Reflections

As the course went on, I was continually reminded of my blog title, “Postmodernist Fiction: Blurring the Lines.” I think it was a fitting choice for a title, because we constantly questioned the lines between history and fiction, and the blurring that took place really cleared up a lot by creating intriguing questions. I have always had the questions about how accurate history is, but this class opened my eyes to the reality of contrast in history versus fiction that I had not considered all too much. I was drawn in again and again by the intertwining of both history and fiction in each novel, and that was great to read with an increasingly aware stance of the power of such writing.

All the books this semester were neat to read. Mumbo Jumbo was indeed the least appealing at the start, but I warmed up to it as the novel progressed. Although it was not a page-turner like Kindred, for example, it was so rich in ideas that it was hard not to appreciate. Stylistically I didn’t like the novel, however I gradually enjoyed the novel more and more as time progressed, because there are so many threads and concepts to follow, and it is intellectually stimulating. As a result, I really enjoyed writing the paper for Mumbo Jumbo, and really, all the papers. The class discussions were excellent in delving into subject area regarding the concepts of each novel, and while I did not have a loud voice in class, I definitely enjoyed and gained a lot from each discussion. That is ultimately why I like this class so much, it made me think in  literally everything we did.

Like many people in the class, my favorite novels this semester were Slaughterhouse-Five and Ragtime. They also had a plethora of ideas as well, and they were page-turners at the same time. In all novels that we read, but especially Ragtime, I developed a habit of constantly thinking about what each character represents. It was nice to start the course with Ragtime because it was so clear in demonstrating what a historical fiction looks like – the inexplicable events, inexplicable meetings, symbolic characters, historical characters, fictional yet seemingly historical characters. Since we read it first, I also constantly compared the other novels to Ragtime which for me personally was a fun aspect of the course. During sophomore year, my favorite paper was one where I compared and contrasted two novels we read, it is something I have always been attracted to in literature studies. So I did a lot of that this semester, and I appreciated comments that would arise during class discussions that falls into that category of comparison – whether it was putting specific characters, events or entire novels side by side. I can most definitely say that this course was enjoyable and thought-provoking.

Conspiracy Theories

In today’s panel-presentations, a lot of the discussion revolved around the credibility of stories, conspiracy theories specifically. I certainly agree with the conclusion that as more facts are presented, it ironically creates a less believable narrative. This relationship functions because of the imperfect nature of the world we live in, and the fact that nothing is really going to go exactly as planned. So when an overwhelming number of facts align perfectly together, it alerts any person and shows that the conspiracy theory has reason to be doubted.

In relation to Libra, the potential overly perfect narrative of the JFK assassination is definitely absent, because DeLillo believes that words will never capture the actuality of the moment anyways, and leaves room for interpretation. When it was published, critics initially claimed otherwise by saying that DeLillo is trying to convince of a completely wrong story of events leading to the assassination. However, such critics misunderstood DeLillo entirely, because he himself is aware of the impossibilities in such a task with the unlimited information on the event. DeLillo gives us a novel that has many representations as to what could have happened, which opens up the range of interpretation. For example, his character Raymo is completely fictional, but by including him, DeLillo acknowledges the entire category of people who could have had a major role in the assassination plot but disappeared. Raymo is a representation of all those people.

After class, I was talking with Quyen about the discussion and something pretty interesting happened. I opened up the conversation by talking about the idea of coincidence in the novel and DeLillo’s approach to explaining it, and soon enough she was telling me what was on her mind. She had been thinking of the reason why people search for conspiracy theories. Recently in US History we have learned about the illusion of American Omnipotence, the concept that the US has decided to make everyone’s business their own, feeling that they have the right to do so. Quyen related the US needing to know everything to the individual level of every person who creates conspiracy theories. As she was explaining, I stopped her mid-sentence in an exclamation because I realized a cool phenomenon. I realized that in creating a theory about why people create theories, she was doing exactly what she was explaining. In other words, I proposed to her that she was proving her own point. While she was not necessarily stringing events together and the like, she had a need to know what was going on, and projected a theory upon the matter. It *coincidentally* happened that she was talking about exactly that: placing theories on situations to fulfill intellectual desire. Evidenced by what I saw Quyen doing, we have come to the agreement that it does make sense that the motivation behind conspiracy theorists is related to the idea to have a sense of awareness about information and their implications.

