Sunday, April 26, 2009
Book Choice: Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms
For my Independent Reading Paper, I chose A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. Called "the greatest American novel to emerge from World War I," this depressing story centers on an American volunteer in the Italian army and his love affair with a British nurse. The two encounter numerous hardships, either when separated or together, and yet in spite of them all they escape from Italy to Switzerland, which is like a paradise for them. Unfortunately, in the end, they cannot escape the worst part of war: death. Although this novel is a fictional account of a soldier in World War I, it was based on Hemingway's own experiences in the war - the main character is a paramedic like he was, he gets wounded just as Hemingway did, and there are various other sections of the book where Hemingway is clearly speaking from experience, no matter how horrific the subject matter might be. I read this book over Spring Break, and in writing this blog entry I have been re-reading different parts of it again. In my paper, I believe I will either discuss the relationship between Frederic Henry and Catherine Barkley or the theme of imprisonment (that the war caused everyone involved to be trapped in a vicious circle, even though there may be an illusion of freedom). (220)
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
"Digging" Through This Poem
On the surface, it would appear that Seamus Heaney's poem "Digging" is a mere description of his father digging in the backyard, and his subsequent musings concerning his father's ability to wield a spade. However, "Digging" is much more than an average poem. To begin with, it was Heaney's first poem in his first published book, and for reasons to be explained later, it was a just reflection of Heaney's poem for years to come: simple in form, commonplace in imagery, yet complex in meaning.
The form for this poem is rather unremarkable - a handful of rhymes, primarily in the beginning of "Digging", as if to draw the reader into the image. The remaining lines in the poem are punctuated by long vowel sounds and more than a few instances of consonance: "spade sinks...gravelly ground", "out tall tops", "curt cuts", etc. Heaney also uses repetition to emphasize the image of the "squat pen", but he introduces a new perspective to this mundane image by creating the pen-spade metaphor in the final line, to be discussed in greater depth later. Although lines 15-16 create a slight shift in scene, the true turn of the poem does not occur until line 28: "But I've no spade to follow men like them." It is here that Heaney finally reveals he cannot identify with his family's former profession; at least, he cannot go about digging in the same manner as they did.
Heaney's failure to identify with this agrarian lifestyle began in childhood in Northern Ireland. His father owned a farm, but his true passion was for cattle-dealing; on the other hand, his mother and all her relatives worked in an industrial environment (a local linen mill). This conflict, so early in Heaney's life, between the old ways and the new resulted in his failure to belong to either group. Adding to the widening rift between Heaney's parents' professions and his life was his schooling. He received a scholarship to go to boarding school when he was 12, and these gifts of language and education only further isolated him from his roots. This sentiment of distance is captured perfectly in "Digging."
In this poem, Heaney sees his father digging in the garden, doing the same thing his father did, and probably what his father did before him: farming, digging, working the land. His awe for his paternal figures is clear, and yet it is tinged with longing: he wishes to carry on the family tradition. However, the clashing worlds in which he lives - the rural farmland of agrarian Ireland and the gleaming halls of academia - prevent him from taking up the family mantle. Heaney can dig to his heart's desire, but he cannot find his roots, because the privilege of learning has removed them forever. Thus, to fulfill his inner desires to continue the long line of Heaney workingmen, he seeks some way to combine the best of both worlds. It is in search of this that Heaney develops his characteristic "chiasma".
The term "chiasma" in a literary sense refers to the crossing of themes in a work of literature. For much of his poetry, Heaney uses this technique better than anyone ever has. In "Digging", the crossing over occurs in the two concrete images, the pen and the spade. Heaney first gives us an image of the "squat pen", and then goes on to describe his father's ability to wield a spade - implying that his working-man father used his spade as his preferred tool of choice, as opposed to the pen of the intellectual Seamus, creating a spade-as-a-pen metaphor. However, at the conclusion of the poem, Heaney reverses the metaphor. Now, the pen is his chosen tool to continue his family's historic and time-honored legacy of the working man, as he uses it to "dig": a pen-as-a-spade metaphor. Thus, the two objects cross metaphorical roles, each complementing the other with such adroitness that one could describe it as beautiful.
