The Necklace

The first time I read “The Necklace” by Guy de Maupassant, I was in eighth grade. At the time, I closely related it to that Christmas story where the lady chopped off all her hair to buy her husband a pocket watch chain and her husband sold his pocket watch to buy her a comb for her hair. Sure, the main character in “The Necklace” was a lot more vain, but the circle of work that is required for no reason just depressed me. How was the whole hair story supposed to make you feel good about Christmas? “It’s the thought that counts” never sufficed for me in that story.

Anyway, “The Necklace” follows Mathilde, a woman who was “pretty and charming” but was born into “a family of clerks” and had “no dowry, no expectations, no means of being known, understood, loved, and wedded by any rich and distinguished man” (887). Even without ever having experienced the luxuries the rich can afford, the woman still suffered “from the poverty of her dwelling, from the wretched look of the walls, from the worn out chairs, to the ugliness of the curtains” (887). She dreamt of jewels and delicate meals and parties.

Her ridiculous fantasies are not please when her husband finally does find a way for her to go to a party of which she had always dreamed. Instead, she complains that she has no dress to put on her back. Greedily, she asks for four hundred francs that her husband with which he had meant to buy a gun. When her dress is finished, she is still not satisfied. She needs jewelry.

Her solution? Running to her rich friend, Mme. Forestier. She finds a “superb necklace of diamonds” which makes “her heart…beat with an immoderate desire” (889). With her outfit complete, she happily attends the high brow social event.

At the end of the night however, she loses the necklace. Both Mathilde and her husband Loisel search in vain, retracing the path of the carriage ride and trying to remember the cab number. In the end, they come to the conclusion that they must simply buy a new one.

Of course, the price of the necklace is absurdly high, but they borrow money from friends. Every month, more money was due to multiple people. It took ten years of hard labor to repay every penny. Her looks change so much that her friend Mme. Forestier does not recognize her at all. Mathilde tries to blame her for causing her so much pain from losing the necklace at the ball ten years before. Mathilde confesses to giving her a real diamond necklace back. The catch? Mme. Forestier’s necklace “was paste” and was “worth at most five hundred francs” (893).

I suppose it’s good that Mathilde’s vanity wears off, but the suffering of ten years without any break whatsoever? Living in a constant fear of debt and bankruptcy? The story is written well enough to feel like the ending was not completely out of the question, but who would torture their characters so harshly?

Fate is not kind to the characters at all. Mathilde was born into poverty with strikingly good looks and yearns for acceptance from the upper class. In that way, she has no say in the matter. However, when she loses a fake necklace and replaces it with a real one, she could have easily avoided the mishap by telling Mme. Forestier in the beginning. Surely if they were friends enough, she would have been angry but fine if the necklace was real and Mathilde offered to buy a replacement! Anyway, in the latter case, Mathilde just did not think the entire situation through.

I haven't been there, that's not where I'm going

Connie reminds me of every middle school student who was lucky enough to skip the awkward stage of their growth… one of those people of whom I was jealous. And she ditched her friends! All combined, I did not like the protagonist of the story. Actually, I do not like any person in the story, though as a whole, I enjoyed reading through the piece. It was disturbing, but interesting nonetheless.

“Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” is written in third person. Despite the potential to be an omniscient narrator, the story is told with a close connection with Connie. There is some insight into what she is thinking but a lot of her feelings are ambiguous. Since everything is biased towards Connie, the views of her sister and mother are slighted. Connie’s overpowering self-confidence is a sharp contrast in her mind toward her sister, June, who is plain and homely. Nine years Connie’s senior, June is viewed as the dumb older sister. When going to a simple barbeque, Connie dresses “up as if she didn’t know what a barbeque” is (1024). The mother is viewed as a bitter woman past her prime; the reader is led to believe that June is the favorite, but in keeping with Connie’s self-esteem, Connie later states that “her mother preferred her to June just because she was prettier, but the two of them kept up a pretense of exasperation” (1024). Even poor old Dad is not safe from the reader’s judgment; his disinterest in his own child makes him a prime candidate of dislike.

