Saturday, October 17, 2009
The Rickett's fireplace: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
The Woods' home is told to have been minimal as well, though a little more decorated than the Gudgers. In their short passage, they are described as having decorations such as an ancestor's sword and scabbard on the wall of one of the bedrooms, a mirror, and smaller knick-knacks, but nothing seemingly very inspired or personal.
What sets the Ricketts apart, I think, is as Kaelin pointed 0ut; there is more personal connection implied with the items listed. A little earlier in the passage, Agee points out that the room with the fireplace is "of no use for living" becaues of its caved-in chimmney (Agee, 172-173), which is interested to find out later that this is the room he describes as being filled with their "pretty things". He lists a number of magazine covers and advertisements the family has set aside, indicating their interest in each of the images. The family is noted for its stinginess, but the family appears to make-do with what they have, and thus the never-ending list of favored images they set aside. As Agee mentions in his notes following the passage, he believes houses such as the aforementioned households "achieve an extraordinary 'beauty'," (Agee, 177) in that the esthetics are normally overlooked by the obvious shortcomings at hand, when in turn, despite the family's short income, a house such as the Ricketts' still sports an eye for what it deems as its own "beauty".
Friday, October 16, 2009
Blog 4
But this all again related to what Agee wants reader to see from his eyes. He sets up the scene to his standards of metaphor but leaves us to come up with our own having mentioned at the start that he wishes nothing to be pointed at him. Read it and leave but in that brief message is another and another leading to infinite possiblities which (I say this word strongly) may be Agee's goal, fulfilling his desire for something I will not try to understand. And by doing this, he draws everyone who reads it in whether they like it or not (the book, not him).
Sunday, September 27, 2009
No offense to Thomas Hart Benton...
While I was thinking of different aspects of The Grapes of Wrath, I looked through different photos from the Great Depression, especially those of Dorethea Lange. These photos not only provide us with historical information, but also give a face to citizens in the 1930s. Looking at these images gave me a better mental image of Joads and the people that they meet along their way. Of course, the film gives a general image of these people, but I liked being able to let the characters develop in my mind.
I vaguely remember watching the film of The Grapes of Wrath in my high school American History class after discussing the novel. I feel like the portrayals of the characters were accurate to Steinbeck’s writing, especially the portrayal of grandpa and Tom. While I think that the film is somewhat accurate, I feel like the images of this time convey the message of the text better. For instance, take the photo “Migrant Mother” by Dorothea Lange:
http://americahurrah.com/PhotoShow/migrantmother.jpg
In my opinion, this brings more emotion than can be conveyed in a two hour film. The emotion on the mother’s face truly shows how difficult this time period was for everyone. She looks horrified of the unknown. The children cling to her in desperation. The absence of the children’s faces makes this even more moving.
Nothing against Thomas Hart Benton’s illustrated version of The Grapes of Wrath, but I think that a version with photos from different photographers of the Great Depression would have been compelling. It may not display characters as well, but I feel like it would give a piece of history, both written and captured in photos, so that the Great Depression is kept alive in future education. I’m sure with careful searching of archives, it wouldn’t be difficult to personify the characters throughout these different photos.
-Allison McDermid
Control
Rose of Sharon handles the changes in her life the worst, in my opinion. She refuses to acknowledge major events during the move. When the family sees the dog dead on the road, all she can think about is her self and her baby. This is the first example of random tragedies in the novel, and Rose of Sharon chooses to focus on a part of her life she still has control over, rather than accept this random sad occurance. Also when Connie leaves her, she still holds onto the belief that she will be taken care of and provided for. The whole time they are at camp, she does not take the time to insure her family’s safety. She goes off and meets other men rather than look for work, again exerting the only kind of control she has. She does not seem in denial, just completely way too immature to handle the seriousness of her current situation.
Ma Joad made an astonishing transition into her new life. When we first meet Ma in the beginning of the novel, she is a very stereotypical mother. She is cooking and overjoyed that her son is home. However during the trip, we see her fighting to keep her family together on several occasions. She has always been in charge of the family and keeping it fed and nourished with love. While it appears that Ma is stepping into a male role in the family, I believe she is just holding onto the one aspect of her life she can control; her family. We see this when she doesn’t let the family split up in the cars, the scene with the jack handle, and when Grandma dies. She holds the family together and keeps a level head. She knows that family is the only thing they have left, and she so fights hard to keep it together. Ma just strengthened her role in the family and holds control over the only thing the characters have left.
Religion in Grapes of Wrath
"I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."
~ Mahatma Ghandi
In The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck presents and criticizes various forms of religion and ritual, and in an ironic twist, turns the most outwardly secular character, Jim Casy into a Christ-figure.
