconstructed. *‘Lecture-paper’ from me circulated: a textual analysis of the Preface to the Second Edition.
Fri 14th	Addicted to War. Open discussion on the text. Not as animated as predicted, but I think it drove home some perfunctory reflections on the close relationship between literature and politics; and also questions on what is and isn’t academic/reality/historical/literature.
Mon 17th	“Landscapes of History” I *Landscapes in-class writing assignment
Fri 21st	I was unwell, absent. Students agreed to a make-up session next month (after Ramzaan)
Mon 24th	“Landscapes of History” II *Hand-out: detailed notes, comprehensively tackling the trajectory of the chapter’s development, its central arguments and analyses, and critiques of where I think the text isn’t airtight, and might be susceptible to attack.
Fri 28th	Eagleton Chapter 1. “The Rise of English” – largely instructor-led

October

Actual

	Session Content
Mon 1st	Eagleton Ch 1 “The Rise of English”, Part II – largely instructor-facilitated *Emailed Handout: notes, recapping previous lecture, detailing arguments and developments ahead—leaving questions at the end as a reading-discussion guide for the first half of the chapter.
Fri 5th	Eagleton Ch 1. “The Rise of English”, concluding, Part III – largely instructor-facilitated—scrapped: concluded with final (III) handout for the chapter distributed. –The Last Soliloquy and Great Torch Handover –TS Eliot, “The lovesong of Alfred J Prufrock”                     – group reading
Mon 8th	Eagleton, Ch 2. “Phenomenology, Hermeneutics, Reception Theory, Group 1 Presentation I Fantastic presentation: got all the way up to the end of phenomenology. Group 1 has signed up for the other presentation on the chapter. They can also have an additional third session if they need it. [This set a precedent: as many presentations as it takes to cover a chapter.]
Fri 12th	Two sessions cancelled out by Eid holidays.
Mon 15th
Fri 19th	Eagleton, Ch 2. “Phenomenology, Hermeneutics, Reception Theory, Group 1 Presentation II Group 1, for genuine reasons (as in group members were clearly prepared), requested a third session for the more formal presentation. We agreed to make this session an open discussion, which turned out to be semi-structured by the group’s homework on the chapter. The group facilitated the discussion very well, helped also by excellent recaps of ground covered so far in the chapter from outside the group.
Mon 22nd	Eagleton, Ch 2. “Phenomenology, Hermeneutics, Reception Theory, Group 1 Presentation III Again, much ground covered, but Group 1 could not conclude the Chapter (again, lesson: detailed textual analysis requires time), and was therefore allotted a fourth session *Group circulated their handout–a good draft. They’ve been given detailed feedback on it, and have promised to post the final handout on the web-page.
Thurs 25th	Evening: 3.30-5. [Review Session was thrown forward] Group 1 concluded Chapter 2. A mammoth effort. [This set another precedent: rather than the half-chapter presentations previously designed, the students asked permission for groups to tackle entire chapters—in as many presentations as it would take.] Student presentation and peer review (Half an hour): Sarosh Altaf took the initiative to circulate a paper, “The benefits of Ramazaan,” – and invited feedback and dialogue. The paper engendered a little healthy debate, and the class provided general and specific, predominantly constructive, feedback to the author on her text. For me, it was a tremendous individual effort met with a sincere group response. Post note (-ed on the day this document is being revised): It is quite possible that my reading of the above session is not consistent with or representative of how members of the group perceived it. I have had comments to the contrary, and though I would like to document these views – there is too much going on. If any of the students reading this wants to send me their views, it would help me tremendously: I will collate and analyze them, and use them for improving future modules.
Fri 26th	Eagleton, Ch 3. “Structuralism and Semiotics,” Group 3 Presentation I The group provided a good lead-in to the chapter and covered much ground. Again, proceeding textually—it is my perception that the mass majority of the class is proceeding on-board in terms of grappling with the major developments, and tracking the trajectory and aesthetics of the arguments. First Response Paper due Saturday 27th, by the end of the night by email. Hardcopy to be submitted Monday 29th. [With three exceptions, all papers were submitted dead on the deadline. The three too missed it only by a whisker. Students have been given detailed critiques and comments, have been encouraged to schedule student conferences with me on their papers, and told that the final draft they submit, if they choose to, is the one they will be graded on (if not, the first grade will stick).]
Mon 29th	Movie Screening and discussion, Dead Poets Society –We opened this up, each student asked to bring 3 DVDs and we would decide on the day which to watch. With the choices at hand, we decided to watch DPS : ) ! Immediate responses, particularly from those who hadn’t seen it, were quite intense. Also, one fascinating if disturbing but necessary ideological one — which the student has promised to turn into an extra-credit response paper. Coffee-tea on me! [The majority of students didn’t respond to my hospitality : (  being considerate to me I’m sure, but still]

