Saturday, November 7, 2009
Links & Welcome
There doesn't seem to be a Welcome post. How come? The links are good, but they would be better if arranged with a user-friendly heading to indicate what the link is. You can do this under Layout with Add a Gadget.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Comments on Responses
These are lovely, Mimi. You've used the text very well throughout the four entries. Your comments extend beyond the text itself to reflect on Munro's style and purpose. You could incorporate research into the responses as well; nonetheless, you've made a strong connection to the novel. You should be able to reuse this material in your explication and apologia. Beautiful writing.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Personal Reflection
"Lives of Girls and Women" helped me come to terms with my own coming-of-age. I identified strongly with Del, with her pride, ambition, and restlessness. Reading about how she was embarassed of her mother, I felt a sigh of relief because I had always felt terribly guilty about being embarassed of my own parents as a child. I had always seen it as a personal failure, not necessarily as a right of passage. Similarly, Munro's dead-on descriptions of the absurd longings of adolescent girls for gawky pubescent boys also brought painful but ultimately cathartic bursts of recognition.
Because the novel resonated so well with me, it made me reconsider some of my ideas about literature. I tend to be rather elitist when it comes to art, preferring the "classic" (read: at least a few hundred years old) over the "popular". The novel was a humbling reminder that homely themes such as growing up in a rural area can reveal just as much about human nature as heavier themes such as existential crises.
My appreciation of Canada has also deepened through reading "Lives". I used to think of Canada as rather bland, without much history, but this window into rural Canada a few decades ago has made me appreciate the humdrum of what I see as Canadian life - without hunger or terror but nonetheless "deep caves paved with kitchen linoleum". I had not read much Canadian literature before, but reading this book has inspired me to explore other Canadian novels.
To be honest, I did not become a more critical reader through this ISU. I loved the story so much that I raced through the book, indulging in the story without pausing to consider the significance or purpsoe of each passage. However, I do feel that I've become a more honest writer by subconsciously absorbing Munro's style. In addition, I sincerely wanted to pinpoint what makes Munro's writing so good. My writing style is still not completely myself, but it is closer to my voice than much of what I've written before.
In sum, I've gained much through exploring this novel. I've made peace with some of my own experiences, become more open-minded about literature and Canada, and become more honest in my writing. I'm so glad to have met "Lives"; it's a book that I will be sure to pass on to my daughters and granddaughters.
Because the novel resonated so well with me, it made me reconsider some of my ideas about literature. I tend to be rather elitist when it comes to art, preferring the "classic" (read: at least a few hundred years old) over the "popular". The novel was a humbling reminder that homely themes such as growing up in a rural area can reveal just as much about human nature as heavier themes such as existential crises.
My appreciation of Canada has also deepened through reading "Lives". I used to think of Canada as rather bland, without much history, but this window into rural Canada a few decades ago has made me appreciate the humdrum of what I see as Canadian life - without hunger or terror but nonetheless "deep caves paved with kitchen linoleum". I had not read much Canadian literature before, but reading this book has inspired me to explore other Canadian novels.
To be honest, I did not become a more critical reader through this ISU. I loved the story so much that I raced through the book, indulging in the story without pausing to consider the significance or purpsoe of each passage. However, I do feel that I've become a more honest writer by subconsciously absorbing Munro's style. In addition, I sincerely wanted to pinpoint what makes Munro's writing so good. My writing style is still not completely myself, but it is closer to my voice than much of what I've written before.
In sum, I've gained much through exploring this novel. I've made peace with some of my own experiences, become more open-minded about literature and Canada, and become more honest in my writing. I'm so glad to have met "Lives"; it's a book that I will be sure to pass on to my daughters and granddaughters.
Works Cited
"Alice Munro." Wikipedia, 1 June 2009. Web. 22 November 2009.
Holcombe, Garan. "Critical Pespective." Contemporarywriters.com, 2008. Web. 22 November 2009.