Nothing could keep Arnold Friend from being completely abhorrent, however. Connie’s self-absorbance is nothing compared to Arnold’s overall stalker-like behavior. The irony behind his name itself is indication of his two-sided nature. I personally believe he added an extra “R” in his name, because he is anything but friendly.

Several questions popped into my head as I read through Oates’ short story. For example, what is the secret code of numbers written on the car? Are those the ages of the women he’s raped? Are those the ages he has pretended to be? How can a voice be a “bright monotone?” (1025). Where did he get all the information on her and her family? This guy is just generally creepy! After the narrator reveals his real age—which is over thirty—the whole story just comes crashing. She wants to call the police but he threatens to come into the house only if she picks up the phone.

When she does try to call the police, all she does is scream as Arnold comes in and takes her away. Does he literally stab her or just jolt the breath from her lungs? The narrator keeps pointing out that her back is wet; is that from sweat or blood? I was thoroughly confused. Does she die? He talks about going to the country; is he going to leave her out there? He already tells her that she isn’t going to live in that house ever again.

The last thing he says is “my sweet little blue-eyed girl” though Connie’s eyes are brown. Clearly Arnold has gone insane. My mind ran rampant through the possibilities of back stories for Arnold Friend. He must have had a wife who left him or a girl in his past who slighted him—and she must have had blue eyes. Connie’s resemblance made her special to him, as he pointed out in the beginning.

Yellow Woman

Even though “Yellow Woman” by Leslie Silko was a straightforward story, I was still confused about the meanings behind all the actions and symbols. The whole tone of the story was mellow and never seemed to rise (at least to me), even when the yellow woman runs away from the white man whom she and Silva confront. Furthermore, the time the story was set felt like it was way in the past—but at one point the narrator mentions “highways and pickup trucks” (1135). The whole story just felt ambiguous. Heck, even the narrator’s character is not clear. She originally tells Silva that she is Yellow Woman, but the day after their little escapade, she tells him she isn’t—but never reveals her true identity. She keeps saying that she isn't the mythical woman whom her grandfather often told stories about; Silva even says he does not believe in the stories. He believes that every generation keeps believing that the story could not possibly happen in present times-- that old stories stay in the past. What's funny is that the yellow woman contributes to the old Yellow Woman stories by telling her family that "some Navajo had kidnapped" her (1140).

It wasn’t that I disliked the story completely—I just didn’t appreciate the characters. The Yellow Woman clearly has a woman back home, but every time she tries to leave Silva, she forgets where she’s going or why she decided to leave in the first place. What is she looking for, exactly? A man who just orders her around? It’s like she’s stuck in an abusive relationship—except she’s barely known him for 48 hours. And Silva—I don’t even know what to think of him. He steals cattle from the Mexicans for a living—he admits it to the narrator—and even steals the yellow woman. Not that I think of women as objects, but I’m pretty sure that Silva views the world as things to be permanently borrowed—as if there are no boundaries between people and things. There is no remorse in his actions; he is not necessarily cold. Just unfeeling. I think it’s interesting that the word “silva” means forest or trees. In the same way, nature tends to take things away—steal them, perhaps—without necessarily being cold. It’s just the way the river flows.

Overall, the story was okay. It wasn’t my favorite of the year. The characters weren’t as unlikable as some; I just wish they were more… defined, I suppose.

What is a Cathedral?

As I began to read this story, I developed a dislike for the narrator. He spoke frankly about his wife and her old summer employer with whom she kept in touch for ten years. He did not like the fact that he did not really know them man and seriously disliked the fact that he was blind.

I’m a very tolerant person; I enjoy expanding my horizons and meeting new people. It was one of the reasons I wanted to move away from home. The fact that the narrator was so honestly judgmental about a man he has never met irked me throughout the story. Worse yet, he did not even trust his own wife’s good opinion; there must be a reason that they were such good friends even after not “seeing” each other for ten years. I know that if my close friends have someone they want me to meet, I’ll most likely enjoy their company.