From a simple story of a man digging comes wave after wave of complex emotions: the burden of familial duty, a failure to identify with one's own people, and the importance of cultivation, whether concretely or abstractly. Through "Digging", Seamus Heaney finds something even better than his original roots: a hybrid plant blending the worlds of his past and his present, ripe for success in his future. (727)
The form for this poem is rather unremarkable - a handful of rhymes, primarily in the beginning of "Digging", as if to draw the reader into the image. The remaining lines in the poem are punctuated by long vowel sounds and more than a few instances of consonance: "spade sinks...gravelly ground", "out tall tops", "curt cuts", etc. Heaney also uses repetition to emphasize the image of the "squat pen", but he introduces a new perspective to this mundane image by creating the pen-spade metaphor in the final line, to be discussed in greater depth later. Although lines 15-16 create a slight shift in scene, the true turn of the poem does not occur until line 28: "But I've no spade to follow men like them." It is here that Heaney finally reveals he cannot identify with his family's former profession; at least, he cannot go about digging in the same manner as they did.
Heaney's failure to identify with this agrarian lifestyle began in childhood in Northern Ireland. His father owned a farm, but his true passion was for cattle-dealing; on the other hand, his mother and all her relatives worked in an industrial environment (a local linen mill). This conflict, so early in Heaney's life, between the old ways and the new resulted in his failure to belong to either group. Adding to the widening rift between Heaney's parents' professions and his life was his schooling. He received a scholarship to go to boarding school when he was 12, and these gifts of language and education only further isolated him from his roots. This sentiment of distance is captured perfectly in "Digging."
In this poem, Heaney sees his father digging in the garden, doing the same thing his father did, and probably what his father did before him: farming, digging, working the land. His awe for his paternal figures is clear, and yet it is tinged with longing: he wishes to carry on the family tradition. However, the clashing worlds in which he lives - the rural farmland of agrarian Ireland and the gleaming halls of academia - prevent him from taking up the family mantle. Heaney can dig to his heart's desire, but he cannot find his roots, because the privilege of learning has removed them forever. Thus, to fulfill his inner desires to continue the long line of Heaney workingmen, he seeks some way to combine the best of both worlds. It is in search of this that Heaney develops his characteristic "chiasma".
The term "chiasma" in a literary sense refers to the crossing of themes in a work of literature. For much of his poetry, Heaney uses this technique better than anyone ever has. In "Digging", the crossing over occurs in the two concrete images, the pen and the spade. Heaney first gives us an image of the "squat pen", and then goes on to describe his father's ability to wield a spade - implying that his working-man father used his spade as his preferred tool of choice, as opposed to the pen of the intellectual Seamus, creating a spade-as-a-pen metaphor. However, at the conclusion of the poem, Heaney reverses the metaphor. Now, the pen is his chosen tool to continue his family's historic and time-honored legacy of the working man, as he uses it to "dig": a pen-as-a-spade metaphor. Thus, the two objects cross metaphorical roles, each complementing the other with such adroitness that one could describe it as beautiful.
From a simple story of a man digging comes wave after wave of complex emotions: the burden of familial duty, a failure to identify with one's own people, and the importance of cultivation, whether concretely or abstractly. Through "Digging", Seamus Heaney finds something even better than his original roots: a hybrid plant blending the worlds of his past and his present, ripe for success in his future. (727)
Sunday, March 8, 2009
A Character Study of Linda in Death of a Salesman
The Lomax family, upon whom Arthur Miller's play Death of a Salesman centers, is full of dysfunctional characters. First and foremost, there is the weak-willed and insecure father Willy, whose sole goal in life (it seems) is to raise two boys to become more successful than he is; that is, he actively pursues their success much more than his own. Next, there is his son Biff, who is lost and jobless, who really only feels alive in the open air. Unfortunately for him, living his dream job does not pay well, and thus he is regarded as a failure. His younger brother, Happy (Harold), is perhaps the most successful member of the family, and yet he is never noticed for it. He is what Britney Spears would call a "womanizer", and constantly fails to grab the attention of his parents, and his emotions are quite skewed as a result of this constant rejection from his father and mother - who is the final member of the family, and, in my opinion, the hardest person to figure out.
