Edgar Allan Poe and Death

Edgar Allan Poe and Death

           

Edgar Allan Poe is one of the most well known American authors, who wrote numerous Gothic short stories. Poe wrote stories about dark ideas such as revenge, fear, and especially death. Death is a feature in many of his stories, and is the focal point of more than a few. The stories about death usually focused on the most terrifying, excruciating, and horrible deaths that people of the time could imagine. The stories are written with extensive and vivid detail of an almost obsessive manner. This careful attention to detail about death is abnormal in a person, yet it abounds within Poe’s writings. Through his writings, Poe shows that he is not a normal person, and in fact, he is a very strange person. In his stories The Fall of the House of Usher, The Cask of Amontillado, The Masque of the Red Death, The Pit and the Pendulum, and The Premature Burial, the theme of horrifying death is ever present. Within these stories, Poe is shown to not only be a very twisted individual, but to actually be obsessed with death.

One of the main elements of gothic literature is symbolism. Poe uses symbolism in many of his stories, and The Fall of the House of Usher is no exception. What is unique about Poe is not his symbolism, but how he chooses to use it. In the Fall of the House of Usher there are multiple symbols, many of which pertain to death. When first describing the residents of Roderick Usher, Poe multiple times says things like this; “I looked upon the scene before me – upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain – upon the bleak walls – upon the vacant eye-like windows – upon a few rank sedges – and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees – with an utter depression of soul…” (Poe 231). In the passage, Poe compares the house to a person, bleak walls a tired, worn countenance, vacant windows an empty stare, rank sedges a feeling of unkemptness, and a depressing of soul an air of depression. Poe uses these vivid descriptions to equate the house with a person, but he also puts a twist on it. He speaks about the house as though it is decaying, which could also be used to describe a dead/dying person. Poe had an endless amount of words at his disposal, yet he chose to say that the house was like a dying person, rather than that the house was just run down. At the end of the story, the narrator watches as the house itself is destroyed, even after its master. This shows that Poe has an obsession with death because he goes out of his way to add an element of death beyond the human characters that perish. Poe personifies the house, he makes it seem like a dying person, and then he kills it in the end of the story. A person would have to be obsessed with death to add that extra layer on to a story that already contains a body count.

Poe is also shown to be obsessed with death in The House of Usher by the way he kills off his characters. Madeline Usher, the sister of Roderick usher suffers a fate that is beyond terrible, and one that few normal people would be able to brainstorm. Poe has Madeline buried alive while catatonic, literally being unable to help herself and only able to watch as she is buried under ground. “There was blood upon her white robes, and the evidence of some bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciated frame.” (Poe 245). Madeline is left to die alone, and helpless, and when she escapes she is bloodied from her ordeal, and emaciated to the point of death. Being buried alive was one the most horrifying deaths a person could meet in Poe’s time, or any, and yet Poe felt inclined to put a character into the ground alive. Madeline does not die underground; she escapes, but idea of putting some one through such a fate is what shows that Poe is obsessed with death, along with how Roderick dies. Poe tries to create a scenario where his characters die in the most frightening way possible, and being buried alive or dying of fright, as Roderick did, are both awful ways to go. Poe is shown to be obsessed with death, because he was not forced to think of these things, yet he thought about them in depth and then wrote about them. Most people do not like the reminder that they are not immortal, yet Poe dwells on it with an unusual interest.

A sane person generally does not commit murder, among many other things. That is why it is hard for a sane person to write a story about an insane person because there is often little that they can draw from within themselves to put into the character. However, in the Cask of Amontillado, Poe creates a character that is both believable, and completely mentally unstable. “I continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation.” (Poe 274). The character Poe has created is responding in this way because one of his friends insulted him. That is not the thought process of a normal person. The character sees murder as the only option to reconcile the situation, and proceeds to kill his “friend” in one the most horrifying ways that Poe could think of; being buried alive. As in the previous story, the focus of this story is of the character that is unfortunate enough to be buried alive, showing that Poe uses this idea consistently. The main character brings his friend down to a deep catacomb, a tomb, filled with bones, and then buries him alive. Poe creates a macabre setting that is most off-putting to many, and then has a character commit a terrible deed in that setting. Poe’s vision is one of murder in a place of death, which is an indicator that he has an obsession with death.

The plague was one of the most brutal and devastating events in human history. The plague is disease that kills horrifically, and still takes lives in parts of the world today. During Poe’s life, medicine was insufficient compared with today’s medicine, and the plague was still hard to survive if you were afflicted. Yet, Poe felt that such suffering was worth putting on paper, and thus he wrote the Masque of the Red Death. In the masque of the Red Death Poe writes about the force that is death. Poe is not known for writing philosophy, yet he makes some very philosophical insights on death. In the Masque of the Red Death, Poe seems to express the belief that death is a living entity in multiple ways. The first way he does this is with the character that disrupts the prince’s costume party. A person, dressed as a plague victim walks through the costume party, which offends the prince. The prince follows this person, attempting to, as is the theme with many Poe stories, kill the person. When he reaches the last room, a dark room which in itself symbolizes death, he ends up dying at the hands of the person. This person is meant to represent death itself, a living character that is death, showing how much of a reality, how important, death was in Poe’s life. The next sign of death being mortal is the symbolization of the clock in the room of death. “And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay.” (Poe 273). Even after everyone, including death, has died, the clock fades, yet time keeps moving, showing the concept that even death dies, yet time is eternal. These thoughts are not light ones, or common ones, yet they are important enough to Poe that he writes about them. It is shown that Poe is obsessed with death in this story because he spends a lot of time going in depth about death itself, and few would devote a story to death if they were not obsessed with it.