November

Actual up till Monday 12

Plan thereafter

	Session Content
Thurs 1st	Eagleton, Ch 3. “Structuralism and Semiotics,” Group 3 Presentation II. Got all the way up to just before narratology – student requested half an hour before the review to complete the presentation on narratology.
Fri 2nd	First half hour Group 3, Structuralism and Semiotics, (half-Presentation II and a half: Breezed through narratology. Generated an idea for a class assignment: practically using Genet’s framework to analyze one very short story. Too much going on, hence this didn’t happen. But, important note for future module. Review: Students were asked to bring all texts covered so far, handouts, and their notes on: Eagleton: Prefaces and Intro, Intro: What is literature? ATW. Landscapes. Eagleton: 1. The Rise of English 2. Phenomenology, Hermeneutics and Reception Theory. TS Eliot, The Lovesong of Alfred J Prufrock. Also, any other poems or short stories annexed or brought into play at any point. Also requested to bring poster or art/drawing paper, and implements of their choosing: charcoal, pastels, markers, color pencils, crayons, paint, clay, whatever… [we were supplemented in this by material support provided by SLA] Too much Textuality; an academic review would have been overkill at this point. So, this was a much needed unwinding re-inter-pre(sen)tation session, allowing students to freely relate back to the texts and what we’ve covered creatively. The aesthetics and politics of what was created and is up on our workshop doors and walls is beautiful and inspiring (for me at least).
Mon 5th	Eagleton, Ch 3. “Structuralism and Semiotics,” Group 3 Presentation III. The group continued to cover much ground, with mixed to sometimes medium presentations but not for lack of effort [lesson learnt: those who are unclear about how to present or the material they’re presenting on, as individuals, or groups, may benefit from scheduling a meeting with me beforehand]. Much covered in the chapter, but much remained.
Thurs 8th	Black day. Class consensus: session postponed. We did, however, hold two critical group meetings we had scheduled for Wednesday but were not able to convene.<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[2]<!–[endif]–>
Fri 9th	Iqbal day, declared public holiday I had proposed to the students, before the holiday registered, that we make it another unwinding session. Security situation permitting, I had wanted us to go to an art gallery and write reflective pieces based on whatever aesthetics drew them in (or didn’t).
Mon 12th	Eagleton Ch 3. “Structuralism and Semiotics,” Group 3 Presentation IV The objective was to conclude the chapter. The group did very well, was prepared, but one component of the plan went awry. One student linking the three presentations suddenly fell unwell. That link is now dangling, and more than one student expressed the need to go through it together. Therefore, it has to be thrown forward.
Wed / Thurs	The optional session this week I agreed to cancel at the request of students and faculty (who wanted to work in their own make-up classes).
Fri 16th	20 minutes to insert missing link on Structuralism Eagleton, Ch 4. “Post-Structuralism,” Group 2. Presentation I
Mon 19th	Eagleton, Ch 4. “Post-Structuralism,” Group 2. Presentation II
Thurs 21st	Open discussion
Fri 23rd	Eagleton, Ch 5. “Psychoanalysis,” Group 3 Presentation I
Mon 26th	Eagleton, Ch 5. “Psychoanalysis,” Group 3 Presentation II
Wed 28th	Open discussion
Fri 30th	Eagleton, Ch 5. “Psychoanalysis,” Group 3 Presentation III