We mentioned in class briefly the scene where Ben approaches Willy with a job opportunity in Alaska, where he would oversee a recent timberland purchase. Willy is ecstatic about the idea, and seems like he would have taken the job in an instant - until he tells Linda. She defends Willy's current job as a salesman, calling it "beautiful" and claiming that he is doing "well enough" and is "well liked". Clearly, none of these descriptions are true about the tough life Willy lives. So why does she fight so hard to keep the family in the city? In the stage directions during this scene, Linda is "frightened of Ben." Why is this so? What does he represent except a wealthier life? True, he did fight Biff that one time, which obviously scared Linda tremendously. But Linda is I think scared of the possibility of a life different from the one she and her family live now, when everything is seemingly balanced. During this tirade against the Alaskan job, she bursts out, "Why must everyone conquer the world?" Linda, apparently, is the only one content with a mediocre job, and a mediocre life, for Willy and his family. In the end, she doesn't defend the profession of a salesman; it is the common, average lifestyle that he leads that she champions.
The biggest difference between Willy (and also his sons) and Linda is that he is never satisfied with what he has: he must always have more, now. On the other hand, Linda is content to the extreme in that she is scared of the possibility of change, even though it might be change for the better. By consequence, then, does Linda really have the family's best interest at heart? We can't be sure. Thus, Linda Lomax is as enigmatic as any other character in Death of a Salesman - which makes her all the more intriguing. (494)
We mentioned in class briefly the scene where Ben approaches Willy with a job opportunity in Alaska, where he would oversee a recent timberland purchase. Willy is ecstatic about the idea, and seems like he would have taken the job in an instant - until he tells Linda. She defends Willy's current job as a salesman, calling it "beautiful" and claiming that he is doing "well enough" and is "well liked". Clearly, none of these descriptions are true about the tough life Willy lives. So why does she fight so hard to keep the family in the city? In the stage directions during this scene, Linda is "frightened of Ben." Why is this so? What does he represent except a wealthier life? True, he did fight Biff that one time, which obviously scared Linda tremendously. But Linda is I think scared of the possibility of a life different from the one she and her family live now, when everything is seemingly balanced. During this tirade against the Alaskan job, she bursts out, "Why must everyone conquer the world?" Linda, apparently, is the only one content with a mediocre job, and a mediocre life, for Willy and his family. In the end, she doesn't defend the profession of a salesman; it is the common, average lifestyle that he leads that she champions.
The biggest difference between Willy (and also his sons) and Linda is that he is never satisfied with what he has: he must always have more, now. On the other hand, Linda is content to the extreme in that she is scared of the possibility of change, even though it might be change for the better. By consequence, then, does Linda really have the family's best interest at heart? We can't be sure. Thus, Linda Lomax is as enigmatic as any other character in Death of a Salesman - which makes her all the more intriguing. (494)
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Ibsen's Pawn of the Plot (And How He Got Pwned)
Prompt: Eric Bentley, in an essay titled "Ibsen, Pro and Con" (In Search of Theater [New York: Knopf, 1953]), criticizes the character of Krogstad, calling him "a mere pawn of the plot." He then adds, "When convenient to Ibsen, he is a blackmailer. When inconvenient, he is converted." Do you agree or disagree?
Henrik Ibsen's play A Doll's House was a perfect example of 19th-century realism in that it portrayed middle-class, urbanizing citizens. The conflict that encompasses them is similarly new-fashioned for the era, with the issue of women's rights in regard to financing at the core of it. The antagonist for (most of) this story is Nils Krogstad, a man who has clawed his way back up the social and financial ladder after committing forgery, the details of which are never revealed. In the first two acts, he is a dastardly, pitiful, cold-hearted man who is entirely driven by self-interest. Yet, in Act III, once Mrs. Linde agrees to be "castaways" with him, he does a complete about-face, returning the incriminating IOU and writing for forgiveness. This complete change-of-heart does not seem plausible, and thus I agree with the aforementioned Mr. Bentley.
