Abstract

For both artistic and personal reasons, D.W. Griffith was drawn to melodrama, and his most influential work, The Birth of a Nation, is, in almost every way, a fully realized melodramatic work. As is typical of this style, the story is presented as a clearly delineated struggle between, on the one side, the good and right and, on the other, the wicked and wrong. In the end, of course, the former triumphs over the latter. With but one exception, all of the film’s characters fit neatly into one category or the other. Only Austin Stoneman, arguably Birth’s most important figure, seems to defy easy characterization. While he is arrogant, scowling, dismissive of others, and specified to be wrong on the issue of race, he is also principled, forthright, and a loving father. The purpose of this study is to show that Stoneman has the essential characteristics of a tragic Greek hero, albeit one with the good fortune to live in nineteenth-century America rather than ancient Thebes.

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Abstract

This essay examines Wandelweiser as a unique social and artistic formation while considering the social import of the group’s artistic works. Tracing Wandelweiser’s history and analyzing a selection of its musical works, the group is considered in relation to historical avant-garde movements and contemporary network theory. Though lacking an official manifesto, Wandelweiser’s aesthetic program can be located largely in its interpretations of John Cage’s silent composition 4?33?. Expressed in the various interviews, writings, and musical works of Wandelweiser members, these readings of Cage’s work—largely consonant with the consideration of ‘silence as an autonomous musical phenomenon’—are contrasted with existing and original interpretations of 4?33? which underline its potential as a conceptual, discursive, and socially engaged musical work.

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In “Christabel” Coleridge has taken on a task of momentous proportions, and it is from the difficulty of this task that his dilemmas arises. He realizes the hopelessness of an open exploration of aspects of sexuality at that time for social and sociological reasons, and therefore he uses the story of Geraldine as a powerful and complex metaphor through which to both hide and reveal his understandings. The difficulty of his task lies in the conundrum of discussing a highly suppressed (on the individual and the societal level) emotion. If one directly deals with the topic, if one straightforwardly expresses ones opinion, then the reader and the society will reflexively tend to reject it without serious contemplation, on the other hand, if one uses just the right balance of subterfuge and subtly, then one can introduce and discuss the issue in a highly effective, though circumspect, manner. The tension between effectiveness and straightforwardness (which are usually considered linked) must have been extremely difficult for Coleridge to deal with and must have made the poem difficult to carry forward. Of course the poem discussed much more than simply sexuality, but sexuality, in all its forms, is the unstated subject nevertheless.

Ultimately, this method of skirting and confronting the issue proves to reach the reader on levels that a direct approach never would. It allows the poem to be accepted by mainstream society, but more importantly, it uses the readers fascination and disgust for sexuality to make the message powerful. The reader, while extensibly dealing with less loaded issues, is unconsciously forced to deal with subtle hints and references to sexuality through the diction and the (structure) of the poem. So the reader is ultimately, and inadvertently, forced to face suppressed sexuality without ever overtly choosing to. It is the crafting of this complex and unconscious aspect of poetry that must have both challenged and perplexed Coleridge to no limit. The end of the poem is a restoration, an explanation, and, as a restoration, a suspiciously easy way to conclude. It leaves the reader unsatisfied, and so the reader must provide her own satisfaction by coming to grip with the poem’s unresolved issues. It is in the crafting of the poem to hide, and therefor reveal, its subject with which Coleridge struggles.

The burying of sexuality must have been Coleridge’s most problematic task. How does one convey something to the reader without the reader being forced to directly confront it? On the macro scale this infiltration of theme was achieved by the story itself. Christabel, Geraldine, and Sir Leodine are all introduced as a vehicle in which and through which the issues are dealt with. The general plot at first seems simple and appropriate to the medieval genre in which it was written. Christabel, while praying in the forest for “the weal of her lover that is far away,” meets Geraldine, a beautiful maiden who has been kidnapped. Christabel takes Geraldine back to her fathers Castle and, after a nights sleep, presents her to her father who, rediscovering a lost friend, and plans to return her. But on the micro scale strange aspects of Geraldine, and strange reactions by Christabel keep rearing up.

In the night Christabel, while watching Geraldine undress sees a “sight to dream of not to tell” and then the narrator breaks in and explicitly warns the reader that danger looms “Oh shield her! Shield sweet Christabel.” The interruption of the narrator without any seeming physical threat to Christabel seems to beg the reader to search for an answer. The reader might remember the dog’s ominous moan, or the moaning of the trees (for moaning, with all its connotations of pleasure and pain seems to follow Geraldine). Geraldine becomes almost a magical figure who exerts power over all around her and she refers to how she “worketh a spell.” But I question, indeed challenge, that Geraldine can be simplified into merely a witch. Perhaps she is modeled after Helen of Troy, whose beauty caused her such torment, and her beauty is her power. “Thou knowest tonight, and wilt know tomorrow/ This mark of my shame and this seal of my sorrow” (she could be blaming her beauty for her kidnapping). And yet she is unquestionably sinister. She is the incarnation of the snake that holds the dove in its embrace in the dream she later relates. She seems to bewitch Christabel into “dull and treacherous hate.” She reveals the sexuality of Christabel’s father to Christabel. When Christabel pleads for Geraldine to be sent away, her father turns away. But does Christabel want Geraldine to be sent away because of Geraldine or because of what Geraldine uncovers in her, some form of attraction and fascination?