Partly because of the motivation, I have also concluded, as mentioned, that conspiracy theories often times fail to be believable. The desire to be aware of everything inherently lends itself to over supplying information. But DeLillo does manage to quench any feelings of doubt you might expect when opening up Libra for the first time (based on subject of the novel). Even though it is a narrative about the JFK assassination, it is a fiction. Not a history, but a fiction. Returning to the very first ideas of this course, acceptance of Libra is in accord with the idea that fiction has the potential to be more believable than history. In the case of constructing a novel for the events surrounding JFK, I believe that is absolutely true. 

James Bond and the Greater Forces in Life

After the scene where Lee becomes associated with the Fair Play Committee and reunites with David Ferrie, Don DeLillo immediately follows with a passage describing Lee fitting in with the rest of the men involved in the Committee. DeLillo sets up the dynamic between Ferrie/Banister and Lee, and he also describes portions of Lee’s thoughts. Particularly, he focuses on Lee thinking over the multitude of connections between himself and President Kennedy. The connections seem a little odd, forced, and more like actions that Lee takes up just to match Kennnedy. Lee describes the similarity in how both the First Lady and Marina are pregnant, but also how he reads material of Mao just like Kennedy, and how he reads James Bond novels just like Kennedy.

The similarity that Lee thinks of that catches my attention the most is the reading of James Bond novels, because one random fact that I had heard of before watching the documentary and reading Libra is that JFK and his assassin (Oswald) were reading the same James Bond novel the night before the assassination. The cool little addition to Libra of mentioning James Bond novels actually first caught my attention in an earlier scene, when TJ Mackey is searching Lee’s apartment. Mackey needs a sample of Lee’s handwriting so he searches through his apartment, and while he is there, he sees objects that tell of Oswald’s personality. To close the scene, DeLillo writes, “The last thing Mackey saw, leaving the apartment, was a James Bond novel on a table by the door” (180). At the time I read this, I immediately though of the little fact I am familiar with. I also thought of the effectiveness in writing a historical fiction that the sentence entails, because all successful historical fiction novels have infinite background details filling in the setting for the plot and narrative to occur. DeLillo’s inclusion of the Bond novels is, at least on one level, an example of his basic strength in writing historical fiction. I like to note this simply because this idea ties in directly to my thoughts when I was working on the semester project. During those times, I considered the process of writing “good” historical fiction and what it is composed of, and providing little details to fit the time period was something that came to mind. I also recall talking about this sort of support detail as a class when the “walking races” were mentioned. It was suggested that anyone writing about the early 1900s had the freedom to include a detail about those races as a side note, even if it were not the main subject, just to strengthen the short story.

Throughout the novel, DeLillo writes about the idea of coincidence, thereby providing his own reasoning for the overlap of interests between Oswald and Kennedy. Often times, he does so through the voice of David Ferrie. When talking with Tony Astorina at one point, Ferrie says, “We don’t know what to call it, so we say coincidence. It goes deeper…There’s a hidden principle. Every process contains its own outcome. Sometimes we tap in.” Later, Ferrie says to Lee, “Think of two parallel lines…One is the life of Lee H. Oswald. One is the conspiracy to kill the President. What bridges the space between them?...There is a third line…It puts a man on the path of his destiny.” Basically, DeLillo is saying that coincidence is not substantial explanation for anything, and that everything happens with definite reason. The reason may be unknown, but there is some outside force moving it all along. Destiny is created and paths are meant to cross by the direction of this outside force, according to the outside force. Even when Ferrie was talking about other matters, such as the instances from the quotes, he manages to give an explanation of why Lee and Kennedy reading James Bond concurrently is significant.

Just before Lee is described as making the connection between himself and Kennedy, DeLillo describes how Banister’s secretary calls him Leon on accident. Ferrie however picks up the name anyway and uses it after the Marxist Trotsky. DeLillo then writes “Mistakes have this way of finding a sweet meaning.” So directly in the passage regarding the connection Lee and JFK, DeLillo does make indication to the theme that things happen for a reason due to that “hidden principle.”

Dana and the Middle Passage

A couple panel-presentations ago, the comparison between Dana and the Middle Passage was mentioned (I don’t really remember if it was from an article topic or if it just arose from discussion separately). I had never really thought of it before, but after some contemplation I have concluded that it does make sense. Whether the comparison was intended by Butler or not, it is a reasonable interpretation that actually helped me to clarify some of Dana’s traits. Looking at characters with a new perspective always has the potential to help.