Martin, Walter Rintoul. Alice Munro: Paradox and Parallel. Googlebooks, n.d. Web. 22 November 2009.
McGill, Robert. "Alice Munro: Lives of Girls and Women (1971)". The Literary Encyclopedia, 30 June 2002. Web. 22 Novemebr 2009.
Munro, Alice. Lives of Girls and Women. Toronto: Penguin Canada, 2001. Print.
Holcombe, Garan. "Critical Pespective." Contemporarywriters.com, 2008. Web. 22 November 2009.
Martin, Walter Rintoul. Alice Munro: Paradox and Parallel. Googlebooks, n.d. Web. 22 November 2009.
McGill, Robert. "Alice Munro: Lives of Girls and Women (1971)". The Literary Encyclopedia, 30 June 2002. Web. 22 Novemebr 2009.
Munro, Alice. Lives of Girls and Women. Toronto: Penguin Canada, 2001. Print.
Explication of "All Sacrificed for Passion" in Lives of Girls and Women by Alice Munro
Del's relationship with Garnet French exemplifies Munro's method of character development. Exchanging one attitude for another, Del gains a clearer view of herself, of her needs and ambitions. Yet, her epiphany preceding their breakup is only one in a long succession of phases that is still incomplete at the end of the story. The absence of a complete resolution is fitting for Munro's realistic style.
Munro sets up Del's climatic first love affair with Garnet by prefacing it with her hilariously awkward relationship with Jerry. This relationship, although real enough on an intellectual plane, is a parody of sexual intimacy. When Del undresses at Jerry's request to see a "real live naked woman" (Munro 203), her "need for love [goes] underground" (Munro 208). In some ways, Del's intoxication with Garnet is an over-reaction against Jerry's manner. She is excited at the discovery of the "surrender- not of the woman's to the man but the person's to the body (Munro 218). Nonetheless, it's not "only [the] sex" (Munro 221) that draws her to him- she is taken with Garnet's mysterious simplicity: "Being with Garnet [is] the very opposite of going out with Jerry, and seeing the world dense and complicated but appallingly unsecretive; the world she sees] with Garnet was something no far from what [she] thought animals must see, the world without names" (Munro 221). Thus, in neglecting her academic future, she is in effect rejecting her spiritually unfulfilling identity with Jerry for the intoxicatingly uncomplicated person she feels like when she is with Garnet.
It's ironic that Del is aware of how she quietly tucks her true self away in her relationship with Garnet. She consciously swallows her prejudice against the seedy condition of Garnet's home. And she tries to ignore the "sinking of the heart" (Munro 217) when she sees Garnet's uncouth friends in the Baptist congregation. She realizes that they are essentially different. She realizes that "he [hates] people using big words, talking about things outside their own lives. He [hates] people trying to tie things together" (Munro 183). She wonders "why [does he not] hate me?", because "these are great pastimes of mine. Perhaps I successfully hid from him what I was like" (Munro 183). She consciously chooses to ignore parts of him and parts of herself.
At the crisis of "Baptizing", she finally confronts their incompatibility. When Garnet asks "would you like to have a baby?" and Del says "yes," he replies "you have to join the church first" (Munro 236-7). Del realizes that because Garnet has never been aware of her complexities, being with him "[requires her] to be buried alive" (Munro 239). Although she feels guilty for "somehow meeting his good offerings with [her] deceitful offerings... matching [her] complexity and play-acting with his true intent" (Munro 198), she realizes that she cannot bury "her differences, [her] reservations, [her] life" (Munro 198). After breaking up with Garnet, she is not devastated, but liberated. She feels "old devious, ironic isolated self- beginning to breathe again and stretch and settle, though all around it my body clung and cracked" (Munro 199).