Along their journey, and even within the confines of their own family, the Joads encounter various manifestations and degrees of religious worship. Grandma Joad represents a sort of compulsory ritual-worship without introspection. Early on in the novel Tom Joad explains to Casy an incident in which Grandma sent him a Christmas card when he was still in prison. The card is meant for a child and contains a religious poem and pretty decorations. “I guess Granma never read it. Prob’ly got it from a drummer an’ picked out the one with the mos’ shiny stuff on it. The guys in my cell block goddamn near died laughin’…Granma never meant it funny; she jus’ figgered it was so purty she wouldn’ bother to read it.” (35) This incident parallels Grandma Joad’s further displays of religion. She focuses on the ritual of religion, insisting on grace at the dinner table and saying ‘Amen’ after anything the ex-preacher Casy says, regardless of its lack of resemblance to any normal grace. “So many years she had times her responses to the pauses. And it was so many years since she had listened to or wondered at the words used.” (110)
Sairy Wilson uses religion for the feeling of closeness and humanity that it provides for her. One her deathbed she implores Casy to say a prayer for her, despite his claims that “I got no God.” (298) Sairy tells him “I wanted to feel that clostness, oncet more. It’s the same thing, singin’ an’ prayin’, jus’ the same thing.” (298)
Possibly the most striking criticism of religion comes in the form of Lisbeth Sandry in the Weedpatch government camp. She is a ferociously God-fearing woman who attempts to spread her fear among the rest of the members of the camp. It is not good enough for her if the Joads are religious, they must have the same zest and fear that she does. She fights with the manager, who has a Casy-like view of things: “He don’ believe in sin. Tol’ me hisself. Says the sin is bein’ hungry. Says the sin is bein’ cold.” (423) The manager has an accepting view of Lisbeth, saying “She’s a good woman, but she makes people unhappy.” Through the manager, Steinbeck is commenting on the paradox of religious worship like that of Lisbeth Sandry’s. She has good intentions, and seems to genuinely believe that she is helping people, but ultimately she only causes them hurt and suffering, like when she causes Rosasharn unnecessary stress with her lectures. Through her attempts at helping, she is only causing harm. It is also very telling that, while she considers the government camp the paragon of sin, she is clearly comfortable and doesn’t leave.
The most ironic and striking religious commentary comes in the form of the ex-preacher, Jim Casy. Casy outwardly claims to have no God. He resents his preaching career and refuses to pray unless outright begged to do so. He doesn’t believe in sin, but when he was a preacher and did believe in it, he engaged in sin quite often. Despite his outwardly agnostic tendencies, Jim Casy shares far more with the biblical figure of Jesus Christ than just his initials. Casy travels with people to learn from them and talk to them. He even experiences his own sacrifice and resurrection. Casy represents the clear distinction between claiming Christian-ness and actually being Christ-like.
Futility in "Grapes"
There is also very evident irony here as during Ma’s temporary covert behavior, she and the rest of the family see various families heading back. These other “Okies” had been forced to head back to their already abandoned homes to eke out a living that was apparently better than California. Imagine the sense of futility in having to return home and being, sometimes, forcefully evicted and then having to resort to returning from a place promised to have better circumstances. Despite this harsh reality, Ma Joad endures for the sake of her family.
The novel wraps up with a man needing aid from the Joads who have survived their endeavors. Meeting the small boy and the scene in which his father is suckled by Rose of Sharon is the epitome of futility in a sense. In the same sense, it is reassuring because despite the fact that the Dust Bowl has nearly ruined their lives, the family is reminded that they still have their bodies to sustain them. The man gave up his own nourishment so that his son could live and Ma, in a somewhat similar manner, put Rose of Sharon in an odd predicament by giving up her daughter so that she could save the man in the barn.
Another possible theme that this last scene provides is that of no man or woman being beyond the aid of another human being. Throughout Steinbeck’s piece, gender roles are reversed and male dignity is put aside. A man being nursed back to health is quite epitomal, not the proper adjective form of the word I realize, of gender reversal of that time and no one being beyond aid even further. The people did what they had to survive and animalistic and maternal/ paternal traits, from Ma and Rose of Sharon, surface in such dire times.
Rosasharn and Selfishness
Let’s face it: Rosasharn, as interesting as her name may be, is one of the least consequential yet most annoying characters in The Grapes of Wrath. In a way she’s a foil for Ma, that strong, almost paternal presence whose morality sometimes surpasses even Tom’s. Rosasharn is subdued, uncertain, and entirely dependent, providing fodder for the novel’s occasional but potent sexism. In short, she’s every stereotype I hate to see projected onto my gender.
Her greatest crime, however, is that she is unabashedly selfish. Everything she does (which isn’t much) is either in her best interest or in the best interest of her child – but only because having “a freak” (393) would reflect poorly on her, arguably.
She constantly whines about needing milk, and even though Winfield also needs milk, she eyes it jealously until Ma sneaks a small cup of it to her. Worse still, she blames Tom (and, earlier, the deaths of both Grandpa and the dog) for ruining her child, seeing as she herself never sinned, and “didn’ dance no hug-dance” (394). (Remarkably, she never seems willing to hate on Connie, the only character who ever did anything directly to her or her child: abandonment and neglect.) But she admits this not only in a holier-than-thou sense, bragging about her morality, but rather with regret. As her child is already screwed up, she might as well have had some fun at the government camp.
I might be acting a little unfairly toward Rosarsharn, of course. In a sense, she was proven right in the end – her child was stillborn. Whether this was a result of all the sin and depravity she witnessed (as she would like to believe), or merely the malnutrition and poor living conditions they experienced, or the stress and emotional damage from losing Connie and other family members, or just fate itself, Steinbeck never reveals. He leaves things complicated.
But regardless of what caused her child’s death, the fact remains that it changed her in a way that none of their previous troubles could. Everyone else grows over the course of the novel, but it’s not until the very end that Rosasharn finally gets over herself and sheds her selfishness entirely, giving her milk to a total stranger. It’s all she has left to give. As the book implies throughout and states directly multiple times, the poor are the most charitable. And while Rosasharn was always poor, it's not until she has experienced one of life's greatest losses that she takes on this maxim. Her charity in the final pages matches the tragedy of her loss.