Krogstad is, in my opinion, the least believable character in the play because of his flip-flopping nature. Not only is he a man whose reputation has been completely destroyed, he is also a scorned lover - Mrs. Linde chose to marry someone else, someone whose monetary status was better than his. He should be a bitter old man, cold to the bone and cold in the heart. Would such an individual change his mind so easily, just because a woman who left him nearly a decade ago comes back and asks for his help? As Krogstad argues, his life could have been completely different if Mrs. Linde had stayed with him instead of the deceased Mr. Linde; thus, by deduction, she is the cause of his current problematic life. How could he forgive her so readily, when he has already made the decision to ruin the life of one of her dearest friends? After all, he doesn't even acknowledge Mrs. Linde when he first sees her! He cannot believably be so terribly in love with her in order to grant that gigantic of a boon. It makes little sense to me, except to drive the plot. What do you think? (340)
Henrik Ibsen's play A Doll's House was a perfect example of 19th-century realism in that it portrayed middle-class, urbanizing citizens. The conflict that encompasses them is similarly new-fashioned for the era, with the issue of women's rights in regard to financing at the core of it. The antagonist for (most of) this story is Nils Krogstad, a man who has clawed his way back up the social and financial ladder after committing forgery, the details of which are never revealed. In the first two acts, he is a dastardly, pitiful, cold-hearted man who is entirely driven by self-interest. Yet, in Act III, once Mrs. Linde agrees to be "castaways" with him, he does a complete about-face, returning the incriminating IOU and writing for forgiveness. This complete change-of-heart does not seem plausible, and thus I agree with the aforementioned Mr. Bentley.
Krogstad is, in my opinion, the least believable character in the play because of his flip-flopping nature. Not only is he a man whose reputation has been completely destroyed, he is also a scorned lover - Mrs. Linde chose to marry someone else, someone whose monetary status was better than his. He should be a bitter old man, cold to the bone and cold in the heart. Would such an individual change his mind so easily, just because a woman who left him nearly a decade ago comes back and asks for his help? As Krogstad argues, his life could have been completely different if Mrs. Linde had stayed with him instead of the deceased Mr. Linde; thus, by deduction, she is the cause of his current problematic life. How could he forgive her so readily, when he has already made the decision to ruin the life of one of her dearest friends? After all, he doesn't even acknowledge Mrs. Linde when he first sees her! He cannot believably be so terribly in love with her in order to grant that gigantic of a boon. It makes little sense to me, except to drive the plot. What do you think? (340)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Panic! at the Palace
The concluding scene in Shakespeare's Hamlet is filled with death and despair as it reaches its gruesome climax. The feelings of revenge, betrayal, and madness finally come together, resulting in the death of what feels like the entire cast at a dizzying speed. First drops Gertrude, then Laertes, followed by Claudius, and lastly Hamlet. All of them die through treachery, save for Claudius, who gets run through by Hamlet - a fittingly ignominious end for the sole person whose death (like his life) is not honorable. When the proverbial smoke clears, a new era is set to begin with Fortinbras and his apparently strong-willed character. The only question that remains is: Can he erase the grief and weakness that surrounds him in the halls of Elsinor Castle? My prediction is yes.
Fortinbras, it seems to me, is the only constant that remains throughout the play. He is always a threat on the horizon, looming to Hamlet and the rest of Denmark. However, when he makes his entrance in the final scene, it appears that he is neither menacing nor evil, and certainly not corrupt like the bodies that surround him. Based on what we the audience see, he is in firm command of his army and his country, unlike his counterpart Hamlet, who cannot even control his emotions. Indeed, the parallels between these two run deeper than just the fact that they are both young royalty. Even their fathers have a history together: old Hamlet killed old Fortinbras, which sparked the Norwegian invasion. In this sense, then, Fortinbras is like Hamlet in that they are both in the process of avenging the death of their fathers. Fortinbras is completely successful due to his strong personality, whereas Hamlet, weak and insecure, is destroyed in his quest.