A story doesn’t necessarily need to contain death to show the authors fascination with it. This is most true in the case of The Pit and the Pendulum. In this story, the narrator is a victim of the inquisition, trapped in a room with a dangerous pit, and a pendulum with a blade that swings down. The narrator is deprived of his vision, and comes close to death on many occasions. It is these occasions that show Poe’s fascination with death. First the narrator nearly dies from the pit, when, blinded, he walks around his room attempting to gauge its size. He is drugged, and his sense of the room is wrong because of this. He nearly goes over the edge of the pit, a fall to the certain death. Later on, the narrator is trapped in place while a crescent blade swings down toward him, coming closer with every revolution. The narrator escapes this as well. At the end of the story, the narrator jumps into the pit only to be saved at the last second by the French General LaSalle. While the narrator survives, his close encounters with death are what is telling about Poe. The story points out just how close death is; one false move or one minute longer without moving and the person dies. Poe seems to focus heavily on this, and it shows how he obsesses over death and how people die. He even writes lines like this; “Fool! might I not have known that into the pit it was the object of the burning iron to urge me? Could I resist its glow?” (Poe 257). In the passage, he talks about being drawn to his death, something that most people never feel. This story shows that Poe is obsessed with death because of how deeply he looks into how close we are to death, and how he feels that death is calling him.

            Few stories are quite as telling about Poe as The Premature Burial. A collection of small, individual stories, the Premature Burial outlines Poe’s obsession with death, especially being buried alive. Poe speaks about numerous cases of people who have been buried alive, some of whom survived, and some who did not. Poe then goes on to talk about how he has his own case of catalepsy, and reveals that he himself often thinks about his own death. “I was lost in reveries of death, and the idea of premature burial held continual possession of my brain.” (Poe 264). This line above all else shows that Poe is obsessed with death. He says so himself; that he thought many times, in-depth, about death and that he was always thinking about the possibility and horror of a premature burial. If the author admits that he is engrossed in depth, then who else is better qualified to dispute his claim. A person knows what is going in their own head better than anyone else, and a person knows what they are thinking and what they believe better than anyone else possibly can. Poe says in no uncertain terms that death and being buried alive were constantly on his mind. To be obsessed with something is for it to be the overriding factor when it comes to what you are thinking, and Poe says that death holds that place in his head. By the very definition of obsession, and by his own words, Edgar Allan Poe is obsessed with death.

            The stories that Edgar Allan Poe wrote are pure gothic literature, and he is indeed one of the experts of gothic literature. What makes his works above and beyond others is that, like many good writers, he can put himself into his stories, which he does very thoroughly. Many stories have a common theme of death, and that is not a coincidence. Through the content of what he has written, and by his own admittance, Edgar Allan Poe is definitely a person who is obsessed. With all the evidence that exists to judge him on, it is clear that Edgar Allan Poe has an obsession with death.

           

Works Cited

Poe, Edgar Allan. The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. New York, New
                                York: Random House, 1975. Print.

Faust Legend

The Tale of Dante Marshall

                Kevin Marshall was born in May 3^rd, 1962, to a poor family in Brooklyn. His father worked three jobs, and barely made a living. His mom worked a part time job, and spent the rest of her time with him. Kevin’s father was hard-working and driven, but also a distant man who had difficulty expressing his emotions. He spent most of his time working, and when he was home he barely saw his son. And when he did he never really connected with him.

                In 1973, Kevin’s father was flying on a flight from New York to Houston. He had received a job offer that would be able to support his family. The flight took off at 5 in the morning, and went for about an hour before all contact between the plane and the ground cut off. The plane had been flying over the Appalachian Mountains, and experienced extreme turbulence. The pilot had misread his altimeter, and wasn’t at a safe altitude, and when the plane hit turbulence there wasn’t enough room to maneuver away from the mountains. The plane crashed, with all 156 passengers losing their life. It was a crippling blow to Kevin and his mom, and it set him on a course that would change his life.

                Kevin was twelve at the time of his father’s death, and he was incredibly affected. He had never really known his father, a fact that haunted him throughout his life. Four years after his father death, Kevin dropped out of school to get a job and support him and his mom. Without an education it didn’t seem like Kevin had much of a future.

                Fate interceded on Kevin’s behalf. Kevin had been assisting a man as he tried to start his own business. The man was trying to start an investment firm, and Kevin was the first person hired. The founder happened to brilliant in his planning, and Kevin had the charisma and intelligence to put the business out there. The business quickly became well-known, and highly profitable. When the founder retired, he left the majority share to Kevin. Kevin sold the company for $17 million in personal profit, and invested in a chain of casinos. This investment was highly successful, and he quickly became the owner several major casinos.