December

Plan

	Session Content
Mon 3rd	Eagleton, Ch 5. “Psychoanalysis,” Group 3 Presentation IV
Wed 5th	Open discussion
Fri 7th	Review Session: Group 2 Facilitated discussion on Eagleton: 3. Structuralism and Semiotics 4. Post-structuralism, and 5. Psychoanalysis
Mon 10th	Conclusion: Political Criticism I
Wed 12th	Movie Screening, Stranger than Fiction (or anything else); extended session for those who wish to discuss the movie. Coffee-tea on me (please)!
Fri 14th	Conclusion II, Afterward, May introduce some “political science fiction,” and wrap-up
Mon 17th	Final Papers workshoping<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[3]<!–[endif]–> 1. Sidra Nadeem 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.
Wed 19th	7. Mavra Tanveer 8. Madiha Kark 9. Hera Naguib 10. Verda Adil 11. Sameen Arshad 12. 13.
Friday 21st	14. Sana Tanveer 15. Mahey Noor 16. Haroon Qureshi 17. Rabia Zaid 18. 19. Ghazal Tahir End of Term: Party?

 

 

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<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[1]<!–[endif]–> The constant re-modulation of the original course outline has reflected ground realities, new learning and student feedback. Though this “final” module is still flexible and open to adjustments, it is based on a class meeting (not the entire class, but all groups were represented), at which critical final decisions were made – and which are now reflected in this schedule, which we are going to do our utmost to stick to.

<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[2]<!–[endif]–> Critical decisions made at the meeting on the course, and for the workshop website:

<!–[if !supportLists]–>1.        <!–[endif]–>Wednesdays 3.30 to 5 we shall hold optional group discussion sessions – this is to free ourselves from the textual bind we otherwise have to follow to complete, and absorb and debate the context around us and the theories and texts we’re studying across courses. This is a much needed element largely (not altogether) missing from the course design thus far. Therefore, we would not petition for the class to be accorded 4 instead of 3 credit hours, an option floated and discussed.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>2.       <!–[endif]–>Because, at the rate at which we are covering the text—which I refuse to speed up, as I see it as a critical and appropriate absorption pace—we would not have finished the text with the plan as it stood. Therefore, we had two choices: a) to drop one chapter (psychoanalysis), or b) do away with workshopping (peer reviews) the final term paper presentations altogether, or pack them into three sessions. Thank God we didn’t go for a) and or the former half of b). We decided on two 2 hour 20 minute sessions covering 6 students, and one 2 hour 40 minute session for 7. This will give 15 minutes for students to comment on one paper, and five minutes for the author to respond (plus a 20 minute break).

<!–[if !supportLists]–>3.       <!–[endif]–>We agreed to allocate 2 presentations to the short post-structuralism chapter, and 4 for the longer and denser psychoanalysis chapter.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>4.       <!–[endif]–>Website:

      a) We confirmed our decision to shift our bulk to wordpress;

      b) However, we also agreed to keep the google group going for more       technical/administrative announcements and discussions – as they are immediately mailed out to everyone;

      c) we agreed we’d schedule a half hour presentation for Sidra to guide us on using the         site, and registering anyone who is still having problems; d) we decided that if       everyone shifts their own paper onto the new site, the web team can then distribute          anything else to be shifted amongst themselves.

<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[3]<!–[endif]–> All Final Term Papers are due two days before the scheduled presentation. To be posted on the website. Any tardiness on submitting and circulating will be severely docked! Remember, the entire class has to go through 6 or 7 papers before class now. Sign-up if above you haven’t yet.

Also, I will confirm this after cross-checking with when the school requires grades to be submitted, but all final papers — mid-, term-, make-up — and any extra credit assignments are due (to be posted) on or before Sunday 30th – night.

