The Talk of the Town

          When Janie moves from Joe Starks to Tea Cake, Hurston (in my reading) makes clear the following changes (perhaps debatable) in Janie's situation.  All of them can be thought of as side-effects of the major change that occurred: Janie's stepping down from living as though placed on a pedestal and showered with love from afar onto level ground (Joe was "pouring honor all over her; building a high chair for her to sit in and overlook the world" (62)), where she can shower love as well as be showered with it.  The changes, in this order, are effects of one another:


- African American upper-crust --> African American average plebian

- wealth --> poverty

- love through material wealth --> love through emotional/physical wealth

- closed communication --> open communication

- percieved loneliness --> social connections, both within and outside marriage

- marrige subordinacy --> marriage equality

- Janie with necessity to ask permission to do what desires (no free will) --> Janie with free will

          Additionally interesting is that Starks judges other people in community (such as "pushin' and shovin' wid they no-manners selves...in all dat mess uh commonness" (60)), whereas Tea Cake never (so far) judges other people in the community as bad or good.  Janie never seems to judge in either scenario.

          However, there is a parallel between Janie's situations with Joe Starks and with Tea Cake that is a bit surprising in the latter case.  In both situations, Janie is portrayed as a central character in the public eye of the town, even though she doesn't seem to realize it much.  With Joe Starks, this is fairly self-explanatory, since Jody himself is the town's mayor.  Thus, necessarily the porch must develop opinions about Joe and his actions, and Janie is included with Joe in the porch's idea of those in charge.  With Tea Cake, this centrality seems to be of less importance, likely because Tea Cake views himself as a part, not a guardian, of the people.  However, almost at the beginning of Hurston's depiction of Janie's life as a mucker in the 'glades, she states: "Tea Cake's house was a magnet, the unauthorized center of the 'job'" (132) because "the house was full of people every night" (133).  Again, the people are flocking to Janie's porch.

          This, interestingly, is the complete opposite experience of both Bigger and the invisible man.  Perhaps this difference is significant in showing the difference between the actions/experiences of some of the characters in these books?  Is it even possible to show a character who is one of the powerful and influential members of the African American community if one is trying to write a protest novel (Wright), or trying to encompass the whole African American experience, since this is not possible by showing only the upper crust?  Or is it actually the case that Janie is unlike Bigger and the invisible man in that she is the talk of the town?  Perhaps all three are, at some point, but it manifests itself differently in each.  Probably, the best any reader can do is to guess the author's intentions here by reading their own writings on these works.

Poetic-Musical Musings

Friday's discussion was at the intersection of African American literature and poetry, but it also overlapped with various types of musical expression (birdsong, rap, and jazz), and I thought I'd like to delve further into the musical aspect of these poems:

1.  The first thing I noticed when I saw several Youtube videos of this poem was that none of them included the happy calls of any singing bird.  I had imagined that would be the most important part, if anyone were to add music to this poem.  Instead, however, all displayed lonely, sadly beautiful images and played depressed piano music that could be considered calming in other contexts.  Actually, I posted this particular version because the speaker essentially convinced me that they were an upper-class, suicidal, young girl -- and so it was the most dramatic of the dramatizations.  Frankly, I was a little surprised that this seems to be the mainstream interpretation of Angelou's poem.  If I were to dramatize the poem, I would read it with the voice of an unpretentious, aging woman, who is speaking from her heart not so much to hear herself lament on her own condition, but to a younger audience as a consciously wiser and more experienced educator.  Possibly much of this is my subjective interpretation without much substance in the poem to back it, but two things are clear to me:

          - Angelou's speaker understands not only what it is like to be a caged bird, but ALSO what it is like to be a free one.  She has risen above both scenarios to write this poem.

          - Neither Angelou's free bird nor her caged bird is depressed: the free bird loves, while the caged bird boils hot with anger.  Both are strong, in their own way.

Finally, it turns out that whoever posted this video has a whole slew of other poems....and they are all read by the same, young, depressing, effete voice....I disapprove.  There is much more depth, much more strength, much more grace to poetry (especially Angelou's!) than this or similar dramatizations can capture.