This epiphany that she cannot escape her pride and restlessness comes at the cost of Garnet's pride and her mother's hopes. When she loses her scholarship, her mother is "faced with the possibility that Owen and [Del] would do nothing and become nothing after all, that [they] were mediocre" (Munro 199). Her mother says to her bitterly, "you will have to do what you want now," (Munro 205) but Del still doesn't know what she wants. She only knows that she does not want the domestic married life that Naomi has and that she no longer has the option of pursuing post-secondary education right away. Thus, we leave her at a another cross-roads: "now at last without fantasies or self-deception, cut off from the mistakes and confusion of the past, grave and simple, carrying a small suitcase, getting on a bus, like girls in moves leaving home, convents, lovers [getting on with her life]" (Munro 210).
This untidy resolution to a subtly complex changing of attitudes captures the messiness of life. It shows how growing up is a continual process of self-discovery. This bittersweet conclusion is a wonderfully fitting ending to Munro's true-to-life chronicle of one girl's memorable coming-of-age.
Munro sets up Del's climatic first love affair with Garnet by prefacing it with her hilariously awkward relationship with Jerry. This relationship, although real enough on an intellectual plane, is a parody of sexual intimacy. When Del undresses at Jerry's request to see a "real live naked woman" (Munro 203), her "need for love [goes] underground" (Munro 208). In some ways, Del's intoxication with Garnet is an over-reaction against Jerry's manner. She is excited at the discovery of the "surrender- not of the woman's to the man but the person's to the body (Munro 218). Nonetheless, it's not "only [the] sex" (Munro 221) that draws her to him- she is taken with Garnet's mysterious simplicity: "Being with Garnet [is] the very opposite of going out with Jerry, and seeing the world dense and complicated but appallingly unsecretive; the world she sees] with Garnet was something no far from what [she] thought animals must see, the world without names" (Munro 221). Thus, in neglecting her academic future, she is in effect rejecting her spiritually unfulfilling identity with Jerry for the intoxicatingly uncomplicated person she feels like when she is with Garnet.
It's ironic that Del is aware of how she quietly tucks her true self away in her relationship with Garnet. She consciously swallows her prejudice against the seedy condition of Garnet's home. And she tries to ignore the "sinking of the heart" (Munro 217) when she sees Garnet's uncouth friends in the Baptist congregation. She realizes that they are essentially different. She realizes that "he [hates] people using big words, talking about things outside their own lives. He [hates] people trying to tie things together" (Munro 183). She wonders "why [does he not] hate me?", because "these are great pastimes of mine. Perhaps I successfully hid from him what I was like" (Munro 183). She consciously chooses to ignore parts of him and parts of herself.
At the crisis of "Baptizing", she finally confronts their incompatibility. When Garnet asks "would you like to have a baby?" and Del says "yes," he replies "you have to join the church first" (Munro 236-7). Del realizes that because Garnet has never been aware of her complexities, being with him "[requires her] to be buried alive" (Munro 239). Although she feels guilty for "somehow meeting his good offerings with [her] deceitful offerings... matching [her] complexity and play-acting with his true intent" (Munro 198), she realizes that she cannot bury "her differences, [her] reservations, [her] life" (Munro 198). After breaking up with Garnet, she is not devastated, but liberated. She feels "old devious, ironic isolated self- beginning to breathe again and stretch and settle, though all around it my body clung and cracked" (Munro 199).
This epiphany that she cannot escape her pride and restlessness comes at the cost of Garnet's pride and her mother's hopes. When she loses her scholarship, her mother is "faced with the possibility that Owen and [Del] would do nothing and become nothing after all, that [they] were mediocre" (Munro 199). Her mother says to her bitterly, "you will have to do what you want now," (Munro 205) but Del still doesn't know what she wants. She only knows that she does not want the domestic married life that Naomi has and that she no longer has the option of pursuing post-secondary education right away. Thus, we leave her at a another cross-roads: "now at last without fantasies or self-deception, cut off from the mistakes and confusion of the past, grave and simple, carrying a small suitcase, getting on a bus, like girls in moves leaving home, convents, lovers [getting on with her life]" (Munro 210).