                Such was the case when Kevin met his wife, Kayla, in the spring of 1987. The next year they married, and in 1989 they had a son, Dante Marshall. Kevin, remembering how little he knew his father set out to make sure his son knew him, and loved him the way he wished he had loved his father.

                Growing up, Dante was completely spoiled by his loving parents, and unlike his down-to-earth father, he was highly superficial. He was a brat, a kid who had everything he had ever wanted. He grew up seeing the world as a set of items that belonged to him when he wanted them. Yet there was one thing that young Dante was driven by; he always heard about how successful his father, and how it would be hard for him to live up to his father’s name. Dante wanted to be more successful than his father.

               

In the summer of 2012, Dante had just turned 23. He was handsome, rich, and arrogant. And he was constantly at odds with his good natured father. The conflict had stemmed up from Dante’s craving for power. He wanted to be more successful than his father, so he figured that he needed a piece of business to start working soon. His dad had bought his first casino by the age of 27, and he wanted to outstrip his dad by as much as possible. But a Casino was not in the offing for young Dante. His father loved his son, but he was not stupid. He saw that his son was young, irresponsible, and somewhat ungrateful for all the gifts that he had already bestowed on him.

                Such was the case one hot summer day in Las Vegas. Dante was driving along the strip in his Ferrari, a gift from his dad, and he was mad. It had been the third time he’d broached the subject of owning a casino with his father, and once again Dante had been disappointed. As a kid who had been sued to getting everything he wanted, Dante wasn’t taking this new policy of his father’s very well.

                Dante needed to blow off steam, so he went to his favorite of his dad’s casinos, La Casa del Incendio (the House of Fire). He liked playing the tables when he was mad, and lately he had decided he really liked losing his money. It was his dad’s casino, so it wasn’t a huge deal, but it ate away at his father that Dante could be so immature. It was Dante’s way of firing back for not getting what he wanted.

                Dante walked into the casino and stopped for a second to bask in the red light that radiated through the entrance hall. The whole inside of the casino was light with dim, orange-red light the flickered in a way his dad had thought looked like flames. Dante nearly scoffed out loud every time he thought of that story.

                “Lights that look flames. Really dad, my casino would be a lot more impressive.” Dante thought. He sighed, and walked over toward his favorite table, only to have another pile discontent lumped onto his mood. His favorite table was full, and he recognized many of the people at the table. They were some of the regulars at the casino, and it was unlikely that they would be finished any time soon.

                Scowling, Dante walked over to the next closest table, one tucked away in a nook that coincided with the corner of the room. It was darker here than in the rest of the casino, and the scant red light gave an eerie feeling to the spot. The table looked about empty, and he was turning to find another table when he heard a voice speak to him.

                “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to play at my table? Few men don’t capitalize on the opportunity.”

                Dante nearly jumped out of his skin. At the table, barely visible in the shadows was an old man, hunched with age, yet still with a menacing air around him. Was it pride? No, it was something else, something Dante couldn’t put his finger. The man sat alone, hunched over, he looked to be a cripple. He wore a loosely fitting red polo, with a weird three-pronged spear thing instead of an emblem that Dante had ever seen before. In his lad, he had a case of chips, but they didn’t look like normal chips. Each one was unique, individual , and he clutched them in a very protective way, as though he had had a hard time collecting them, and was loath to let them go. Dante let go of his breath and sat down.

                Dante played with the man for about an hour, losing almost everything he had brought with him, and winning almost nothing. At the end of the exchange, semi-happy with himself, and mentally preparing for an earful from his father, Dante stood to leave.

                “Wait.” Said the old man, “ A question before you go?”

                “Why not?” thought Dante. Then, out loud, he said, “Shoot.”

                “Why is it a man like you comes to a casino? Comes to a casino, loses everything, and ends up happy?” the man asked, his old, pitch-black eyes boring into Dante’s.

                 “My father.” Dante said contemptuously.”It’s his casino, y’know. House of Fire, what kind of theme is that? He became tycoon by the time he was 30, yet he won’t help me get started. I mean, all I ask is for one casino, one venture to prove to him I can work. One chance that I could build on, yet he won’t have it.”

                Dante sighed, then sat down. He wasn’t sure how he felt just having directing his tirade a at a stranger, but it felt good to have it off his chest.

                “Your father must have been a great success. Is that why you’d like to start? To be successful?” The man stared at Dante again with his cold black eyes. He seemed to penetrate Dante, like he could see through him. The perceptiveness of the man unnerved Dante, but he figured he already had started speaking, and owed to the man to accommodate him as he had accommodated Dante’s anger.

                “Yes, I would love to be successful, but not just at the same level as him. I w…I wish that I could be on another level. That I could surpass my father, and make a name for myself. I mean, I’m not gonna be anything special in history, compared with him. He was a poor man he turned himself into a tycoon, and I have everything already. I mean, there’s no way you can compete with a story like his, unless you completely outdo his success.” Dante sank back in his chair, semi-surprised that he had said he wanted to surpass his father, but also sure that it was what he really wanted.

                The other man looked pensive for a moment, and then a twinkle appeared in his eye. It was an almost disturbing vision, that spark in the hole that was the old man’s eyes. Dante shivered, and wished he had something more substantial than t-shirt on.

                “You want to be more successful than your father? That may be possible.” Said the man slowly. “But you would have to trust me.”