I think I laughed when I read the first couple of paragraphs because the basis of his discrimination originates from the movies. He believes that “the blind moved slowly and never laughed” which is clearly not true. It was almost a poking at today’s society; we are told so many false statements that it’s hard to distinguish between the good and band information. We rely so heavily on technology instead of going outside and experiencing the world for ourselves.

The beauty of Robert—the blind man—is that he can actually see the world much clearer than the husband can. For instance, the narrator hears that Robert’s wife was named Beulah and exclaims that she must be negro. In truth, the color of the skin should not matter at all; Robert is able to be shielded from the prejudices of sight. He can judge people based on how they act, not simply how they look. The narrator is unable to “see” the personality behind people. One can only conclude that is why he does not have any friends.

I found Robert absolutely endearing. He accepts that every day is a new day—it’s worth it to go ahead and learn something new. In turn, he teaches Robert something—he can learn how to see without looking. The namesake of the story—“Cathedral”—is really not relevant at all. I mean, Robert learns what a cathedral looks like, but I don’t think the name fits the story as well as something… else. I’m not really sure what I would name it, but “Cathedral” is just misleading.

I love that Robert knows that this is entirely different for the husband. While tracing his drawing of the cathedral, he states that it’s okay. He knows that he “didn’t think [he] could… but [he] can.” Robert believes the husband can change—that trust in his transformation actually brings about the change in the narrator and overall makes me like the story so much more.

The last few lines are sweet. Instead of opening his eyes to see his creation, he keeps them closed and takes in his surroundings. He knows he’s home. And he knows he did well. That’s all that matters.

Sabotage!

Revenge is an easy theme to which a person can relate. No matter how “good” a person is, retribution is always in the back of people’s minds. For example, in “Saboteur,” an educated professor in China is wrongfully arrested for exclaiming that an officer spilled tea on his new shoes (on his honeymoon, no less).

Mr. Chiu opens the story with a sort of mellow air; he eats unhurriedly and speaks of exhaustion. He and his wife are coming to the end of their two-week long vacation, and Chiu is actually glad to be returning home. He believes that his hepatitis may flare up soon and is ready for a rest. The setting is generally gloomy; the air smells of rotten melon and flies buzz around people’s lunches. Even the description of Chiu’s new bride is sickly; beads of sweat collect on her pale cheeks as she kneads the “root of her nose with her fingertips.”

After the scuffle with the police officers, Chiu realizes that resistance is futile. He tells his wife to go ahead on the train and to send someone if he does not follow within a day. The protagonist, Mr. Chiu, is forcefully taken by the policemen and is locked in a cell.

Later that day, Mr. Chiu is taken out to be interrogated. He notices that in only a few hours, the police “had accumulated a smile pile of writing about him” even though he technically lived three hundred miles away and it was his first time in this particular city.

As a communist citizen in a communist country, Mr. Chiu is actually supposed to be punished more for failing “to be a model for the masses.” They charge him with sabotage just for basically asking for an apology. The chief throws all of Mr. Chiu’s defenses back at him, like the witnesses at the train station. Apparently there were several who signed papers saying that Chiu was at fault, and not the officers. The fact that the officer had hit Chiu’s hand also could not prove that Chiu’s feet were wet from the policemen’s doing.

Chiu is told that the only way he would be let off easily is to sign a paper stating that he was at fault and that he would not disrupt the public order again. Chiu resists, stating that he is innocent and should be let go immediately with a letter explaining why he is late to his university appointment. Instead, the chief locks him up over the weekend. The dutiful wife ends up sending an old student (who later became a lawyer) to fetch Chiu, but he proves to be more of a bother than help. The policemen just claim that he is a fraud and chain him in the backyard outside. The only way that the officers will allow the two to be free is if Chiu signs self-criticism.