This untidy resolution to a subtly complex changing of attitudes captures the messiness of life. It shows how growing up is a continual process of self-discovery. This bittersweet conclusion is a wonderfully fitting ending to Munro's true-to-life chronicle of one girl's memorable coming-of-age.
Apologia
A three time winner of the Governor General's Award for Fiction, Alice Munro is well recognized among Canadian writers. Certainly, she deserves all the praise that she has recieved. Her unique style makes her short stories and her only novel, "Lives of Girls and Women", gems in the cannon of Canadian literature.
One of the most impressive qualities about her writing is her honesty. Recognizing that "nothing is easy, nothing is simple" ("Alice Munro"), she captures the complexities and messiness of life in her writing. For example, "Lives" is a coming-of-age story in rural Ontario, but she refuses to sentimentalize rurality or childhood (McGill). She depicts how stifling provincial anonymity and conservatism are, as Del, her protagonist, struggles against them. In addition, she captures how strange growing up is. For instance, when Del realizes that adults are not as omnipotent as she once thought, she describes her aging aunts thus: "in time every word, every expression of the face, every flutter of the hand came to seem something learned long ago, perfectly remembered, and ... something constructed with terrible care" (Munro 50). Munro's truthful and nuanced treatment of familiar themes is rare and refreshing.
In addition to her truthfulness, Munro has an incredibly keen understanding of human psychology. To illustrate, Del, the classic Munro narrator at an ironic distance from her own life (McGill), has an uncanny way of seeing and describing people's motives. For example, Del notices how her mother "was on the side of poor people everywhere, on the side of Negroes and Jews and Chinese and women, but she could not bear drunkenness, no, and she could not bear sexual looseness, dirty language, haphazard lives, contented ignorance, and so she had to exclude the Flats Road people from the really oppressed and deprived people, the real poor whom she still loved" (Munro 7). Del's description of her mother also exemplifies how she and Munro are acutely aware of life's subtle ironies. Munro's writing is so good because she has such a deep understanding of human nature.
Not only does Munro capture the complexities and inconsistencies of life, she does this in a skillful and illuminating way. She works for what she calls "emotional exactness... exactness of resonance" (Martin) through subtle detail and evocative turns of phrases. For instance, Del describes her brother's praying as the making of "desperate, private grimaces... as hard to look at as skinned flesh" (Munro 97). She writes that "Seeing someone have faith, close up, is no easier than seeing someone chop a finger off" (Munro 97). Munro resolves the contradictions and messiness of life by a sense of wonder. She celebrates the humdrum of the everyday lives of ordinary people by revealig how they are "amazing and unfathomable", "deep caves paved with kitchen linoleum" (Munro 210).
Somehow, Munro manages to do all this in an incredibly concise way. As Holcolme puts it, "nothing is wasted. Nothing is irrelevant. Every word glows. Munro is able to capture the shape and mood, the flavour of a life in 30 pages" (Holcombe). For instance, she describes a young girl who was beat by her mentally unstable mother as "suspicious of toys, cookies, milk anything we offered her, but she never whined or cried. Touched or cuddled, she submitted warily, her body giving off little tremors of dismay, her heart beating hard like the heart of a bird if you capture it in your hand. Yet she would lie on Uncle Benny's lap or fall asleep against his shoulder, limp as spaghetti. his hand covered the bruises on her legs" (Munro 16). Readers respond and connect strongly to her writing. Personally, I recognized my own extremely serious and easily embarassed self in Del as she steps awkwardly into adolescence "[feeling] the weight of my mother's eccentricities, of something absurd and embarassing about her ... I did want to repudiate her, crawl into favour, orphaned, abandoned, in my own wrinkled sleeves" (Munro 54). Munro's concentrated insight into humanity is what makes Holcombe claim that she teaches us "what it means to be human".
Munro's poignantly recognizable stories are delightfully human and immensely likable. At the end of the novel, Del is "greedy for Jubilee... [for] every last thing, every layer of speech and tought, stroke of light on bark or wells, every smell, pothole, pain, crack, delusion, held still and held together- radiant, everlasting (Munro 210). Similarly, the reader wants every last subtle, illuminating detail of Munro's world to continue. With her distinctly vivid style, Munro has made a very memorable contribution to Canadian literature.