                “Trust you?” said Dante, uncomfortably noticing the glowing gleam in the man’s eyes.

                “Yes, trust me. I may be able to get you what you need, but it will cost you.” The man’s stare intensified and Dante had turn away for a moment.

                “You could make me more successful than my father?”

                “Yes.”

                “How much will it cost me?” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Dante thought they were a mistake. Before he could figure out how to retract them the man started speaking again.

                “Dante, I will give you any one thing you wish, and for one price only.” The man held up the special set of chips. They were old and battered, and some of them even looked burned under closer inspection. “How would you like to be another chip in my collection?”

                Dante sat confused for a moment, and in that moment he began to notice small details about the man that he hadn’t noticed before. The man looked worn, as though he had been spread thin over many years, and was becoming old and tired. He had no hair on his arms or face, and he was extremely pale. His hand twitched, and Dante noticed that it looked as though it had been burned and not been quite healed. The man had calluses on his left hand, in a pattern that looked as though he used it to wield some form of one-handed tool. He looked back at the man, in the eyes, and he looked deep in his eyes, expecting see the haunting blackness again. The man’s eyes were just as draining, but they looked like they had a fire in them. It was a weird sensation, because Dante couldn’t tell if it actually looked there was a flame, or if it was just the intensity of his gaze.

                “I…I…your chips…I…” Dante stuttered, lost in the man’s eyes.

                “Yes, Dante. I just want one more chip. You won’t be the first, and certainly not the last. Many men have agreed and I have given them exactly what they wanted. My offer is appealing isn’t it?”

                “I…” Dante’s throat was dry, and he trailed off again. His eyes were drawn again to the mark of the three-prong spear on the man’s shirt. No! Not a spear! A fork! But it wasn’t any fork, it was too long and sharp…and it clicked for Dante.

                “You’re…you’re the devil!?” Dante said, half a question, half an accusation that had sounded stronger in his head.

                “Think of me as a broker, Dante. I just want to give you what you want. And what I ask in return is so simple, such a good deal. All I want is your service afterward.” His stare was so intense now, and Dante could barely stand it.

                “I…you could make me…more successful than him?” Dante’s head was reeling.

                “Yes Dante, that and more. I can make you way more than your father. You just need to decide if you can take what you want.”

                Dante was silent. He wanted this. He wanted this so bad. Plus, this was crazy there was no devil, and no god. His father, a devout Christian, believed such things, and if that was so it probably all nonsense. This last thought brought Dante confidence, and he acted on it.

                “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll give you my soul, and in return you make me more than him.”

                The man smiled. “Then it is done, Dante. You’re probably right in think that I don’t exist. I’m just the broker. Just the broker.” And the man reached out and shook Dante’s hand. His hand was cold and smooth, like piece of polished ebony, and when he pulled away, a chip lay there. The man laughed, and then stood, precariously, on his crippled leg. He held up the chip, and burst into fire. It burned a brilliant, bright white for a second, blinding Dante. When Dante’s vision cleared, he was alone. It was as thought the man had walked into the shadows and disappeared.

                Shuddering, Dante left the casino quickly. He looked down at his hands. They were cold and clammy, and he was sweating. It couldn’t have been real, could it? he thought. He needed fresh air and took a walk down the strip.

                It was a bright and sunny day outside, and Dante realized how cold he felt. He walked for about an hour, before he felt better. He was being ridiculous. There was no way what had happened was possible. He must just have been tired, had a bad dream. He checked his wallet, and it was full again, as he had never lost anything. He laughed at himself, but it sounded weak. He laughed again, this time more strongly, and kept walking.

                About a month later, Dante finally got what he wanted. His dad had found that managing one of his casinos was too time consuming, and so he gave it to his son. Dante accepted the position smugly. He had deserved it. He had been good and obedient since he had last asked for a position, and it was obvious to him that his father had seen that he was mature enough.

                This would be the first success of Dante’s to come in the next year. A few months later, his success would lead to him buying three more casinos, creating a chain larger than his dad’s was at ten years older than Dante was now. Dante used his money to expand. One of the ways he liked most when expanding was to buy the land of schools whose funding had run out. It was cheap land, and he made a huge profit.

                Over the next 25 years, Dante created a casino empire larger than his Dad’s by far. He had everything he ever could have hoped for. And he had done it all himself, no thanks to his lousy father. Dante had ended up running his father’s casinos out of business by making similar themed, but more advanced versions of his dad’s casinos. Dante hadn’t even spoken with his father for fifteen years, and he was just fine with that. Things couldn’t have been any better until one day in October.

                Dante had been looking at buying the land of another high school to make another casino. He had been relentless in negotiations for the land, and he was driving home when he got a little lost. He was in the middle of a run down neighborhood, and the sun had gone down. He drove around for several hours, before finally stopping at a gas station to ask for directions.

                Dante got out of his car, and saw a man standing off in the distance. The man was hunched and had a cane. His back was to Dante, and as Dante started to approach him, the man turned around.

                The man was pale, and looked like he had recently been burned. His eyes were a haunting, fiery black, a fiery black that haunted Dante in his darkest nightmares.

                “You seem to have lost the way my friend. Don’t ever forget how you got where you are, and you’ll never get lost. Trust me, you’ll end up heading South anyway.”