Annoyed and tired of the abuse of the men at the station, Chiu signs to the lies and frees the man who was sent to save him. Before returning home, however, Chiu stops at several restaurants near the police station. He orders a bowl or two of food at each one, mumbling all the while about how he wished he could “kill all the bastards.” The ex-student is completely mystified by his behavior. The states that it is the first time he ever thinks “of Mr. Chiu as an ugly man,” with his jaundiced face and puckered skin.

The story closes with simple facts: over eigh hundred people contracted acute hepatitis in Muji. Six die of the disease, including two children.

The passive-aggressive approach Mr. Chiu takes against the police officers was mildly humorous to me, although the outcome was obviously not positive. The injustice brought upon Chiu was clearly uncalled for, but so was the revenge. It almost reminded me of how ridiculous Montresor was in “The Cask of Amontillado”; was murder necessary as payback? It was also interesting to see how even seemingly nice people are capable of atrocious acts. Surely Chiu was not thinking about all of the people he would eventually affect from the spreading of his hepatitis, but just knowing that an educated individual would stoop to low levels to spread revenge is interesting. In the end, Chiu truly commits the crime for which he was originally punished: sabotage.

Resignation "In the American Society"

“In the American Society” has to be one of the most enjoyable short stories I have read in a while. Being from a family whose parents are immigrants and children are American born, I can totally understand the predicament the family faces. Although our stories are not completely alike, I see a lot of similarities between my family members and the characters in the story… and a lot of what the narrator says is exactly what I have had passing through my mind as I watch my parents go through the motions of blending the culture they left behind and the culture they have come to live in.

The first section of the story is subtitled “In His Society,” showing the workings of the mini-community Ralph sets up for himself. He initially tries to assimilate into the American society by planning ahead for his daughter’s college tuition, but runs his entire business the wrong way despite starting off well. Helen sighs at Ralph’s mindset that America is just like China, but even her own upbringing keeps her from stepping out of her own boundaries as a woman. The Chinese believes that “to embrace what [the] father embraced [is] to love him; to embrace something else [is] to betray him.” Now, my mom has never been the timid type by any means, but there were always times where she was hesitant to purchase something or try something new. My brother and I were always the ones to instigate her; we always pushed her to do it (especially if there was something for us to gain).

Ralph also pushes his workers to be more than just their assigned job. He does not listen to the complaints of the workers, either. He continues to push them further, asking them to do odd jobs not only at the restaurant, but at his home too. I think Ralph tries to take what he imagines he would enjoy from the American society and blend it into his own. When one by one, the employees leave, Ralph still believes “that the fault lay with them,” and not his own management. At wits end, Ralph hires illegal workers, seeing the law as guidelines but not strict rules. The stubbornness with which Ralph is portrayed is exactly like my dad. My parents did a fine job of adjusting to the American ways, but sometimes I can see that bit of “but back then…” creeping into our household.

The second half of the story made me laugh the most, as the daughters began to play a larger role in the story. Upon going to a party technically “uninvited,” Helen exercises some of her power as the woman of the household to force Ralph to buy a new jacket. However, Ralph does not take off the price tag, saying that he would “Like to asking the tailor about the size.” Mona sees right through his charade, exclaiming that he wants to wear it and then return it. Caught off guard, Ralph replies stiffly—repeating that all he wants to do is ask the tailor about the size.

While the mother enjoys the party, Ralph lingers at the finger foods. The narrator tries to read but is coerced into being a pseudo waitress. The other sister flits off with her friend, gossiping. The way the characters disperse into the crowd while Ralph holds back is an example of the father just being out of place when not in his own environment. The party gives Ralph a chance to step back and see how his family’s views differ from his own. This small revelation is enough to let his anger take the best of him when a drunk man comes up and begins yelling. He throws the man’s shirt in the water and then allows his own jacket—price tag and everything—to be thrown in the pool, only to find out that the keys were in the pocket as well. Nevertheless, he tells his family they will walk home and wait for the party to finish before calling about the keys.

