Great Works I: Remixing Memory

This was a really enjoyable adaptation to watch, and as some others here have already noted, it was successful in its presentation due to the cutting and addition of certain lines. I think it worked well for the most part, though I was disappointed to see these lines cut:

“She wished she had not heard it, yet she wishes/That heaven had made her such a man. She thanked me,/And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,/I should but teach him how to tell my story,/And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake.” (1, 3, 187-192).

I think these are important lines that give Desdemona some depth beyond the story of the adaptation; the unfortunate wife of a jealous husband. These lines don’t so much alter the story or her character, but inform her motivation to be with Othello beyond her faithfulness due to her religion. In these lines, it’s revealed by Othello that she expressed her desire to endeavor on such adventures, and getting close to the source of this journey, namely himself, pleased her to no end. The stories made her want to be with him and they were the key to her seeing more to Othello than “the Moor”. Her motivation to be with Othello is closely related to her lack of stories, his make up for her void. He completes her, and she, in listening and accepting these stories through his eyes, completes him. Not including these lines in the film simply makes for a character that goes unexplored, a character in Desdemona that would have been really interesting to see. In the same way that Othello’s tales give depth to his character in Desdemona’s eyes, these lines give Desdemona depth in Othello’s eyes and in our reading of her.  I think the addition of these lines would have been more valuable than it may at first let on.

Also, Emilia’s scene at the end of the play was really really well done.

Othello and Desdemona in Venice

This painting is by French artist Theodore Chasseriau, from the 19th century. It particularly resonated with me at first glance, because the artist puts it on the viewer to determine how Othello as a subject of this painting is supposed to be seen. Whether it is a deliberate choice, bad lighting, or simply the artist’s style, Othello’s face is undoubtedly supposed to be hard to make out. I’ve looked at different versions of this painting, and in each one, even when the lighting seems to be better and the image clearer, Othello’s face and the details of it are difficult to see. Othello is a Moor, he is dark-skinned, but something tells me that the artist did not look upon this fact to make the artistic decision he ended up making. The artist clearly looks to represent Othello as darkness, as shadow, as an overwhelmingly bad presence, corrupting Desdemona’s pure image. This is evidenced by the way the shadow falls over the top half of Desdemona, while her white, flowing gown is in the light. The artist wants to show that part of Desdemona is still uncorrupted by Othello’s influence. This is highlighted especially by the contrast in Othello’s clothing. His clothing is rich and dark and he wears a turban. The play however makes no mention of it, and the play itself makes Othello’s character clear to be a Venetian who has cast away his Muslim roots. All in all, this is not a positive depiction of Othello. I think that the influence of Orientalism was the strongest factor that the artist counted on to make these decisions. Orientalism was a popular theory among the Western world  in the 19th century, and though our study of it has only applied to the reading of The Arabian Nights, there is undoubtedly Orientalism’s mark on this painting. Othello, even though he has canonically turned away from his former religious identity, is still depicted in this painting as “one of those”. The artist doesn’t seem to care about canon, the artist portrays Othello here as a Muslim who corrupts fair Venetian girls.

(I don’t recall the title of this piece, but it’s what drew my interest because I have always associated the six-pointed star with Judaism. In Hebrew it’s called a magen david. Now that I think about it, it’s not so surprising to have seen this six-pointed star in the Islamic art collection, because as a geometric shape it is very versatile in the way it can be presented. And cultures draw on influences from each other. This was not the only piece that featured a six-pointed star in this collection!)

The collection was really really nice, and the general sense I got from just about every piece is that there’s a religious story that is being told with minimal imagery. I actually read (or maybe heard?) somewhere that because Islam prohibits the use of idols and idolatry, there are rarely depictions of people or even the prophet Muhammad in mosques or other places of worship. Instead, as the Met collection evidenced, there is huge emphasis on geometric shapes. That’s why you’ll find that mosques are often decorated very extensively and ornately the way in this way. Where there is a need to tell a story, there are blocks of text from the Quran. It’s important to note that culture has great influence on the way religion is approached and practiced. In fact, the only places I really saw people depicted in the Islamic art collection were in the collections from Central and Eastern Asia.