                The man turned down a street and disappeared, leaving Dante scared out of his mind. Dante had successfully kept himself in denial about his success all these years, and it was a huge blow to him. He ran back to his car, and locked himself in. He lay there over two seats, out of view from anywhere other than right next to the car window, and spent the night quivering and trying to pretend he hadn’t; seen what he had seen.

                It was a wakeup call to Dante and, now that he had surpassed his father, he didn’t really know how much he valued success. He decided to take a more detailed look at what he’d done, and was disturbed to find out that he didn’t really care much for success, only beating his father. His bubble burst, and he began to feel a little sorry. He decided that he was going to rectify things before he died, that he would fight the devil for every bit of his soul.

                So Dante began to start funneling money into a government schooling program. He decided he would it up to the students he displaced by bolstering their funding for books and other schools supplies. And he started going to Church.

                He tried to get in contact with his father as well. He called him many times, left him many messages about how he was sorry that they no longer saw each other, and that he felt bad that his Dad couldn’t maintain a successful business for a long time.

                He went about this for several years. Dante found out later that his father, along with his mother, had passed away years prior to his attempts to reconnect. So Dante began to try to make up for his failing in this area by redoubling his efforts to help the students whose schools he had razed. He began to travel around the country, but in the back of his mind he felt as though it wasn’t working.

                And he received his confirmation on a dreary day in April. It had rained all morning, coming down in torrents and flooding the single road between the Hawaiian retreat he was staying at and the closest city. In was a majestic place, but very secluded, and with all the rain, the dirt road washed away. No one could come to them, and no one could leave. Dante was walking out a short while away from his condo, when he saw smoke rising through the downpour. It was a curious sight, and Dante went to investigate.

                Dante walked about 80 yards before finding a clearing, where a roaring fire was burning. The rain was still falling heavily, and the sight of the fire burning while wet gave him the chills.

                “Beautiful weather, isn’t it?”

                The voice came from right behind Dante, and whirled around to the old man standing behind him. He looked no different from when they had first met, even though Dante had aged a lot. And Dante had not aged well. He was old now, and just as crippled as the old man. Dante shuddered and tried to not to be afraid.

                “I have changed.” Dante said. “I am a different person than the one you once knew. I have donated a lot of my fortune and repented. I have purified my soul, and it doesn’t belong to you anymore!”  Dante stood as tall as his form would let him, emboldened by his own bravado.

                The devil spat contemptuously at Dante’s feet.

                “Bah. You are no different. You deceive yourself my friend. You do irreparable damage to children, and then offer them an insubstantial band-aid, and think you’re redeemed? No Dante, the only difference between how you are now and when we first met is that you are more like me. We are the same now Dante, cripples, old and wasted. But I embrace my twisted nature, while you deny it. Which is more sinful? I do not know. You are now on my level, but you are not long for this world, while I, I shall endure as long as fools like you continue to accept my corrupt bargains.” The devil turned, and few of his special ships on the fire. They sustained it through the droves of rain. The devil dug deep into the depths of darkness that served him as pockets, and pulled out a chip. It was nothing special, but Dante tensed upon sight of it. It was his chip, and it was about to take the drop into the fire.

                Dante gave a formless shout of despair and anger. He picked up a slick rock of the ground, and hurled at the devil, and then turned and run. The rock hit the devil square in the head, but he just laughed, a horrible, jarring laugh that crawled into Dante’s ears and chased Dante further away from the clearing. All the while Dante ran, and the laughs echoed on his ears. Dante ran, slipping in the mud, tripping on rock, scared out of his mind. The laughter was in his head, it was everywhere.

                Dane had to escape. He ran and ran. The laughing. It scarred his eardrums and ricocheted around inside his skull. He was running on the bank of a river. The ground was slippery, and the river overflowing. He had to get it out. He had to purge himself. Dante plunged into the river, yet the laughing stuck with him. He bobbed up and down in the waves, and was carried on at a breakneck pace by the over-filled river.

                There was a waterfall in the river, and Dante was speeding for it like a bullet out of a gun. Like a bat out of hell. Dante was drowning. The water sloshed in every orifice of his head, and any open space has suffocated by the fiendish hilarity of the devil. The edge of waterfall rushed up, and for a split second Dante flew.

                But as all things that go up, Dante must come down, and come down he did. He smashed against the rocks like a battering ram, and then rolled back into the river. Dante’s body floated down the river, broken. A bend appeared in the river, and Dante’s body finally escaped the river. Standing in wait was an old man, a poker chip in his hand.

                The old man laughed, and flicked his wrist. The chip flew across the water, skipping like the flattest of stones. It skidded off a rock jutting out of the water, and careened off into the water. The chip floated for a second, then sunk like the Titanic in the onslaught of the overflowing river.

                “The broker always wins, because he can bet as many times as he wants. The player only has one shot. And that is why I will always exist, to prey on men. For men will always fall to me until they cease to be men.”