 

Cafejogian: A Prologue

Cafejogian

 

In Sialkot, of all places. The non-indigenous part of a small (so-called) project team, a boss and two subalterns, lived in a (haunted, I like to believe) house and manned an office in an-other house near the Clock Tower in Cantonment. At some point, there, floated (up) an idea emanating from the quotidian need to have somewhere to hangout aside from the home, the office and the field(s). Creative communal space—a place to do our will, and make of the space what we would. Expanding gradually, inwards, in carving out discourse, aesthetic and textual space; and outwards, into bringing people in, like a map with a legend. Tea and biscuits, cigarettes and coffee, pencils and paintbrushes, books and paper, a guitar (banjo, sitar, whatever) or so, and even two or three voices would be enough to get the idea started, on paper. A little paint on brick and mortar, a little sandpaper and varnish on wood, and forged into being, it could evolve aesthetically and functionally thereon as it would, organically. I even thought I had a feasibility worked out. The bare bones of the idea, as I saw it. Founder members would contribute a thousand rupees a month. To get it going we would only need as many members as it would take to rent a place. Say, randomly, eleven if the rent were 11,000 rupees. (I had visions of happening upon the perfect old building, with just the right character and elaborate wooden balcony architecture.) That thousand wouldn’t hurt any working wallets and could as much be treated as monthly membership fee as, crudely, stock or share, or ideologically, shared ownership of creative freedom in the malleable (non-market) idea-space. We wouldn’t have to panic and worry about making money in any hurry as the place would be paid for (though I thought we might have wanted to soon enough try to re-cover the other minor operating costs, i.e., utility bills and miscellany). Tea and biscuits, coffee and cigarettes, etcetera, personas even, could be brought in or made there; consumed, exchanged, displayed, distributed, or whatever or however ground realities might unfold themselves. In any case, everything could be developed collectively, aesthetically as well as operationally. It might have worked. Like magic. It never happened. Cooperatives don’t work in Pakistan, they will tell you. They haven’t; they’ll easily prove it to you too. Say cooperative and leave a ____ (blank space) next to it, and the majority of people would probably fill it with: scam. As rule, not exception, whoever whoever has trusted here, has suffered in-dignity, been brutalized, dispossessed—robbed, looted, beggarized, cheated, molested, raped, sodomized, left to rot; broken, the trust by everyone and their mother, leaving only psychological scars; a whole twilight of shattered selves scattered up-on a mortgaged sky, sieved into a smattering of souls of dust that never settle(s). Why? not.

Last post for the nightmorning, promise, but most important one

Dearest Captain (Jawad Haroon),

We _____ & ________ are/might be protesting at school then at lums today. We MIGHT miss class. If you don’t mind, please join us, if you do send [Ed] one of us to look for us!

Peace [Picture piece sign]

Blessed be!

The future of Pakistan!

___________ [picture beautiful signature]

___________ [picture beautiful signature]

…scrawled below unaesthetically:

My Dearest Future of Pakistan,

I salute you!

Two things though:

1. We cannot afford to remain disempowered, uninformed [Ed], illiterate and ignorant; therefore, our learning must not be impeded.

2. Be smart, careful and safe –

You, I, we cannot afford to lose our future.

With much love and pride in you all,

jawad

*Names have been blotted out to protect the INNOCENT.

Beyond Acronomy

I

Acronymous this country

Borders, world, shifting, adversaries, this night,

Sand, words, letters, sans, blood in the oddest ways black and bleak;

 

 

 

Before the recent advent

Of the cellular,

We here would go to the PCO

If we absolutely had to:

 

 

 

And in the Public Call Office,

Make the call we needed to,

Very uncomfortably, but to communicate

whatever we wanted to.

 

 

 

 

In the days of this device,

But natural it is, for this acronym to if not die

become anachronism;

 

 

 

Shift acronymously at least,

 

 

 

Though the poorest grains of the land

Still sit in its shanty shacks

in whatever little booth stools, some small as urinals.