The Middle Passage involved the trade of massive numbers of Africans into the Americas, and the treatment of the Africans was far from kind. They were rudely crammed into ships and not given sanitary conditions or space. In other words, they had no control. They had absolutely no voice in the process, starting all the way from their capture continuing through their long journey over the ocean and then in the Americas, until the end they had no say whatsoever. If they tried to do anything about their predicament, they would feel the harsh “no” to their opinion with a physical beating. Another aspect to the human trade system was that of personal disbelief. Taken out of their homes/home environment, soon-to-be slaves would be clueless as to what would happen to them next, and the fact that they could not change future events and that terrible things were happening to each of them played a role in this fear and utter disbelief. So while I am making a general assumption here, it is a safe one simply because of what the Africans had to endure.

Dana’s trips to the past overlap with both of these issues. Octavia Butler makes it clear that Dana has no control over her time traveling. Although not entirely explained why, it is left to the life choices of Rufus, because whenever he is in serious trouble she is sent through time to save him and then stay for some needed period. The unpredictability of her visits is the cause for her not to drive and to carry a bag with materials for survival, she doesn't know when she will be called. Once she is in the past, Dana can’t go back willingly, she has to wait until some other force/person threatens her life. Only on one occasion does she make a conscious choice that allows her to return to her normal time setting, and that is when she slits her wrists. This is just one possible interpretation, but this could analogous to a slave making the extremely risky decision to escape. Dana slitting her wrists and a slave trying to escape both stem from spite for a current life situation, and require lots of pain and risk. The second factor I mentioned in the Middle Passage was a questioning of why everything that happened to the Africans actually happened. Many times Dana thinks of why she has to go through Rufus’s life, and why she has to act the part of a slave. All she wants is the simple comfort of not having to time travel and enjoying life with Kevin at home. But it doesn't work out that way. Many times throughout the novel, after Rufus says something to Dana, Butler writes for Dana, “I said nothing.” This phrase constantly appears, and I think it implies Dana’s contemplation of why she has to deal with such problems. It also indicates a little fear she has of consequences that could occur if she doesn't agree with Rufus.

The significance of all this is that it amplifies the suffering Dana has to go through. Once hearing of the comparison, initially, the Middle Passage and Dana were linked in my mind because the journeys related to both headed towards a world of slavery.  Since the Middle Passage was obviously an atrocious part of history, to make the connection between it and Dana puts such a grave tone on her travels.

Rufus Is Not That Bad

As a white male plantation owner during the past in which Dana visits, it is not too hard to be a monster in the eyes of a modern American. The treatment displayed back then was in no way humane, and since Rufus is inherently placed in the role of a slave master it is not expected that he would show any respect to African-Americans residing on his plantation. However, within the dark and dismal dynamic of slavery, Rufus allows faint rays of light to shine through. We constantly see signs of how he shows compassion and genuine human emotion to Dana that make some of us question how that is even possible for a slave owner of the time. Haven’t the history books taught us to think of plantation owners as cruel unforgiving men that do not let their “property” go without constant beatings?

One specific scene that calls my attention towards Rufus is his decision to sell Sam to the deep South, because it raises many questions about who Rufus really is, and where is values truly lie. “He went. That was all. Innocent -- completely innocent. But three days later, a trader led Sam away in chains.” As the book describes, Sam does not do anything outrageous, rude, disobedient or purposefully against his master, Rufus. He is innocent, but Rufus just feels the personal need to send him away, and does not apparently care for the consequences this indicates for Sam and his family. Dana on the other hand sees the tragic events of a harder life for Sam that is to come clear as day, and so she runs and screams towards Rufus. She begs him not to sell Sam, and after a few moments of this plea, Rufus hits Dana. At that moment, Dana knows that an “unspoken agreement” between the two of them has been broken.

Events such as this show the unpredictability Rufus is capable of expressing. His overall treatment of slaves is not that bad generally, but when he strikes, he strikes hard. And, as stated, the worst of it is that the slaves have no bearing to know how to maneuver around these instances. All is based solely on the rash emotion of Rufus, and no one can do anything about it. The actual selling of Sam was just because Sam had talked to Dana, which Rufus found offensive. In comparison to Tom Weylin, Rufus is much worse in a way because of his dangerous unpredictability. Tom Weylin had a set of rules that were harsh, yet simple. Every slave knew them, and had the opportunity to live by them (however hard that may be) as opposed to the system of Rufus. Once Dana is hit, that is another sign of how fickle Rufus is in behavior. Dana is in fact quite surprised, and goes off to slit her wrists. Not only is she hurt physically, but also mentally, because she realizes yet again that she is viewed as an inferior being, one who is owned.