There is, of course, no way of knowing whether Fortinbras is successful in his new role as King of Denmark and Norway. However, I believe that Hamlet's last request (to make Fortinbras the new king) proves to us that Hamlet himself recognizes the greatness that exists in Fortinbras, and the vast personality difference that exists between the two. Hamlet approves of this invading foreigner, so why shouldn't we? Hamlet was always concerned about the welfare of the country and making sure it had the right ruler, and so his choice to make Fortinbras the new ruler clearly indicates his confidence in Fortinbras to restore royal righteousness to Elsinor Castle. If Fortinbras is good enough for the choosy Hamlet, then he is good enough for me. Hamlet has been analyzed in so many different ways, but I wonder if there was ever a sequel made describing the plight of Fortinbras to restore honor to Denmark - and I'm not counting that movie Hamlet 2. (458)
Fortinbras, it seems to me, is the only constant that remains throughout the play. He is always a threat on the horizon, looming to Hamlet and the rest of Denmark. However, when he makes his entrance in the final scene, it appears that he is neither menacing nor evil, and certainly not corrupt like the bodies that surround him. Based on what we the audience see, he is in firm command of his army and his country, unlike his counterpart Hamlet, who cannot even control his emotions. Indeed, the parallels between these two run deeper than just the fact that they are both young royalty. Even their fathers have a history together: old Hamlet killed old Fortinbras, which sparked the Norwegian invasion. In this sense, then, Fortinbras is like Hamlet in that they are both in the process of avenging the death of their fathers. Fortinbras is completely successful due to his strong personality, whereas Hamlet, weak and insecure, is destroyed in his quest.
There is, of course, no way of knowing whether Fortinbras is successful in his new role as King of Denmark and Norway. However, I believe that Hamlet's last request (to make Fortinbras the new king) proves to us that Hamlet himself recognizes the greatness that exists in Fortinbras, and the vast personality difference that exists between the two. Hamlet approves of this invading foreigner, so why shouldn't we? Hamlet was always concerned about the welfare of the country and making sure it had the right ruler, and so his choice to make Fortinbras the new ruler clearly indicates his confidence in Fortinbras to restore royal righteousness to Elsinor Castle. If Fortinbras is good enough for the choosy Hamlet, then he is good enough for me. Hamlet has been analyzed in so many different ways, but I wonder if there was ever a sequel made describing the plight of Fortinbras to restore honor to Denmark - and I'm not counting that movie Hamlet 2. (458)
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Oedipus Complex: A Greek Myth or a Freudian Fact?
In Oedipus Rex, a man finds himself in the extremely unfortunate position of killing his father and sleeping with his own mother, a result of cruel fate coupled with his own choices. Needless to say, everyone's lives in Thebes are ruined forever. This play and disturbing plot have been around for centuries, but it was the famed psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud who first attempted to make something out of this horrible tragedy. He decided to apply these events to all of us, claiming that everyone has roughly the same feelings as Oedipus, whether they try and avoid Fate or not. Freud called his hypothesis "The Oedipus Complex." Whether this hypothesis was just Freud projecting his childhood feelings on the world or just a lot of frippery could never be proven. But the hypothesis itself has fascinated psychology students everywhere, just like the story that was its basis.
Freud first used the term "Oedipus Complex" in 1910, but this topic would interest him for the rest of his life. He gave no end of thought to the possible combinations and scenarios associated with an Oedipus Complex, even going as far as to develop one for girls (which was sometimes referred to as an "Electra Complex", in honor of another Greek tragedy). According to Freud, an Oedipus Complex occurs between the ages of three and five in males. It is at this early stage in a child's development that he first recognizes the father figure as a potential threat to the relationship between him and his mother. Thus, he competes with his own father for his mother's affection, and, according to Freud, subconsciously "wishes to eliminate the father and possess the mother." This conflict of interests is eventually resolved, however, when the child outgrows this period and instead identifies with the father (and simultaneously, but briefly, rejecting his mother) until he finds an outlet for his love. Classical Freudian theory states that this resolution of the Complex is due to the male's "castration anxiety", but this explanation is clearly debatable.
It could be argued that the source of the Oedipus Complex, Oedipus Rex, is not a true example of Freud's shocking hypothesis. After all, Oedipus unwittingly (and, had he known the truth, unwillingly) fulfills his fate - but Freud claimed that this made the play and his hypothesis all the more true. Of Oedipus, Freud said:
"His destiny moves us only because it might have been ours –- because the oracle laid the same curse upon us before our birth as upon him. It is the fate of all of us, perhaps, to direct our first sexual impulse towards our mother and our first hatred and our first murderous wish against our father. Our dreams convince us that this is so."