 

 

 

 

And who knows, if signals mysteriously drop,

tapped or not: we might have to go back to the PCO of old.

 

 

 

 

But all of a sudden, for rich and poor alike, the PCO is now something else, altogether,

Something not just Acronymous, but downright

Ominous; but let’s not go there, because we’re not allowed to!

 

 

 

II

 

 

 

In the days in which I was growing up,

And even for those born gasp in the eighties,

We remembered CBMs as something horrid to be abhorred;

Continental Ballistic Missiles,

 

 

 

 

our teachers in apparently one of the last colonies yet to

be officially so called freed; on an island

taught, the horrors of

Nagasaki and Hiroshima; genocide,

mutilation and the acronym MADness;

 

 

Mutually Assured Destruction(come to SSOSS, SSave OOur SSouls)ness,

 

The manifesto of all madness come full circle,

In deed.

 

 

 

III

 

 

 

They distributed sweetmeats and danced, in the streets here.

It was beyond me; how had they not seen melting souls drying?

 

The acronym too had to die its natural death;

 

 

 

CBM could no longer stay unguised, unguided ballistics;

it had to take on a sly smile, something much more watered down,

again sinister but this time saccharine sweet:

the CConfidence BBuilding MMeasures we read of in our newspapers today.

 

 

 

 

As for acronyms, I could go on and on, unfortunate that would be indeed:

to conclude, then; all acronyms, miserly measured, abbreviated lies;

 

 

 

IV

 

 

 

Why will you not de-militarize society?

Why would not the civilian body give up all its arms

To you, if you would only protect us, at our borders,

And not let drones drop bombs on our sovereignty?

 

 

 

 

Why do you insist on speaking on our behalf, and bombing the hell

Out of the civilian body, rather than stopping any attack on our sovereignty?

 

 

 

 

Why would the civilian body not surrender its arms to you

If you would do your job, protect us; at our frontiers,

 

 

And perform civilian ops, in peacetime,

 

 

as with our neighbours it thank God now just about is

– unless you all (un)screw it so –

 

 

particularly in natural disasters,

hand in hand with us and the affected?

 

 

 

 

As you can and have.

 

 

 

We would love you for it;

We always have and did and do;

our heart always goes out to you,

Whenever you do.

 

 

 

 

I saw a truck load of you today,

It almost made me cry;

I said a prayer for you.

In all my abhorration of war

In the Kashmir quake’s wake

I had saluted a truckload just like you.

 

 

 

Received back appreciative smiles and waves

for miles and miles of meandering shattered mountain roads

and generations of peoples, literally lost.

 

 

 

 

 

Your mothers, brothers, nieces,

fathers, sisters, wives, children

don’t deserve to suffer your deaths;

 

 

 

 

Nor do you.

 

 

 

 

No one should kill you, nor

you us.

 

 

 

 

Why? Why will you not this bloodshed stop?

 

 

 

 

The civilian body, would disarm, if only you would just do your job.

 

 

The enemy is not within, it is not without. It is without cause

That you kill each other and us.

 

 

 

 

At whose behest, and in whose name,

 

 

God’s?

 

 

Developments’?

 

 

Rights’?

 

 

Democracies’?

 

 

Modernity’s?

 

 

Enlightenments’?

 

 

Riches’?

 

Mines’?

 

Ours?

 

Do not make devils of everything;

your rhetoric has worn too thin the fabric of your artificial skin.

 

V

 

 

 

All the acronyms of agencies and organizations and civil body mutations

And bureaucracies and institutions,

Systems and structures,

all plagued and fortified forts of feudals,

corrupt, oppressive and corrosive, inch per inch: enough,

 

 

 

IV

 

 

 

Exit black. Enter light.

In revolution. We have suffered the night.

As promised. The day must come.

 

Where was the black?

 

Where was the black ?