While there are aspects that portray Rufus in a negative light, the event involving Sam also shows how positively unique Rufus is as a slave owner. Throughout the whole novel I have appreciated the innocent side of Rufus, even if it does fade as he grows up. When Butler narrates how Dana feels when she is hit, the thought that came to mind was that it is amazing that they had the basic agreement in the first place. Their relationship is absurd for a slave master and black woman, but Rufus allows it to happen. I am aware of the fact that he may be purely tolerating Dana just so that he can survive, but I do acknowledge the (strong) possibility of his partial compassion. I believe that Rufus is different than those of his time, and although he has grown up with and is fine with his society, he has an easier time accepting Dana than any other white person. He is aware of the fact that Dana believes they are equal, but he is soft on her. His minimal violence towards her should not be ignored, but it does not outweigh the way he interacts with her. Just one example of this is that she calls him “Rufe” all the time.  He asks her for her opinions, and as readers we are made aware of his dependence on her. He is dependent on her for his life at times, but I am referring to the conversational dependence he has. Any truthful person-to-person sharing he needs to pour out, he does so with Dana, and he is not ignorant of this fact. The incident with Sam was a shock to Dana because she expected better of him. That expectation existing says a lot about who Rufus is. 

Kindred as a Fiction

Since the beginning of the semester we have asked ourselves what history and fiction mean in relation to each other, and where the fine line of differentiation lies. Continuing this search for knowledge, we embark on our literary journey with Kindred pondering over the question of how the form of fiction is significant in bringing the atmosphere of 19^th century slave life to an audience. In short, the answer would be that Octavia E. Butler specifically chooses to write a work of fiction with the purpose of creating the most meaningful and vivid account of the racist society the book is centered on. As opposed to a historical text, she can truly draw the emotion into play, rather than string together a narration of cold hard facts and numbers. The power of fiction is interestingly actually hinted at within the novel itself when Dana is reading to Rufus. As Dana dives into the story of Robinson Crusoe, she thinks, “As a kind of castaway myself, I was happy to escape into the fictional world of someone else’s trouble.” The entire scene is covered in a sense of pleasure on the part of both Dana and Rufus, and they become lost in a world other than their own, relating to the idea of heterocosms we have discussed in class. Their enjoyment of Robinson Crusoe is pretty cool since as I was reading I felt it was a parallel to how we, as readers, are pulled into the fictional story of Kindred.

The Prologue opens the novel in a distinctive fashion by jarring the reader with an emotionally and physically painful event. At the same time, the narrator is in a haze that clears only at the start of The River, and it is not until then that Dana recognizes/acknowledges our (the readers) presence. There are high levels of significance in the Prologue because we are aware of the fact that it is actually the end of events, in other words, the close to Dana’s story. However, by presenting it at the beginning, Butler manages to immediately notify readers of the stakes at hand, and the tensions present. By illustrating a physical injury of Dana, we are assured that the time travel throughout the novel is not a distant nonrealistic means of transportation. Instead, it beckons the reader to join the journey of Dana who is experiencing the time travel in a very active way herself. Consequently, everything Dana goes through, we go through (to some extent). Butler does a superb job in using her Prologue to set the mindset of readers for the rest of the book clearly. So basically her fiction takes full advantage of the opportunities a fiction provides in creating enhanced experiences and understanding for the audience.

One of the moments where I really felt the power of fiction was when Dana was watching Alice’s father getting whipped in the woods near his cabin. Dana narrates, “I could literally smell his sweat, hear every ragged breath, hear his cry, every cut of the whip. I could see his body jerking, convulsing, straining against the rope as his screaming went on and on.” Such imagery would not be possible in a standard history text, but is used effectively by Butler. The suspense of the event as Dana is watching from a hidden location ties in with the mindset Butler offers the reader to take through the Prologue, and the result is that we feel the heat of the moment with Dana. Not long after in the passage, Dana stressfully contemplates how she has never seen anything like what she is seeing at the moment of the whipping, and even compares her new understanding to her old understanding based on modern portrayals by television.