One of the most impressive qualities about her writing is her honesty. Recognizing that "nothing is easy, nothing is simple" ("Alice Munro"), she captures the complexities and messiness of life in her writing. For example, "Lives" is a coming-of-age story in rural Ontario, but she refuses to sentimentalize rurality or childhood (McGill). She depicts how stifling provincial anonymity and conservatism are, as Del, her protagonist, struggles against them. In addition, she captures how strange growing up is. For instance, when Del realizes that adults are not as omnipotent as she once thought, she describes her aging aunts thus: "in time every word, every expression of the face, every flutter of the hand came to seem something learned long ago, perfectly remembered, and ... something constructed with terrible care" (Munro 50). Munro's truthful and nuanced treatment of familiar themes is rare and refreshing.
In addition to her truthfulness, Munro has an incredibly keen understanding of human psychology. To illustrate, Del, the classic Munro narrator at an ironic distance from her own life (McGill), has an uncanny way of seeing and describing people's motives. For example, Del notices how her mother "was on the side of poor people everywhere, on the side of Negroes and Jews and Chinese and women, but she could not bear drunkenness, no, and she could not bear sexual looseness, dirty language, haphazard lives, contented ignorance, and so she had to exclude the Flats Road people from the really oppressed and deprived people, the real poor whom she still loved" (Munro 7). Del's description of her mother also exemplifies how she and Munro are acutely aware of life's subtle ironies. Munro's writing is so good because she has such a deep understanding of human nature.
Not only does Munro capture the complexities and inconsistencies of life, she does this in a skillful and illuminating way. She works for what she calls "emotional exactness... exactness of resonance" (Martin) through subtle detail and evocative turns of phrases. For instance, Del describes her brother's praying as the making of "desperate, private grimaces... as hard to look at as skinned flesh" (Munro 97). She writes that "Seeing someone have faith, close up, is no easier than seeing someone chop a finger off" (Munro 97). Munro resolves the contradictions and messiness of life by a sense of wonder. She celebrates the humdrum of the everyday lives of ordinary people by revealig how they are "amazing and unfathomable", "deep caves paved with kitchen linoleum" (Munro 210).
Somehow, Munro manages to do all this in an incredibly concise way. As Holcolme puts it, "nothing is wasted. Nothing is irrelevant. Every word glows. Munro is able to capture the shape and mood, the flavour of a life in 30 pages" (Holcombe). For instance, she describes a young girl who was beat by her mentally unstable mother as "suspicious of toys, cookies, milk anything we offered her, but she never whined or cried. Touched or cuddled, she submitted warily, her body giving off little tremors of dismay, her heart beating hard like the heart of a bird if you capture it in your hand. Yet she would lie on Uncle Benny's lap or fall asleep against his shoulder, limp as spaghetti. his hand covered the bruises on her legs" (Munro 16). Readers respond and connect strongly to her writing. Personally, I recognized my own extremely serious and easily embarassed self in Del as she steps awkwardly into adolescence "[feeling] the weight of my mother's eccentricities, of something absurd and embarassing about her ... I did want to repudiate her, crawl into favour, orphaned, abandoned, in my own wrinkled sleeves" (Munro 54). Munro's concentrated insight into humanity is what makes Holcombe claim that she teaches us "what it means to be human".
Munro's poignantly recognizable stories are delightfully human and immensely likable. At the end of the novel, Del is "greedy for Jubilee... [for] every last thing, every layer of speech and tought, stroke of light on bark or wells, every smell, pothole, pain, crack, delusion, held still and held together- radiant, everlasting (Munro 210). Similarly, the reader wants every last subtle, illuminating detail of Munro's world to continue. With her distinctly vivid style, Munro has made a very memorable contribution to Canadian literature.