I walked in to my amazement to a plethora of colours. It was very offputting. Inside, Ghazal told me some were wearing gray, to express their on the fenceness; and others white to represent I can’t remember what – unfortunately, it wasn’t peace, or maybe it was; it still wasn’t black, quite the opposite. Here colour burst on the scene so much more sombre and grave than black. Some had black ribbons, or card bendy black flowers; nobody tried to give me one thank God. Very creative; you showed your colours, wittingly or unwitting, and your individuality; excellent: that’s exactly what the un declaration of human rights asks, and encourages of you.

But what then; extra credit – sure, plenty of it where that came from, made up of un stuff.

But, what you didn’t show was solidarity. Life in all its expressions, forms, colours, flavours, variations and vibrance, only comes to life when there is solidarity and expression of co-in-dependence, and granting of rights to the other, rather than asking of it of others; valuing and not violating the dignity or sentiments of any soul; and coming together to cherish and protect each other as now we must.  

Where were you, student body?

Where were you faculty?

Where was the one wall of all black?

Why was even this little courtyard not packed?

Backs to the wall, if in apathy you trod,

Or ignorance dawdled, or just simply

couldn’t doff the ironing ironies of life,

doff your uniform of individuality or laxidaisy colourity;

 just for a day;another chance, another day,

But can you? I ask you for a day:

is it possible to show solidarity enough, just for one day?

 This is a great symbolic test, unfortunate, that it has come to head. But it has.

 Black day on Monday everyone.

Let’s see if we can do it in just this one multi-tiered class at least.

Please take care of every one of you. We’re all we have, and can’t afford to lose even one of any one of us.

With prayers,

 

 

 

Contact

Dear Class,

I will be giving a ‘presentation’ Insha’Allah on WordPress and its use soon, for which the wordpress people should actually be paying me, lol.  Meanwhile if you have any problem, add me at sidra_nadeem@hotmail.com because its always easier to explain anything on chat than email.  I again strongly urge that those of you who are unfamiliar with wordpress to please give me usernames and passwords, along with a valid email address and I will set up your accounts for you.

Hello world!

Welcome to the world of frame works!

The Yellow Wallpaper

THE YELLOW WALLPAPER

RESPONSE PAPER 1

  

 

*Excerpts are attached at the end of the paper.*

 

The Yellow Wallpaper is one of the greatest pieces of feminist literature. Written by Charlotte Perkins Gilman and published in 1892 its reading, critique and understanding, to a large extent, is purely from a feminist point of view. However, divorcing it from its historical background, I read the text as a quest for self understanding and the need for self expression, for a man and a woman alike. This idea is introduced by Gilman herself by including John amongst those who are captivated by the paper.  

 

The yellow wall-paper is used as a map for self understanding throughout the text. The three excerpts chosen demonstrate how the narrator gradually develops this understanding through interaction with the wall-paper which acts as a text itself.   

 

In the first excerpt, everything about the wallpaper is negative–starting with the yellow that is not the yellow of ‘buttercups’ and sunshine, but ‘repellent…revolting; a smoldering unclean yellow.’ The pattern is ‘dull enough to confuse’ but ‘pronounced enough to constantly irritate.’ Apart from the torture it puts the viewer through, its pattern also ‘commit[s] every artistic sin.’ Its possibilities revive no hope, instead ‘its lame uncertain curves…suddenly commit suicide.’ By implication, following it destroys the traveler in ‘unheard of contradictions.’ There is not a single redeeming feature in its description. The only path it offers to the traveler right now, ‘plunge[s] off at outrageous angels,’ thus the narrator dearly wishes to escape its company.

 

In the second excerpt the paper is given human qualities, ‘as if it KNEW what a vicious influence it had!’ This starts the narrator’s interaction, as if with an equal. She still resists it, becomes ‘positively angry’ with the confusion it presents and is disconcerted by the ‘two bulbous eyes.’ Even a commonly recognizable feature like eyes, becomes unnerving and unfamiliar because each set is not aligned, ‘one [is] a little higher than the other.’ But despite its perplexity, she starts to notice the ‘expression’ of the inanimate object; a step beyond the visual art of the first excerpt.