 

2.  This is a recording of Diggy Simmons rapping his song "What's Going On?," which Surya excerpted for our class discussion.  When we were reading this poem in class, I imagined that Diggy would be yelling out these words angrily, because they are so forceful and meaningfully effective.  It seemed to me that there was no option but that this was a protest rap.  So I found it really interesting when Diggy basically didn't really sound mad.  What came through more was actually his uncertainty.  His question "Can't you see it's time for change?" actually occurs over a major scale (well...major-ish...).  It's not forceful at all.  It's actually just asking.  And his "tell me what's going on" isn't so much of a challenge as it is a blank expression: it could be confusion, frustration, or a suggestion, but it's not actually much of any emotion.  Overall, he doesn't really sound like he is protesting anything specific in the end, unlike what is implied by his words themselves.

Given this, I now ask why that is?  Why would he write such angry words, but sing them rather ambivalently?  Is he actually afraid of having someone "take [him] out like [they] did Mike Jack/Vick/Tys"?  Reading back along the lyrics, I now see that he says "I've got some things I want to say to their face like..."  In other words, he doesn't expect the "they" or the "you" he is referring to to ever actually hear his song.  He is writing to a group of fellow people, whom he terms "us" or "we."  Is this some sort of group whom Diggy was already imagining, or does he expect the group to self-identify.  I'm not sure if I can really make any conclusions with this one unless I talk to Diggy, himself.  But one thing I can be sure of: Diggy's pretty talented, and I admire the gumption with which he refuses to sugar-coat his perceptions of reality, even if he is consciously questioning whether others percieve reality the same way he does.  And I think in this way, he echoes some of both Native Son and Invisible Man as he expresses reality and how he fits into it.

3.  This is the Mingus recording that Yusef Komunyakaa referenced in his poem, "Copacetic Mingus."  Listening to this recording, I find it again interesting that it is the bassist that is Mingus....the saxes (esp) and also piano/percussion all seem to play such important parts in this recording.  In fact, it is really only when everything else drops out that the listener is forced to listen to the bass as the melody, and not the countermelody: and yet listeners do notice that Mingus is, indeed, "copacetic" = "in excellent order" (according to Google...).  He is really the only dependably present melodic voice in the whole arrangement, even if he plays with a thumpily-articulated "hyperbolic bass line," an image that makes more sense now that I hear the music.  Actually, hearing the music allowed me to reconcile a paradox in Komunyakaa's poem: Mingus is both "tender" and a "hard love"-er.  Now, from the way he plays, I note that he sounds as though he loves his instrument and he can get a round, full, warm sound out of it, but that he has to really work to get it to project and not simply to growl and twang and moan, despairingly.

Also interesting is that this piece starts on incredibly dissonant chords: it begins with a minor second in the melody, and then next the equivalent of a tritone between bass and saxes for several measures.  It ends with these same chords, along with some saxophone/percussion/piano textured squealings and wailings that are even more unsettling.  Somehow, however, it works its way into exremely happy, bright, dancing, carefree chords for much of the middle of the piece.  However, there are trains of happiness in the sad sections, and vice versa.  Looking back, the poem does a similar thing, using images that are creepily unsettling (like how "art and life bleed into each other") and contented, carefree images (like "blessed wood").  However, even more prevalent are images that could be interpreted either way.  Are "fingers of fire" out of a haunted house, or do instead reflect how well Mingus plays?  And the image of the bass as a "moon-eyed mistress with gold in her teeth" sounds nice -- she could be innocent, beautiful, and well-to-do -- but implies that she's unstable (she's a mistress...not a "lover" or a "wife," etc.) and that she's had some serious toothaches.