Mock Trial Reaction

Mock Trial Reaction

                                After a long week of hard work the trial Mark Twain vs. the people has ended with the not-guilty verdict handed to Twain. Twain was accused of racism, with the main evidence being Huck Finn, and he was proved innocent. The decision was not an easy one, and there were many factors to take in. Overall, the jury did a good job, and gave the correct verdict. Twain was a man who was not racist, but instead put those who were racist into a morally questionable light. Twain used satire in an effective and subtle way that brought up controversy, which was and still is misunderstood by some. However, Twain’s intentions were to poke holes in those who practiced racism, and our jury succeeded in the hard task given them to decipher the century old works.

                Intent is a hard thing to judge, especially the farther removed you are from the one whose intent it is. Twain lived long ago, and no one can truly know what he wanted. Yet Twain wrote in a way that is hard to be perceived as racist on the most basic level; he had a white boy learn to respect a black men, he had a black man better than multiple white men, and in the end he set the slave free. Some people take the more obscure things Twain says, and combine them with the time period he set his book in. It could be said that what Twain wrote can be taken as offensive, and it is by some. But it could be said that a book written about when Christians were slaves in Egypt may offend Christians if written from the perspective of one of the enslaving race. Christians would feel demeaned to hear such a story, but in the bible they are freed, and that is enough for modern day Christians. The fact that Twain freed Jim at the end of the book, coupled with the end of slavery in the real world could very well give that seem message of elation at freedom as a message of racism. I personally might originally be offended by a book about a society where enslaving Christians was accepted, but time heals all wounds, and no one holds grudges over these stories in the bible. Critics of Twain talk about how he wrote about a society where men were treated as property, yet many of the same people follow the word of the bible, which has passages of the same token. If writing about a time where a group of people was enslaved automatically qualifies you as racist, then the bible contains racism too. To me, Twain is trying to create the lunacy of the time period, and I don’t believe he meant to be racist.

                Twain is also a celebrated satirist, and that must be taken into account. Twain himself said that he liked to start controversies, and writing a book like Huck Finn that would take satirical shots at slavery would seem to be congruent with his character. During the trial, an argument was made that if something was said, and was not intended to be racist, but sarcastic, yet someone took it that way, then was it not racist? This argument was paralleled with an accidental death. If you unintentionally killed someone, then were they not dead and you a murderer? The answer is yes and no. Yes they would be dead, but you would have been guilty of manslaughter. Legally, manslaughter is different, and while still a terrible thing, it is different than murder. By that same argument, is Mark Twain being racist. More likely he would feel the mark of people’s mistaking of his satire as something else, but he would not come off as a racist. Doing something intentional, and having something happen on accident, are very different things, and Twain isn’t a racist just because people are offended because they don’t understand him.

                The job of the jury was not an easy one. They faced to compelling arguments, and did not have ample time to study every important detail. Yet, the jury did a good job deciphering the information. The outcome of the trial was congruent with the evidence presented, and Mr. Twain was acquitted of being something he is not. I am happy that the trial ended with, what was to me personally, the correct verdict.   

Huck Finn Post #3

Huck Finn Post #3

                In the time that Huck spends with the Grangerfords, the elements of humor, sadness, and allusion are present as well. The Grangerfords are a rich family that are engaged in a violent feud with their neighbors, the Shepherdsons, and Huck meets them after he is separated from Jim in a crash on the river. One of the first experiences Huck has with the Grangerfords is rather humorous. Huck goes along with the Grangerfords to church, and they bring their guns with them, and the Shepherdsons had brought their guns as well. These two groups attended a sermon that creates a great sense of situational irony. “It was pretty ornery preaching – all about brotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was a good sermon…” (Twain 111). This passage is filled with situational irony because the preacher is preaching about brother love to two families who had come to church with guns just so the other family wouldn’t shoot them. It is also verbal irony that everybody thinks it was a great sermon even though they are perfectly ready to start shooting at the Shepherdsons, instead of being loving. Another instance of humorous irony is when Huck is perusing the Grangerfords’ bookshelves, and finds an interesting. “Another was Henry Clay’s speeches, and another was Dr. Gunn’s Family Medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body was sick or dead.” (Twain 103). It is verbal irony for a book of medicine to be called Gunn’s, because a gun is used to injure/kill people. Another piece of irony Huck experiences when he visits the Grangerfords is when he asks Buck to spell his fake last name, because Huck doesn’t know how to spell Jackson, and Buck spells it J-A-X-O-N, which is incorrect. This is ironic because then decides if anyone asks him how his name is spelt he knows how to spell, but he would be spelling it wrong.

                                The Grangerfords are a strange family, and much of what transpires during Huck’s time with them parallels the happenings of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. In Romeo and Juliet the families of the two main characters are fighting a feud for an unknown reason, which is virtually the same thing as what is happening to the Grangerfords. “’What was the trouble about, Buck? – Land?’ ‘I reckon maybe – I don’t know’ ‘Well, who done the shooting? Was it a Grangerford or a Shepherdson?’ ‘Laws, how do I know? It was so long ago.’” (Twain 110). Buck tells Huck that the feud has been going on for a long time, and few know why, which is the case in Romeo and Juliet. Another parallel between the pieces is that the Grangerfords’ daughter runs off to marry the Shepherdsons’ son, which is a mirror of what happens in Romeo and Juliet. The Grangerfords’ daughter, Sophia, receives a secret message from a Shepherdson, via Huck, and then runs off to the other sides of the river where neither family can catch them. In Romeo and Juliet, the main characters plan to run off together and get married, but fate intervenes, and both end up dead. Aside from the death at the end, the stories are extremely similar. The two families end up killing several members of the other family at the end, which is very similar to the deaths of Tybalt and Mercutio, in that neither needed to die, yet both ended up dead.