 

By the third excerpt, the narrator is actively engaged, mentally and physically, with the paper. The possibilities it presents now are more stimulating than intimidating and ‘BECAUSE of the wall-paper’ ‘life is very much more exciting than it used to be.’ She spends ‘hours trying to decide whether that front pattern and the back pattern really did move together or separately,’ thus the level of understanding moves way beyond just the aesthetics and expression into a layered comprehension. She sees how the front layer, that by moonlight, ‘becomes bars’ keeps the back layer from emerging. Between the two layers, self consciousness at the rear, the structure and norms society imposes, in front, she recognizes herself, ‘a woman stooping down and creeping about.’ 

 

The changing light and its effects on the patterns of the wallpaper are increasingly engaging. By the day everything in the paper is calm and subdued, as if the front layer imposes such an order that it renders the back layer invisible, ‘By daylight…I fancy it is the pattern that keeps her so still.’ However by night, when any kind of light ‘twilight, candle light, lamp light, and worst of all moonlight’ becomes the means of viewing the paper, it becomes alive. Literary tradition makes interesting connections between moon-light and lunacy and night-time and adventure, leading to a world of possibilities. As the ‘woman behind shakes it’ more and more to break free at night, the bars that keep her within become more and more visible. Thus rendering the struggle for self understanding and imposition of societal norms, directly proportional; the harder the struggle, the stricter the rules.

 

The fascination, the forbidden possibilities, the idea of going beyond the defined limits, does not exclusively appeal to the narrator only, which is why my reading of this text is not purely feminist. It only uses a female protagonist, as women have always been the more disadvantaged of the two sexes, to represent a struggle every one of us goes through. All those who come in contact with the paper are attracted to it secretly; the narrator catches John, her husband ‘LOOKING AT THE PAPER!’ If confronted, they feel angry as if ‘caught stealing.’ There is a notion of impurity attached to contact with the paper it too, it ‘stained everything it touched…she had found yellow smooches on all my clothes and John’s.’ Again, soiling of clothes has literary negative connotations, as if that person somehow becomes unfit for normal life.

 

At the end of the last excerpt the narrator talks about the ‘yellow smell’ of the wall-paper. Gilman here uses synaesthesia, the overlapping of senses, to show the extent of the protagonist’s engagement with the wall-paper. She now, not only interacts with it physically and mentally but with an intensity that blurs the distinction between visual and olfactory. The smell is also ubiquitous ‘it creeps all over the house.’ It hovers, skulks and hides; evading and teasing the narrator to a point where she seriously thinks about ‘burning the house–to reach the smell.’

 

A Boston Physician expressed his concern about The Yellow Wallpaper, saying ‘it was enough to drive anyone mad to read it.’ (1) Though I would not stretch it that far, I definitely agree with the ability of the text to haunt a reader. For me, the text acquires this ability as soon as Gilman gives human characteristics to the wall-paper; the lolling broken necks and ‘unblinking eyes’ bulbous and absurd, silently ‘star[ing] at you upside down,’ watching your every move. The incessant use of the word ‘creep’ throughout the story for the narrator herself, the woman behind the wall-paper, the women outside the house, the moonlight, the yellow smell and the final act of ‘creeping over’ the husband all culminate into the creepiest feeling that creeps up the spine of the reader. Finally the woman behind the paper creeps out of the bars into self-hood.

 

 

Word Count: 986

Bibliography

1. http://itech.fgcu.edu/faculty/wohlpart/alra/gilman.htm#INSERT%203

2. http://www.gradesaver.com/classicnotes/titles/wallpaper/section3.html

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The Yellow Wallpaper

Excerpt 1:

One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin.

It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions.

The color is repellent, almost revolting; a smoldering unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.

It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others.

Excerpt 2:

But I must not think about that. This paper looks to me as if it KNEW what a vicious influence it had!