Reading Response #4: "Baptizing" and "Epilogue: The Photographer"
I had thought that the final chapter, “Baptizing” would be about Del baptizing her child, but it is about her first love affair. When Garnet tries to baptize Del in order to marry her, it dawns on Del that she had never meant to have a serious relationship with Garnet. They are from different worlds and she feels that she was too good for him and his family. While Garnet is in earnest, she is delirious over sex. In the end, Garnet lets her go:
He would not come. If we had been older we would certainly have hung on, haggled over the price of reconciliation, explained and justified and perhaps forgiven, and carried this into the future with us, but as it were we were close enough to childhood to believe in the absolute seriousness and finality of some fights, unforgivability of some blows. We had seen in each other what we could not bear, and we had no idea that people do see that, and go on, and hate and fight and try to kill each other, various ways, then love some more (199).
Although both are too naïve, their solemn parting is sad. It closes another chapter of her life.
We leave Del at a point of uncertainty in her life, at a crossroads. We don’t know whether she will go to university and lead the life her mother always wanted, or if she will follow in her mother’s footsteps. Del has not yet fully matured, but is only at another transitional stage in her life as the camera pans out.
In the epilogue, the reader learns that she does indeed leave Jubilee, and longs for it afterwards:
People’s lives, in Jubilee as elsewhere, were dull, simple, amazing and unfathomable – deep caves paved with kitchen linoleum. It did not occur to me then that one day I would be so greedy for Jubilee. … No list could hold what I wanted, for what I wanted was every last thing, every layer of speech and thought, stroke of light on bark or walls, every smell, pothole, pain, crack, delusion, held still and held together- radiant, everlasting (210).
Del is no longer too ambitious and proud for Jubilee. She had run through childhood and adolescence barely looking both ways, but there will come a time when she wants to stop and rewind and catch all the details in slow motion. Perhaps it’s a time when she’s lost herself and she wants to find something solid to ground her. Perhaps at that time, so much time will have passed her that she wants to hold on to a time when time did not matter. The reader ends up wanting “every last thing” to last as well, because Del’s world has become so real. In the end, Del learns to appreciate people as they are, in their every day humdrum. It's a fitting ending because every day life is what Munro celebrates.
He would not come. If we had been older we would certainly have hung on, haggled over the price of reconciliation, explained and justified and perhaps forgiven, and carried this into the future with us, but as it were we were close enough to childhood to believe in the absolute seriousness and finality of some fights, unforgivability of some blows. We had seen in each other what we could not bear, and we had no idea that people do see that, and go on, and hate and fight and try to kill each other, various ways, then love some more (199).
Although both are too naïve, their solemn parting is sad. It closes another chapter of her life.
We leave Del at a point of uncertainty in her life, at a crossroads. We don’t know whether she will go to university and lead the life her mother always wanted, or if she will follow in her mother’s footsteps. Del has not yet fully matured, but is only at another transitional stage in her life as the camera pans out.
In the epilogue, the reader learns that she does indeed leave Jubilee, and longs for it afterwards:
People’s lives, in Jubilee as elsewhere, were dull, simple, amazing and unfathomable – deep caves paved with kitchen linoleum. It did not occur to me then that one day I would be so greedy for Jubilee. … No list could hold what I wanted, for what I wanted was every last thing, every layer of speech and thought, stroke of light on bark or walls, every smell, pothole, pain, crack, delusion, held still and held together- radiant, everlasting (210).
Del is no longer too ambitious and proud for Jubilee. She had run through childhood and adolescence barely looking both ways, but there will come a time when she wants to stop and rewind and catch all the details in slow motion. Perhaps it’s a time when she’s lost herself and she wants to find something solid to ground her. Perhaps at that time, so much time will have passed her that she wants to hold on to a time when time did not matter. The reader ends up wanting “every last thing” to last as well, because Del’s world has become so real. In the end, Del learns to appreciate people as they are, in their every day humdrum. It's a fitting ending because every day life is what Munro celebrates.
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