In a way, our emotions and perspective on the subject of the ante bellum South shift as Dana’s understanding shifts. Butler is aware of this, and ultimately that is a primary reason why Kindred is presented in the form of fiction. 

Lack of Free Will

The reason why I enjoy the Tralfamadorians so much is that they provide Vonnegut with the opportunity to let his messages across of his thoughts about the world. The space view is really a bird’s eye view on humanity, and the Tralfamadorians are Vonnegut’s vehicle to let readers know what his thoughts are on life. Concepts are easily introduced through the Tralfamadorians, such as the absence of free will.

While on Tralfamadore, Billy learns that the people of Earth are the only beings in the universe that believe in such a thing as free will. In addition to the view of the characters, the narrator seems to orchestrate the novel in a way to indicate that the course of events are not directed by free will anyways. We, as readers, get the sense that the Tralfamadorians are all-knowing when they say things like “That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim.” Vonnegut depicts them as superior in knowledge, and so for the purposes of the novel at least, we can take the word of the Tralfamadorians that the idea that there is no such thing as free will is established. In fact, the very event of Billy traveling to Tralfamadore is evidence to the dynamic of the absence of free will in Slaughterhouse-five. Tying into the concept of non-linear time, Billy knows that he will be captured by the aliens and taken to another planet…yet he does nothing about it, perceiving the future as a given. Also his time spent in the zoo is symbolic in showing that he can do nothing about his predicament (predicament might not even be the right term because Billy doesn’t seem all too bothered by it). His controlled setting show that he is not the one making the calls for his own life. It is also interesting how cyclical time and the lack of free will work nicely together, because characters and readers alike know what is going to happen ahead of time, and everyone knows how the future is equal to the truth and is not going to change.

Details not directly related to the Tralfamadorians are in the novel to further add on to the idea of no free will. The often mentioned repetition of “so it goes” is one of them. There are several implications of the phrase, and one such usage is the indication that life moves on whether you like it or not. It flows to its own will, and doesn’t pay attention to the will of individuals. Another occurrence of free will being denied is the mention of the things that Billy cannot change, including “the past present and the future.” Vonnegut most definitely incorporates these snippets of repeated ideas in combination with the Tralfamadorian claim to say there is no free will.

As a last note I wanted to express my curiosity as to whether or not all of the messages Vonnegut gets across to readers through the Tralfamadorians are his own thoughts. So in this case, does Vonnegut himself believe that free will doesn’t exist? And if so, is there some greater importance he intends to send with that claim as a theme in the novel?

So it goes.

Although “interesting” may not be the most specific, complex, unique, custom-fit word to describe literature, I feel that it is appropriate and would like to associate it with the opening of Slaughterhouse-Five. Interesting. To start off the novel, Vonnegut offers a very autobiographical perspective in chapter 1. He is unusual in the way he combines the first chapter with what could be read as a preface to the novel, and calls himself out on the writing process and quality of his work. To add on to that, he employs an almost overly casual style applied to a serious topic, the effect of which can be interpreted in few ways, and the most popular in 4^th hour was a unanimous sense of authority assigned to Vonnegut. And if he really didn't go through all that he claims that he did, then he plays a character well because I am definitely believing what he writes. His non-affected tone puts him in a place for the reader to view him as genuine man and not some self-proclaimed expert that may or may not be delivering the right message. Even if he doesn't deliver the “right” message, we can still take Vonnegut seriously because it is his experience and insight to something he went through.

In addition to his writing style, the little fact that he keeps promises adds on to his credibility. What I mean by this relates to when he was on his visit in 1964 to see O’Hare. He sensed that Mary O’Hare was not on good terms with him, and when she exploded with a moment of criticism to the narrator (Vonnegut), she furiously objects to her expectation of Vonnegut writing a book on the glorious aspects of war, which, in her mind, don’t exist. Not long after he makes a promise not to have “…a part for Frank Sinatra or John Wayne” which satisfies her. He also promises to name the book “The Children’s Crusade,” which he did, even though it is not the primary/well-known title. This partly lets me conclude that he will also keep his word to not portray himself or war as a whole as something that should be celebrated or encouraged.