Huck’s stay at the Grangerfords is also filled with sad moments. One of the sad things Huck encounters at the Grangerfords is an empty bedroom, completely furnished for someone to live there. This room used to belong to Emmeline Grangerford, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Grangerford, who died several years previously. What makes it even sadder is that Emmeline spent her life writing about dead people. “Every time a man died, or a woman died, or a child died she would be on hand with her ‘tribute’ before he was cold.” (Twain 105). Emmeline would write amazing poetry, yet she would write it about dead people, which is a grim occupation for a young person. Instead of thinking about the good parts of life, Emmeline thought about death, and died before she was had lived a full life. Another moment of tragedy comes when the Grangerfords go after the Shepherdsons, and a full-out gun-fight takes place. Huck’s young friend, who’s about Huck’s same age, partakes in the fight, and many on both sides are killed. “I cried a little when I was covering up Buck’s face, for he was mighty good to me.” (Twain 117). Not only was Buck Huck’s very good friend, but he was just a young boy with his whole life ahead of him, and his passing is a tragedy.

Huck Finn Post #2

Huck Finn Post #2

Huck and Jim have grown very close over their time journeying together, and having been forming a relationship. They have come to depend on each other like a family, with Jim in the role of father, and Huck the son. This evidenced by how comfortable and happy Huck feels with Jim. At one point, Huck hears that the town is sending out a search party to search the island where Jim is hiding. He is seriously worried while Jim is in danger, saying, “I had got so uneasy I couldn’t set still.” (Twain p. 64). Huck has never had a real family before, and the idea that he could lose Jim, who has become his surrogate father figure, is a very scary idea for him. Huck is a very independent and street-smart person, but he is also an immature child, and Jim is an ideal balance for his immaturity. Huck also shows how important Jim is to him when he starts to share his knowledge with him, specifically literature. Jim cannot read, being a slave and having never had an education, and Huck reads to him from the books they found in the loot pile of the robbers on the shipwreck. Huck even tries, in his mind, to be patient with Jim, and humor him during their arguments, even though Huck looks down on Jim and all blacks.

It is even more evident in the behavior of Jim that he and Huck are close enough to be family. Jim worries about Huck whenever he disappears, he tries to keep Huck from making dangerous decisions and educate him with all of the “knowledge” he has. Jim’s care is shown by how he worries about Huck during many events in the story, such as the time when Huck gets lost in the fog. “Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you ain’ dead – you ain’t drowned – you’s back ag’in? It’s too good for true, honey, it’s too good for true. Let me look at you chile, lemme feel o’ you. No, you ain’t dead! you’s back ag’in , ‘live en sound’, jis de same ole Huck – de same ole Huck, thanks to goodness!” (Twain p. 87) is how Jim responds when he sees Huck again after believing Huck has drowned. He is as worried as if Huck was his own responsibility, as if Huck was his very own son. Jim also tries to pass off all the things that he believes are good knowledgeable onto Huck, namely the superstitions he most believes. Jim is trying to educate and prepare Huck for life as well as he would his own son, which shows just how much of a family the makeshift pair are. With Jim as the father figure, and Huck the son, the two are a better, and more real, family than Huck ever could have had with his own father.

Huck Finn Post #1

Huck Finn Post #1

                                At the beginning of the novel Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain, the main character, Huck, is a highly superstitious individual. Huck is a young boy, who places no stock in religion, but believes many superstitions. Huck demonstrates this when he kills a spider,

“I didn’t need anybody to tell me it was an awful bad sign and would fetch me some luck, so I was scared and shook most of the clothes off me. I got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then I tried to tie up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. But I hadn’t no confidence. You do that when you’ve lost a horseshoe that you’ve found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadn’t ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you’d killed a spider.”  (Twain p. 13).

This passage includes a strong belief in both bad luck coming back to get you, and of witches as well. Bad luck is viewed as a mild idea today, not a strong belief, and the idea of witches would be classified as nonsensical. However, these superstitions are very real and a big factor in the life of Huck. Huck also believes that spirits will come and haunt the world, as evidenced in the quote,

 “…he said a man that wasn’t buried was more likely to go a-ha’nting than one that was planted and comfortable. That sounded pretty reasonable, so I didn’t say no more…” (Twain p. 58).

Huck believes that a soul would come back to haunt him, which would be viewed as very superstitious by modern standards. Huck is a person who is truly believes in superstitions.

               

                Huck is also adaptable. At the beginning of the novel, Huck becomes accustomed to the life he is expected to live with the widow. He learns to behave (better) and even finds going to school acceptable. Huck even says so himself, “At first I hated the school, but by and by I got so I could stand it.” (Twain p. 24). Huck shows a great ability to adapt, as he goes from being a homeless and uneducated boy to being a more respectable schoolboy who society can approve. Later on, Huck also shows his adaptability when he  is taken to the cabin in the woods by his father. He returns to a more rural state, saying,

“It was kind of lazy and jolly, laying off comfortable all day, smoking and fishing, and no books nor study. Two months or more run along, and my clothes got to be all rags and dirt, and I didn’t see how I’d ever got to like it so well at the widow’s…” (Twain p. 32).