The way geometric shapes are used, though, is interesting because while they are by nature highly structured, they are incorporated seamlessly into lively designs that do not just sit there (for lack of better words). In the same way, the reading is structured — night by night, tale by tale — but is part of a larger story. Each story is part of a greater narrative. Each story serves to sustain the greater narrative.

One difference that struck me right off the bat was how all but Ezra Pound’s translation called the plums the two characters played with green (Line 4). Having read the Pound translation before the others set me up with the notion that the objective truth is that the plums these two toss around are blue in color. But every other translation, when the plums are mentioned, call them green. Is Pound’s grasp of the original Chinese just that much worse than the other translators’? I’d think that these two colors would be difficult to mix up. It’s not even so much the color, as it is the fact that green fruit are typically unripe, and a blue plum would be considered ripe. If the other translations say “green” to convey a tone of the lack of readiness the girl has for her relationship to her lover, then that would make sense. But why then does Pound call the plums blue? Is that also metaphorical and symbolic for the state of their relationship? I don’t think so, I think someone messed up real bad in this translation, even though Pound’s was the absolute best out of them all.

Second difference would be in Witter Bynner’s translation. In his translation, Line 12, he writes, “Learning that no dust could ever seal our love”. Not so much a difference but the energy it conveys made me feel different about this part than when I read the other translations. The other translations make it clear that even in death, when they are both ashes and dust, they are together, forever. But this line confuses me mostly because the word “seal” makes me think that the translator means the exact opposite of what the other translators imply. That death is not a state where love exists. That in this translation, their love transcends the bounds of death, that being dust and ash does not appeal to the girl. That they take on a form of love that death can’t tie down, can’t seal. Which is pretty much what the other translations say, but this translation in particular expresses this sentiment so much more powerfully.

A third difference is between the line “And I will come and meet you and will never mind the distance” (Line 29) in Bynner’s translation, in comparison to Yip’s, Pound’s, Lowell’s, and Obata’s translations. Bynner does it again, manages to convey a deeper, heavier meaning to this line than anyone else. “I will never mind the distance” paints an incredibly strong portrait of devotion and loyalty, whereas the others say something along the lines of “i’ll meet you at the place”. Like alright, that’s nice I guess.

Ezra Pound’s translation is the best. It was a genuine pleasure to read. Bynner’s is a close second. The other translations paled in comparison. I HATED FLETCHER’S TRANSLATION. GO HOME FLETCHER. NOBODY LIKES YOU. I’d also like to say that the word “skyey” in Obata’s translation (Line 23) is a terrible word that should never be used again by anyone ever.

Rama breaks the bow for Sita’s hand in marriage

At first glance, it seems as though focal point is the bow; it’s being raised over all their heads by Rama, your eye is drawn to it. It seems like it should be the focus of the piece, but while your eye does get to it eventually, the center figure in this piece is actually Sita. That’s really interesting because if I were the artist I’d make the focus Rama’s incredible feat, but while this artist clearly emphasized its importance, the focus is clearly on Sita. Sita is portrayed passively, her head is bowed and she is offering a necklace or garland(or maybe holding it in prayer?) Rama is surprisingly small? I expected from the description that he would be larger, more broad shouldered, but assuming that Rama is the blue one, he is rather slight in frame. He is as tall as Sita, in fact his proportions are all in line with hers. He’s still a youth in this part of the story, but this is definitely remarkable because even though some women have been portrayed as powerful in the story so far, they are always subservient to the men. A physical representation of this power imbalance is something I would have expected, but the only thing that suggests this is Rama’s head lifted upward while Sita’s is lowered.