A large part as to why his tone is considerably overly casual is that he breezes by mentions of death and other atrocities. To make matters more interesting, he adds the phrase “so it goes” after each death. I take this as Vonnegut’s continuous reminder and commentary on how cruel this world is, and how he has become accustomed to it. Along the same lines, it is also a way for him to show how he believes that each death is just a speck in the big picture of this world, and time will move on, specifically, it will move on in a cyclical fashion. This theme of how he characterizes time is incipient early on, and he ties it in with the phrase “so it goes” as explained on page 27. The Tralfamadorians are people that don’t think of time linearly, and each time someone dies they say the phrase. Vonnegut adopts this meaningful phrase and mutters it by habit each time someone’s life is ended; reason being that the person who is no longer living is fine in several other moments, just not the one of the present.

One of the songs introduced in chapter 1 is about a figure Yon Yonson, and it enforces the idea about cyclical time in Slaughterhouse-Five:

“My name is Yon Yonson,

I work in Wisconsin,

I work in a lumbermill there.

The people I meet when I walk down the street,

They say, ‘What’s your name?’

And I say,

‘My name is Yon Yonson,

I work in Wisconsin…’”

The repeated nature of this song make this excerpt one of many examples of how Vonnegut recognizes time cyclically, which is strongly connected to the often used phrase “so it goes.”

I really enjoyed the way chapter 1 was closed. Vonnegut describes the story of Sodom and Gomorrah as he narrates what he was reading through at a motel. When the city is destroyed, people die: first use of “so it goes.” Then Lot’s wife looks back and instantly crumbles into salt which triggers the second use of the phrase. Following the story, Vonnegut plays with the aspects of the Sodom and Gomorrah story by generalizing that people shouldn’t look back, and he continues by commenting that he won’t look back again since he is a pillar of salt. Personally, I read this as his hinting to the fact that human nature is naturally imperfect, and just as he casually remarks about all the deaths, he does so about our world and people. Applied to his concept on time and vast world, he implies that the way of humans doesn’t matter. I just thought that the ending of the chapter was neat, and he tied together the aspects I mentioned here in my blog post into a tight end, which functions as the beginning for the story of the novel.

The Egypt Story of Chapters 52

When Papa LaBas bursts into the room of the gathering with T Malice and Black Herman, he arrives with a purpose to expose Hinkle von Vampton and Hubert “Safecracker” Gould, and he even wants them arrested. Some such as the Guianese art critic demand an explanation before any such action is carried out, and the story that is provided in response oddly begins 1000s of years in the past in Egypt. Readers can very easily be puzzled and it seems like the Egypt story is entirely random at first. The way Papa LaBas answers the art critic’s demands are so unexpected that as a reader I was thrown off and was anticipating and hoping for the moment when clarity would strike once again. To my surprise, at the end of the narrative a direct explanation bringing the story up to date by tying it in with Hinkle’s interactions with the book and such was provided, and so through this confusing story, I was left without confusion. When I reached page 191 and sighed with relief, my initial thoughts connected the end of a Sherlock Holmes short story to the closing of the speech of Papa LaBas. Watson always has some sort of sense as to what went on, but Holmes delivers the details that make up for all missing reasoning. I feel like Reed places the reader in Watson’s shoes in some ways and lets LaBas towards the end to be our Sherlock Holmes. Interestingly enough, later on in this past week our class discussions gravitated towards comparing Mumbo Jumbo to a detective story through the Panel Presentations.

For me personally, the weirdest part of the speech Papa LaBas gave was the inclusion of Moses. His story line was probably the farthest it could ever be from the Bible story I am used to. From his overall immature and overly anxious qualities to some more specific disturbing scenes, Reed definitely stretches the mind of any Christians (or Bible readers) that take on this novel. In our class so far, we have expanded our understanding of literature by blurring the lines of history and fiction, pointing out that histories are just interpretive collections of events woven together just as fictional works are. So I guess we could technically call the narrative a history, but to be honest, my mind does associate history with factual material, and therefore there is a biased part of me that does not want to categorize this story of Moses a history based on my background of reading the story of Moses according to the Bible. On the other hand, to the characters in the scene of chapters 52 it is just taken for granted. The art critic for example looks past the question of whether LaBas is speaking of a history or just making stuff up, and rather makes sure he has his facts straight on things such as Hinkle’s age in the story. Basically, the art critic is not questioning the possibility of the story, but instead whether or not LaBas is lying.