At this point Huck has made another transition to what life has thrown at him. Huck adapts to every situation, and sees the best side possible. Even while his world is unsteady, Huck is happy to adapt.

Transcendentalist Society - Con/Pro Essay

Walden Island Con/Pro

                The transcendentalist society Walden Island has a lot of great things about it. Majestic nature, self-sufficiency, no pollution, and acceptance without hiding your true self are all bonuses of being a citizen on Walden Island. Walden Island is all about freedom, and is great in theory. It is easily a society that offers more freedoms than any other functioning society in the world. Functioning, however, is a key word. It could be said that if people really truly believed and strove for unity, a place like Walden Island could exist. Yet, with how impossible such sufficiency would be, how easily humans disagree and create conflict, and the difficulty that would be faced maintaining an isolationist society, it is not likely that a transcendentalist society like Walden Island could exist in today’s world.

                Walden Island would be able to work if its’ citizens were stubborn and unyielding people, who always stayed on the straight and narrow. Walden Island is based off of growing (and fishing) its own food, making its own manufactured goods, creating its own green energy, and each individual saying what he wants in the votes. If the farmers and fishers worked hard and produced a large yield every year, then there would be no need to import food. The manufacturing plants would produce all of the material goods that island needs, utilizing Walden Island’s incredible supply of natural resources, and there would be no need to import non-edible goods from other countries. The civil servants would organize elections, and the people would steer the country in whatever direction seemed right to them. The power plants would churn out eco-friendly energy, and the island could be run cleanly. This would all require determination and preservation, and a good amount of luck, but it would make Walden Island feasible. However, if the citizens did not hold the necessary motivation, then a system like this would not be possible. The slim margin of error involved makes it near impossible for Walden Island to exist.

                Each person is unique and individual. When a person can be themselves it is a great thing, but with every being an individual, how often would they agree without a social contract that expects them to compromise. The individuals that Walden Island would need to run at all would have to be pretty like-minded, patient, and compromising individuals, which would mean that by becoming diverse, Walden Island would destroy itself. Walden Island would essentially need people with ideals that conform to each other to survive in a direct democracy society. Walden Island would also need people to conform to the roles of their jobs, and to the limited amount of job opportunities on the island. Residents would also have to be content with the lack of imported goods that they may have previously enjoyed, and the lack of contact with people they know in the outside world. Every person on the island would have to be willing to sacrifice for the island as a whole, and not many humans are willing to sacrifice a part of themselves for the whole. Walden Island is not possible because it would need to be a society built of a select kind of people, which is both conformist and exclusionary.

                Human beings are very habitual creatures. People become partial to brands, teams, and even other people, namely family and friends. Walden Island is an isolationist society that is based upon keeping foreign ideals from influencing the island. Many people that would come to Walden Island would probably struggle with the very human emotion of missing their loved ones and favorite things. Not many people would be content to live without seeing their family. Walden Island rules, however, would prohibit family from contacting you while you are on the island, and Walden Island has no tourism, so your family cannot come visit you. This would not be easy to deal with for many people, and would probably contribute to a discontent society. People would also miss things that they are familiar and partial to. Sports aren’t allowed on Walden Island because teams are a conformist group and sports also promote others to be more important than less talented people. Foreign brands would also be illegal. Technology, food, clothing, and other things would be illegal to bring in, and people would have to okay with the options on Walden Island. This isolation from the outside world, while a haven for some, would be unpopular with many.

                Self-sufficiency is an all encompassing concept. In the common eye, many people think of it in terms of food or energy, but full self-sufficiency is truly everything. Walden Island would attempt to have full self-sufficiency, and that alone might be its’ dooming factor. Walden Island prides itself on its natural resources, and surely has enough to be self-sufficient for a time, but certain resources are not renewable. Walden Island is heavily forested, and new trees can be planted, but resources like metals would run out after a time. Walden Island makes all of its manufactured goods, and that includes all vehicles, construction materials, and other metal goods, in its plants, and it would either run out of resources or need to break its imports law. Realistically, self-sufficiency is near impossible for a small island nation. Walden Island would also have to make all of its own medical supplies, which would be near impossible without the rain forest areas that most of modern medicine comes from. Walden Island would face the problem of needing to expand its housing and food productions to accommodate a rising population, and the nature that is so revered on Walden Island would shrink exponential. To make a society that is truly self-sufficient, Walden Island would end up destroying itself.

                Walden Island would be an incredible place to live, an island balancing a fully functional, self-sufficient society with rugged untouched wilderness. If populated with resourceful and determined people, Walden Island could become a transcendentalist haven, promoting freedom in a self-sufficient and natural place. Alas, this is not a possible reality. Not all of the people are going to be individual, focused, united and self-sacrificing all at once, and without such a populous Walden Island would falter. The people of Walden Island, without the things that they were accustomed to, would mainly suffer, and not find it a solace. And a truly self-sufficient island is near impossible. If Walden Island was really self-sufficient, then it would completely consume itself. For all these reasons, a transcendentalist society, such as Walden Island, cannot exist in this day and age.