There are probably different translations and versions of the Ramayana, because I don’t believe that Sita was present for the bow-breaking, in fact, she was inquiring after the fact to the messenger as to whether this was the same guy she saw and became infatuated with earlier. I guess that my interpretation of the text I’ve read so far is different from what the artist portrays. The artistic rendition, as “m.ruiz” mentioned is that the atmosphere is very still, peaceful even. For me, this was an intense and captivating and suspenseful part of the story; this artistic portrayal does not reflect that. I understand the art style limits this type of expression, but this scene, if it were to be interpreted in an animated way, would not carry the feeling that the text evokes; instead it is one of heroism after the fact. The text is much more suspenseful, “…Rama approached the bow with slow dignity…onlookers held their breath and watched” (26). It’s very cinematic to me. But for the artist, there is no use for this interpretation. I suppose this is because Rama, as the god Vishnu incarnate, is obviously the hero. It’s obvious that he would have displayed extraordinary strength where other suitors would not. There is no question in the artist’s eye that this is an obvious outcome to that scene, and that there is no reason to interpret it in any way that would cast doubt on Rama’s powers.

1. I’m analyzing the passage on pages 243-244, lines 472-482, said by Eurylochus. Odysseus and his crew has just had an encounter with Circe, in which Odysseus overpowered her magic and demanded his crew be turned back from swine to men. He is letting the rest of his crew know that it is safe to return to Circe’s halls. Eurylochus is the lone dissenter.

2. Having read Books 9-12, Eurylochus’ concerns don’t add up. He berates the crew for following Odysseus’ commands, because he believes Odysseus has only been leading them to danger. But Odysseus has actively tried to save his men at every turn. Eurylochus mentions “…tempting fate…”, what role does the fate the gods prescribe have in the realistic amount of his crew Odysseus can save? Is it Odysseus’ curse that leads them into peril’s way, or does a larger arc reveal itself in their daily struggles?

3. This passage is especially interesting because it begins with Odysseus saying that the rest of his crew “…jumped to do [his] bidding…”, where only Euylochus shows his discontent. It’s understandable that after a long and arduous journey, the crew might be upset at almost dying once again, but that only one member outwardly denounces Odysseus when he has proven that this time he isn’t putting his men in danger is symbolic of the role a fate set in stone plays for Odysseus. This is not the first mutinous outcry, not the first time members of Odysseus’ crew have went against Odysseus, and certainly not the last time until they all perish by the end of Book 12. Eurylochus asks “Why are we tempting fate?”. I don’t believe any action on the part of the crew, not their mutiny, not their strict adherence and loyalty to Odysseus, actually tempts fate. This is a story that begins and ends with Odysseus, it is Odysseus who shapes it when he can (when he makes a god angry). It’s prophesized by Tiresias in Book 11, and Circe in Book 12, what will inevitably happen to Odysseus and his crew, and clear restrictions are put on their behavior if they are to reach home. Even when his crew kills the cattle of the Sun, it is still the fault of Odysseus, because his lack of control over his crew not to rest on the island led to their actions. He is the figure in control for better or worse, and when he slips, he angers the gods.

It’s interesting foreshadowing that Circe turns some of Odysseus’ crew into swine, and then they are all to die, like pigs to the slaughter because they, like slaughterhouse pigs, have no role in their inescapable fate.