Ellison Echoes Socratic Language and Thought

As the narrator discusses his perceptions from the point of view of Rinehart, he states that, " 'For now we see as through a glass darkly but then--but then--' I couldn't remember the rest" (491).  I was reading English just after reading Philosophy, and what struck me as odd was that Socrates used the same image in one of his arguments.  Socrates explained that we experience the truth of life, the world, and knowledge as through a "reflection of light" in a "dark glass."  He argues that we must try to approach the essence of truth knowing that we see the world in this way, because looking straight at the essence of truth while in bodily form would have effects akin to being blinded by a bright light.  Thus, our perceptions of the world are necessarily partially defined by our physical experiences, all of which can mislead us and distract us from the pursuit of true ideas and knowledge, so that we are forced to understand truth while in our physical form only as if we are seeing through a glass darkly.

This language echo really piqued my interest, especially when I considered that Ellison also echoes some of this Socratic thinking.  Perhaps the narrator has found truth by blinding himself with light bulbs to remove any possible shadows....but then like Socrates, he seems to know that no one can never quite be sure what how the world works or how they actually fit into it while they are contained within their own bodies.  They must transcend their bodies, their physical selves, in order to transcend societal expectations, ideas, and masks that are untrue because they are inherently derived from the human body.  It seems that Ellison might be hinting at a similar message.  This is the reason I think that the novel is pessimistic about the human condition: while we are all stuck within our bodies, we cannot be freed from ideas or social constructions, because both us and our ideas are tied to this physical world.  Ellison's invisible man grapples long and hard with this issue, whether he realizes it or not.

I began to wonder if Ellison was or was not consciously influenced by Socrates.  According to his biographical video, he was extremely well-educated and even more well-read.  However, neither he, nor any critic, mentions Socrates or Socratic thought patterns in their essays.  Regardless, as I continue to consider this book with Socratic philosophy in mind, I continue to notice enlightening parallels.

Another interesting Socratic echo is in the Epilogue.  First is the discussion of how "none of us seems to know who he is or where he's going" because whites are busy escaping blackness (but are meanwhile becoming more black) and the blacks are striving toward whiteness (577).  The conclusion is that this idea of becoming "one, and yet many" is "one of the greatest jokes in the world" (577).  To the average human, this is by no means an obvious conclusion, because we typically take for granted that it is possible to be one and many at the same time, as evidenced by our self-determined definition of our country and culture.  The narrator, on the other hand, uses Socratic argues that this  assumption is ridiculous for purely logical reasons similar to the way Socrates did.  There can be no mixing of true opposites, otherwise each will become the other and no longer be themselves.  Furthermore, something that is composed of many parts (or "compounded") cannot be also uncompounded at the same time; these are opposite.  It is as if the narrator has read and totally adopted Socratic thinking in order to take an assumption inherent in our society and see its logical fallacies.

The Socratic influence is ultimately also apparent when the reader considers the narrator's habits of civil disobedience, mirroring those that Socrates argues good, dedicated citizens should follow.  We know the narrator is a good, dedicated citizen because he willingly becomes part of the state during college.  Socrates argues that when this happens (and some other criteria are met), the citizen enters into a contract with the state: to accept all punishments given by the state (even if they are unjust.  The power to punish is the only real power the state has, since it is the only power it can actually enforce.) in return for reaping the states' benefits for the citizen and being civilly disobedient if the state fails to do something correctly.  We can see the narrator's whole life from this perspective.  He is always supportive of the United States, but is also civilly disobedient in the Brotherhood by protesting as he is able, within the state's guidelines.  However, when society punishes him by forcing him into a hole, he accepts the punishment.  And yet, he wishes to leave, but only because he has decided it is a "social crime" for him to "overstay [his] hibernation" (581).  Perhaps, he is afraid that by dropping out of society and writing a book critiquing and explaining society as he sees it, he has exited his contract with society, which he never intended to do.  Good citizens are people who love their state and are civilly disobedient, but do not drop out of society.  But how can he show that he loves his state when he disagrees with the rightness of so many aspects of the society he lives in, and will thus be civilly disobedient in some way to nearly all aspects of society?  This is the dilemma, and why it is unclear what the invisible man will do once he reemerges out of hibernation.