There is a lot to be said about the story itself and its significance. In general, throughout the novel Reed is often playful and seemingly random on the outer most layer, but the messages and questions he raises should not be missed. Here the Egypt story may seem out of place and strange but there is so much to take from it. One such aspect of the story is the relationship between and roles of Osiris and Set, which works as an application to the larger Jes Grew movement throughout the novel and is symbolic. Osiris is described as a god who loved nature, agriculture and dance. Set hated all of these things, and at one party told the guests to “cut out that racket.” When Osiris went on his trip around the world, Set took the time to try to snuff out the popularity of Osiris. It is pretty clear that Osiris represents or is the father to the Jes Grew movement according to the history presented by Papa LaBas. Set represents and is the embodiment of institutions and organizations as a whole that repress thriving culture. Even after Set murders Osiris, people celebrate his “living Spirit.” So it evident that the cycle of repression towards growing culture throughout history, specifically in Jes Grew of Mumbo Jumbo, is portrayed by the tension between Osiris and Set, and their story and its importance does not just end with the murder. 

Misery and Art

In this post I want to touch on the fact that many characters are trapped in their own world of problems that are solved through the course of the book, and what art means to the roles of Tateh and Houdini in the novel.

Many characters start off with a whole lot of pressure and misery in Ragtime. As their narratives unfold we see a common predicament that persists in their lives, and it is cured in some way or another by the end of the novel. Mother has her problems with Father who is constantly unaware and parochial, but he is replaced by Tateh in the end. Coalhouse Walker struggles inside his world of wanted perfection regarding the state of his car and how that is significant to him, and although he ends up dead, he momentarily had his moment of relief when Conklin restored the car. There are more examples of these overarching tensions that exists in almost all the characters, and two characters that many draw parallels between and have this trait of tension are Tateh and Houdini. Tateh’s world starts off extremely glum as he has little to support his daughter with after his wife left them. But he ends up being the one of the happiest characters in the end due to a line of events related to his art work. Houdini also faces trouble when his mom passes away, and his dark emotional states pull him out of reality. Compared to Tateh, he does not end up as happy/self content as a result of his work, but rather uses it as a way to escape the plain sadness in his life (and the act itself is to perform various forms of escape).

The fact that these two characters share the common ground of being artists carries different meanings for each of them. Doctorow does not treat Houdini with that much respect in general, which can be seen in the way he surrounds Houdini with the characters and events that he does. In other words, in addition to his problem that his mother passed away, he is definitely often mocked. From the circus performers to the Archduke that didn’t know who he was, Doctorow doesn’t really allow the reader to take Houdini seriously, there might even bit an aspect for sympathy when reading his plot. Tateh’s life is much different in his relation to art. It is similar in the respect that it is very personal to him, but it differs in that he actually clearly achieves what he wants from it. In the end he is able to provide for his daughter from the job he receives due to his motion pictures, and it is this change in his life that ultimately lead him to Mother, which seems to seal the happiness in their lives. Furthermore, I do want to lend the suggestion that Doctorow could be also hinting at and symbolizing the rise and influence of technology, and how it is beginning to surpass all else. It is Tateh’s motion pictures that get him his recognition and success, whereas Houdini’s obscure act is never fully appreciated by all.

Do I like Doctorow’s J. P. Morgan?

My initial reactions to J. P. Morgan the way Doctorow depicts him were positive, I saw him as a little strange and over the top due to his wealth, but I felt sympathy for him. Then looking back I realized there was a lot going against him in the descriptions of him and his life, but ultimately I felt he deserves a little understanding.

Morgan’s wealth was unparalleled, therefore his influence was as well. He even financially saved the federal government in their times of trouble (another U.S. History class connection) making him the one in control. In fact, his situation was so unlike that of any other person that he was apparently lonely. Lonely all by himself on top of the world, and there is the one moment in the novel where he expresses this fact to a gull perched nearby him. I am aware that many people read this scene as ironic and even laughable, but I think it is a moment that shows his real isolation. It brings out his human qualities and shows some signs of his feelings. His role in the book doesn’t end here though, as he also has an absurd obsession with Egypt and Egyptian artifacts. This study of his gives his own personality a further twist, and at the end of chapter 19 Doctorow delivers a surprising last sentence to close (as he often does to end chapters). Morgan thinks that Ford resembles the great Seti I, the father of Ramses.