My passage of choice spans lines 410-440 in Book 5. There’s a number of really interesting things going on here. The content of this whole passage is a direct result of Poseidon’s ire at Odysseus. Poseidon’s hell-bent on destroying Odysseus, and he has done so thus far by directing the elements to Odysseus’ disadvantage, Poseidon god of the earthquake, forces brutish winds and giant waves at Odysseus’ humble vessel, doing anything he can as a god to send him to his death. Or so it seems! I find it very strange that Poseidon does not just smite the “man of misery” if Odysseus invokes Poseidon’s wrath so. Even stranger is how Poseidon just lets Odysseus swim to land, and does not pursue him; instead he threatens that the place of the people who love Zeus is the place he will find his punishments heavy. This brings out a different side of Poseidon, one that is not too surprising given the motivations and inclinations of the gods. The gods, it’s no secret, enjoy revenge, and they like to exact it in ways that are seriously wack. It’s like Olympus’ national pastime. I think this would go to explain why Poseidon hasn’t just created the largest wave in existence to drown Odysseus once and for all; he really likes toying with him. That’s how gods pass their time, apparently. Poseidon prioritizes killing Odysseus for blinding the Cyclops (Book 1, lines 81-85) below the entertainment value he will get out of almost killing him several times. Which I guess is a more appropriate punishment to fit the crime of stabbing the Cyclops in the eye? But gods don’t usually take appropriate measures in dealing with their victims, so that doesn’t really apply in this case.

The gods in this story affect Odysseus in similar ways, even though their intents may be vastly different. They all affect Odysseus indirectly. Poseidon manipulates the ocean and the wind, which in turn affect Odysseus; Leucothea gives him her scarf of immortality, which lends him an opportunity to make it out of the deadly sea alive. Athena makes herself look like people who have some influence on other people whose decisions affect Odysseus’ journey. I guess this is more a comment on how we expect stories of mythology to depict otherworldly events that carry a certainty and definiteness to them, whereas The Odyssey has focused a lot on how various factors affect Fate. The gods are very observant of Fate and their role in it is a supporting one, rather than a literal hand of god sort of thing.

Also, I like the line, “warm as the joy that children feel when they see their father’s life dawn again…”, as it’s tying in Telemachus to his father’s part of the story.

First off, Socrates is wrong overall, but he makes some good points; that writing relieves the individual from the task of memorization, that writing can be dead on arrival, in the instance of speeches, where “the speaker always gives one unvarying answer” (Phaedrus 97e). However, these points are irrelevant, mostly because Socrates unreasonably demands too much of forms of expression that have little to do with having the sole purpose of continuous dialogue. Socrates is silly in his assertion of paintings being lifeless, because they obviously are! Of course they will “preserve a solemn silence” when asked a question (97e)! Their purpose is not to entertain your thoughts! Neither is the purpose of speeches to have a discussion, but rather the purpose is to present an idea that serves as a jumping off point to that conversation.

I think that Plato, who Carr writes “…shared Socrates’ worry that reading might substitute for remembering, leading to a loss of inner depth…”, was mostly right, and took this idea on with a more measured mind than Socrates (The Oral World vs. The Written Word). It’s also important to remember that Socrates was often Plato’s “character”, since Plato used Socrates in his works at his own discretion. So it’s especially interesting to note Plato’s beef with the poets, who at the time were the representatives of oral culture. He knew that the highly evolved manner of knowledge keeping through the human vessels that were poet-scholars could be better store complex information without relying on memory. That oral tradition has artistic merit is not the matter of debate, it’s that “the written word liberated knowledge from the bounds of individual memory, and freed language from the rhythmical and formulaic structures required to support memorization and recitation” (qtd. Mcluhan, Carr).

Comparing the advent of the Internet to the invention of the alphabet is not accurate. The Internet, as Carr writes, shapes the process of thought. I completely share in Carr’s experience that “the Net seems to be…chipping away at my capacity for concentration and contemplation”. Bruce Friedman makes the point that that he “almost totally lost the ability to read and absorb a longish article”, something that I completely relate to. Most of the time, if I read an article with good information in it, I bookmark it and remember the name of the article rather than the content, if that. This trips me up real bad in debates and discussions I’ve had, where, I remember reading about a good statistic or point that would support what I’m saying, but I don’t actually remember what it is, only that it is there. It’s disadvantageous in an argument, since it makes you seem like you don’t have an informed opinion, only that you regurgitate information, rather than think, which is accurate in a way.

I don’t think this is a sign we’ve become stupid, but this does mean that our memories aren’t as exercised as they once were, as Socrates correctly predicted.