There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside down.

I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where two breadths didn’t match, and the eyes go all up and down the line, one a little higher than the other.

I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before, and we all know how much expression they have! I used to lie awake as a child and get more entertainment and terror out of blank walls and plain furniture than most children could find in a toy-store.

Excerpt 3:

So of course I said no more on that score, and we went to sleep before long. He thought I was asleep first, but I wasn’t, and lay there for hours trying to decide whether that front pattern and the back pattern really did move together or separately.

On a pattern like this, by daylight, there is a lack of sequence, a defiance of law that is a constant irritant to a normal mind.

The color is hideous enough, and unreliable enough, and infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing.

You think you have mastered it, but just as you get well underway in following, it turns a back-somersault and there you are. It slaps you in the face, knocks you down, and tramples upon you. It is like a bad dream.

The outside pattern is a florid arabesque, reminding one of a fungus. If you can imagine a toadstool in joints, an interminable string of toadstools, budding and sprouting in endless convolutions—why, that is something like it.

That is, sometimes!

There is one marked peculiarity about this paper, a thing nobody seems to notice but myself, and that is that it changes as the light changes.

When the sun shoots in through the east window—I always watch for that first long, straight ray—it changes so quickly that I never can quite believe it.

That is why I watch it always.

By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when there is a moon—I wouldn’t know it was the same paper.

At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight, and worst of all by moonlight, it becomes bars! The outside pattern I mean, and the woman behind it is as plain as can be.

I didn’t realize for a long time what the thing was that showed behind, that dim sub-pattern, but now I am quite sure it is a woman.

By daylight she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that keeps her so still. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour.

I lie down ever so much now. John says it is good for me, and to sleep all I can.

Indeed he started the habit by making me lie down for an hour after each meal.

It is a very bad habit I am convinced, for you see I don’t sleep.

And that cultivates deceit, for I don’t tell them I’m awake—O no!

The fact is I am getting a little afraid of John.

He seems very queer sometimes, and even Jennie has an inexplicable look.

It strikes me occasionally, just as a scientific hypothesis,—that perhaps it is the paper!

I have watched John when he did not know I was looking, and come into the room suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and I’ve caught him several times LOOKING AT THE PAPER! And Jennie too. I caught Jennie with her hand on it once.

She didn’t know I was in the room, and when I asked her in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible, what she was doing with the paper—she turned around as if she had been caught stealing, and looked quite angry—asked me why I should frighten her so!

Then she said that the paper stained everything it touched, that she had found yellow smooches on all my clothes and John’s, and she wished we would be more careful!

Did not that sound innocent? But I know she was studying that pattern, and I am determined that nobody shall find it out but myself!

Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really do eat better, and am more quiet than I was.

John is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a little the other day, and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of my wall-paper.

I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intention of telling him it was BECAUSE of the wall-paper—he would make fun of me. He might even want to take me away.

I don’t want to leave now until I have found it out. There is a week more, and I think that will be enough.

I’m feeling ever so much better! I don’t sleep much at night, for it is so interesting to watch developments; but I sleep a good deal in the daytime.

In the daytime it is tiresome and perplexing.

There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new shades of yellow all over it. I cannot keep count of them, though I have tried conscientiously.

It is the strangest yellow, that wall-paper! It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever saw—not beautiful ones like buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things.

But there is something else about that paper—the smell! I noticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun it was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, and whether the windows are open or not, the smell is here.

It creeps all over the house.

I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs.

It gets into my hair.

Even when I go to ride, if I turn my head suddenly and surprise it—there is that smell!

Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze it, to find what it smelled like.

It is not bad—at first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most enduring odor I ever met.

In this damp weather it is awful, I wake up in the night and find it hanging over me.

It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burning the house—to reach the smell.

But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like is the COLOR of the paper! A yellow smell.

———– 

 Full story available here if anyone is interested: http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=GilYell.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=1&division=div1