This sort of question is always implicit. How much of the actions and tensions of the poem appear external but are actually internal? And how does one end a story such as this? This problem is enormous. Coleridge answers it by avoiding the trap of a satisfying (end), and opts to leave the reader dissatisfied enough to confront and question the issues raised, which ultimately is Coleridge’s goal. Coleridge must have grappled with this poem in his efforts to add this very complexity.

Christabel was difficult to carry forward and complete because there necessarily had to be a tension between form and content, between what was explicit and what was implicit. The tensions are especially problematic when one tries to end such a poem. To what extent should the end be satisfying to the reader, and to what extent should it force the reader to respond? Coleridge was discussing very difficult and complex issues that are still unresolved. But the core of the poem, and its power, derive from Coleridges unblinkingness. The intensity of his fixed stare. He does not skirt the issue of sexuality because he wants to, but because he must in order to maximize his effectiveness. The poem forces him to do something which seems a contradiction: he needs to hide in order to reveal. The poem requires much of the reader, who must grapple with the issues Coleridge skillfully draws out, but it required even more of Coleridge who paradoxically manages to draw a straight line with curves.

About the Author
Phineas Upham has an extensive educational background in both economics and philosophy. He contributes writing in these fields and curates articles from other authors for Scholastic Daily. Visit his website at PhineasUpham.com.

The newest production of Ibsen’s “The Doll House” is quite enjoyable. Unfortunately, the plot dominates the rest of the play, leaving little room for character depth and development. These characteristics are essential to the well-crafted, good play. The female protagonist Nora is, in most ways, the traditional 19th century wife. She breaks with this role by secretly borrowing money from the wicked Krogstad to save her sick father. Krogstad threatens to reveal Nora’s act unless she complies with his demands (he wants favor with her husband). Nora refuses and her Krogstad tells her husband Torvald. Torvald then treats Nora in his usually self-satisfying and demeaning manner. She speaks to him seriously and leaves him and, regrettably, her three children. She refuses to live an untrue and repressed life any longer.

As interesting and thought provoking as this plot must have been to 19th century Europe, as a play, “A Doll House” is too much centered on the plot. The characters seem to serve the plot, as if Ibsen had the idea of unlived lives, of mere identities revealed through the plot and the characters came last. Torvald is what he must be to move the plot, Nora the same, Krogstad at every point becomes what he must to have the plot reveal the idea, and so too Mrs. Linde (a widow and Nora’s friend). And the ideas – one must find one’s true self; role playing is an inauthentic way to live; women can be and must be independent; never blame others rather hold yourself responsible; don’t delude yourself; be honest and open; never be a rat. But I would rather see characters work things out between themselves than play off of one another to make points.

Why is it that “the Doll’s House” lingers so in the imagination, is so thought provoking about such obvious ideas? Somehow Ibsen delves into the struggles that remain real although they seem shallow. The modulation and shadows come after the play is finished, they are left after the dismissal. Nora should have worked it out with Torvald, and yet there is an outrage at complaisance at role playing, at not being at one with oneself that is imagined best by tossing things out the window and practicality be damned. Then, after being willing to overturn everything, one can chose to work hard at making life work for the right reasons. There is a catharsis in abandon, and Ibsen sets up abandon. Nothing beautiful, just fed up, had enough, walking away abandon. And it gives pause, makes one ponder.

The acting in this production was generally good, with an unconvincing performance by Nora who was overly harsh throughout the play. In one scene, the one in which she finally confronts her husband, she takes on a new power and shines as a gifted actress. The supporting actors Doctor Rank and Krogstad, were generally much better, and provided a respite with fine acting and humor.

I don’t particularly like Ibsen’s plot in “The Doll’s House,” but he makes one think about what value can be made of different outcomes and what are good reasons. I don’t particularly like the characters in “The Doll’s House,” even when they change, but they make me think about authentic characters and what that takes. Certainly it takes a dissatisfaction with falseness and a force of life that is revealed first to Mrs. Linde, then Krogstad, then Nora and finally forced on Torvald. They all did some things for the wrong reasons, they all got bad habits. They forgot what they might have known until the consequences of their unlived lives made them face up to it. Life tends to erode life unless and until a person takes his life into his own hands. That would be better sooner than later, but it must be true again and again as well. And it’s this reminder that life must be continually reaffirmed that lingers after “The Doll’s House,” no matter how arty or smug it is. I would like to see another play by another playwright taken from the end of “The Doll’s House” if Nora stays (as hard as that would be for her), then the really hard work of all that newfound authenticity would be interesting. More like Mrs. Linde and Krogstad.

About the Author
Phineas Upham draws on his background in philosophy and economics to contribute original writing to Scholastic Daily. For more from author Phineas Upham, visit his website at PhineasUpham.com.