Ford and Morgan have an interesting interaction that is the basis for my open eyes to Morgan’s state. When he invited Ford to join him for lunch he was expecting someone that would end his loneliness. Contrary to his hopes, Ford turns out to be a thorough disappointment. Even before their meeting Doctorow places a bad image on Ford. While he is respectable in the sense that he is efficient, respectable, and clean cut in his work, there is also the side to him that is simplistic, unaware, and unintelligent. Doctorow actually pulls in his 1970s perspective on the emerging energy crisis into the novel that reveals his distaste towards Ford’s mass production system. And concluding Ford’s involvement in the novel is the lunch meeting itself. Morgan had many guests before, and they were all apparently terribly uninteresting (hence his isolation in the world). Andrew Carnegie is brought up, for instance, as a guest who “dozed over his brandy.” But even though Ford surpasses these other famous (but unimpressive) figures, he takes on a new level of failure in Morgan’s eyes. I think this is why my first impression of Morgan was understanding, because I felt sorry for him. As the conversation between the two figures went along I could see Morgan’s hope being torn apart.

Many people in 4^th hour seemed to come to the conclusion that Morgan is a power hungry jerk, but I don’t think I can totally agree with those ideas. Yes, he has an abundance of wealth and he did steal a super-duper valuable sarcophagus, but he does have some traits that call for the reader to feel sympathy for him. His interactions with Ford bring out the most of these, and in the end, I feel that he is not so bad after all.

History versus Fiction in Ragtime

To open the semester, the intent of our first notebook prompt was to explore the distinction between history and fiction, and how one views each as a consumer. The ideas within my response from then have remained the same until now, in that there is a degree of discernment required when reading history that is nonexistent in fiction, which can just be taken for what it is. History consists of seemingly true facts and events that (from an educational point of view) undeniably happened. However, no two historical texts are the same. Based on the political, cultural, religious, or some such predisposition of the author, the account has the potential to be biased. To add on that, people have the right to question history as a whole since we can never know what really happened. Fiction, though often plausible, is imaginative from the start so there may be a level of curiosity, but never outright questioning.

After reading Ragtime, I can now reflect on the fine lines between history and fiction in the novel. Doctorow most definitely incorporates both, and often at the same time. He mixes the two so much that  a question comes to mind while contemplating this occurrence throughout the book: Does is matter whether or not we know what is fact or fiction (what sort of reactions does it create)? This is a question that stems from the very first prompt and is specific to the novel. To a certain extent, yes, it does matter. There is a natural mindset assigned when reading history and fiction, and they differ. There is simply no way around it. However, the primary layer of importance should be the symbolism and overarching themes of the time, so overall the distinction between history and fiction should not matter. In other words, the lens through which we see the text may alter slightly, but that should not distort the content and intents of the author. The novel is so rich in terms of symbols through various characters as well as generalizations/indications of the early 20^th century, particularly those of race and class. When Evelyn Nesbit and Emma Goldman have their moments together, the world of fiction is entered. Using the two entirely real people, Doctorow sets up fictional dialogue to delve into topics such as Nesbit’s beauty in relation to capitalism, and the narrator refers to her as a “sex goddess.” Symbolism and a stage to represent the feel of the times is set up in this way. Another instance where highlights were made of a real person’s life actions was the conversation between Booker T. Washington and Coalhouse Walker towards the end of the book. While the meeting between Goldman and Nesbit has an extremely slim chance of ever happening, the example of Washington is one that could not have occurred for certain. In real life, Washington had the goals of educated the freed black man, and working to set a good reputation for black people In general. By founding the Tuskegee Institute, he set up a system for them to earn respectable jobs. In Ragtime, Washington stresses the importance of image/appearance to Coalhouse, and how he needs to stop ruining it for black people.  He expresses that the actions of Coalhouse are those that have the potential to wipe out all of his life’s work.  The scene with Washington is one that has symbolism that uses but is not part of history.

So my “final answer” to my own question would be no, it does not matter so much. Doctorow has a way of stating everything in style so matter-of-fact that it blends history and fiction together even more, in addition to the jumping around from story to story (except for the end) that takes the focus slightly away from the plot. While it is easy enough to pick out what is fact and fiction throughout the book, it is not of necessarily high importance as the consistently straightforward tone of the narrator suggests. What matters more is the connections, references, themes, and symbols that present themselves through the characters, whether real or fictional.