Mona’s last statement is that they would have to dive for the jacket. The father stops, saying finally that the “girls are good swimmers” not like him. His resigned statement shows that he understands the difference between his generation and theirs.

The Defeat in Force

The first two lines of this story completely threw me off. I suppose I was trying to read too fast, because I read “They were all new patients to me with the same name, Olson.” Then the fact that the narrative does not include any quotation marks to differentiate between the doctor and the family speaking just set the stage for a schizophrenic story. I had to reread the first two paragraphs several times to understand my error. Upon completing the entire story, I was confused again.

Diphtheria is a disease of the past. With today’s vaccinations, people rarely come across it—and even so, it is usually easily treatable. I know that diphtheria was a prevalent cause of death in children in the 1920s—in fact, it was nicknamed the “strangling angel of children” due to the toxins released from the bacteria in the throat. But that’s aside from the point. Treatments for diphtheria began to arise in the late 1920s, as well as vaccines (though they may not have been very effective). So if that is the case, why is diphtheria such a huge deal with Carlos? The story is published in 1938! Again, it’s another digression.

I finally came to the conclusion that it was not diphtheria that was the point of the story. It was the dilemma faced by the protagonist. Is the use of force justified when treating a patient? Or anyone, for that matter, if the cause is for their own good? (Is it sad that it took me forever to connect the title of the story to the main idea?)

The central protagonist is an unnamed doctor (do I sense a common theme against health care here? None of the doctors are very likeable in these stories). I think it’s pretty interesting point that the child is the only character with a full name—Mathilda Olson. Under normal circumstances, this would lead me to believe that she is the only “real” human character in the story. By naming her, she becomes more than just words on a page. It’s like naming a stray animal—you become attached when you realize its identity. However, her initial description is anything but heartwarming. Mathilda is as stony as marble, with “cold, steady eyes, and no expression to her face” (1298). She does not move, save for her rapid breathing… and her gaze never seems to falter from the doctor’s face.

Suddenly, she lashes out at the narrator, clawing “instinctively for [his] eyes” (1299) like a wild animal. At this point in the story, I began to feel the same emotions Williams describes. The doctor’s annoyance with the family and girl struck a chord I don’t often strum. He grows furious at the child’s refusal to open her mouth and have the doctor look at her throat. At the same time, the doctor mirrors Mathilda’s stubbornness by declining to wait another hour. He claims that he should “get a diagnosis” at that very moment because two children had already been found “dead in bed of neglect” (1300), but even he realizes that he has gone beyond just reason. He could have easily “torn the child apart in [his] own fury” (1300).

I initially believed that the doctor was absolutely abhorrent. Who could tear apart a child who is clearly sick and in need of medical attention? Doctors are scary people. At the same time, doctors are human. Surely the emotional stress of having patients die can cause the best men (and women) to break down and lash out.

So what happened when he finally got his diagnosis? The spoon was covered with the mucus that accompanied diphtheria. The only emotions described from there on out were Mathilda’s. How did he feel as he watched the poor girl lash out, crying tears of defeat? Was he thinking of possible treatments? Was he resigned to let her die in possible isolation? After all, others had to “be protected against her.” Williams’ word choice was interesting. His last sentence did not have a subject. It begins with “Tried to get off her father’s lap…” and goes on to finish the description of Mathilda. I suppose I imagined him as sitting slumped in his chair, too tired by all the energy he expended in shoving the spoon down her throat. It really adds to the overall downcast feel of the story.

Also, it wasn’t until the end that I began to really see Mathilda as more than an animalistic child. Did she know she was going to die? Or was she just upset that she didn’t get her way and not let the doctor see her throat? Was it both? It couldn’t have possibly been just the splinters in her mouth. Was there really no hope at that point for the girl to recover?

I think I’m ready for a happy story now.

(On a side note to any Death Cab for Cutie fans: was it ironic that the song “What Sarah Said” came on as I finished this blog? Just wondering.)