Freudian foolishness? Perhaps. Then again, we can never truly know the inner machinations of our minds, no matter how advanced psychology may become. Until proven otherwise, the Oedipus Complex and Oedipus Rex will always be present in our minds, haunting in their ideas - or perhaps in their truths. (507)
Freud first used the term "Oedipus Complex" in 1910, but this topic would interest him for the rest of his life. He gave no end of thought to the possible combinations and scenarios associated with an Oedipus Complex, even going as far as to develop one for girls (which was sometimes referred to as an "Electra Complex", in honor of another Greek tragedy). According to Freud, an Oedipus Complex occurs between the ages of three and five in males. It is at this early stage in a child's development that he first recognizes the father figure as a potential threat to the relationship between him and his mother. Thus, he competes with his own father for his mother's affection, and, according to Freud, subconsciously "wishes to eliminate the father and possess the mother." This conflict of interests is eventually resolved, however, when the child outgrows this period and instead identifies with the father (and simultaneously, but briefly, rejecting his mother) until he finds an outlet for his love. Classical Freudian theory states that this resolution of the Complex is due to the male's "castration anxiety", but this explanation is clearly debatable.
It could be argued that the source of the Oedipus Complex, Oedipus Rex, is not a true example of Freud's shocking hypothesis. After all, Oedipus unwittingly (and, had he known the truth, unwillingly) fulfills his fate - but Freud claimed that this made the play and his hypothesis all the more true. Of Oedipus, Freud said:
"His destiny moves us only because it might have been ours –- because the oracle laid the same curse upon us before our birth as upon him. It is the fate of all of us, perhaps, to direct our first sexual impulse towards our mother and our first hatred and our first murderous wish against our father. Our dreams convince us that this is so."
Freudian foolishness? Perhaps. Then again, we can never truly know the inner machinations of our minds, no matter how advanced psychology may become. Until proven otherwise, the Oedipus Complex and Oedipus Rex will always be present in our minds, haunting in their ideas - or perhaps in their truths. (507)
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Thanatophobia in The Death of Ivan Ilyich
As evident in the title, Tolstoy's novella The Death of Ivan Ilyich is all about one man coming to terms with his own destruction. Webster's Medical Online Dictionary defines the term Thanatophobia very simply, stating it is merely "A fear of death." However, this seemingly straightforward answer proves to be a very complicated matter, as Ivan Ilyich Golovin learns. Though his thanatophobia grows ever larger as the story continues, Ivan Ilyich finally realizes just how beneficial death really is.
From Ivan Ilyich's perspective, death first enters the story when he accidentally bumps his side trying to put up curtains for his new house - proper curtains in a proper house that attempt to prove how proper Ivan Ilyich and his family are, when in reality they are like every other upper-middle-class family in Russia, or so it seems. Perhaps, then, his "bump on the side" is a punishment, from above, for living life so foolishly, so foppishly, so purposelessly. And yet, at the time of the incident, Ivan Ilyich believes his life is finally coming together, and that all is right with the world. In a disarmingly short amount of time, his "correct" life falls to pieces as he becomes completely bedridden, and, worse, as he becomes completely sure of his looming death.
At first, Ivan has the same reaction we all would have in his position: he is terribly frightened of death. He is unsure of the process, unsure of how much time he really has left, unsure of his disease, but most of all he is unsure about the nature of death. The process is to him so foreign and unknown that he cannot at first comprehend it. Ivan's chief joy in life is to have things go according to his will; he becomes upset when things do not happen as he so intended, such as his failure to get promoted. Death, certainly, was not in his plans at all.
Entwined with all this confusion brought on by death is the slow realization that Ivan Ilyich Golovin is not really anything more than ordinary. His reference to "Kiezewetter's Logic" embodies both these hard truths: not only the grim inference of death, but also the equally-grim notion that he, Ivan Ilyich, is no more than an abstract like Caius. From these depressing thoughts, Ivan Ilyich develops an increasingly hysterical thanatophobia - he personifies Death as It, he convinces himself no one cares for him, and he even describes Life as nothing more than "a series of increasing sufferings [that] flies further and further towards its end - the most terrible suffering." He reaches the pit of despair following his communion, at which point he realizes the end is really here - and none of his questions concerning death have been answered.
But in the bottom of this "hole", which he falls through for a good two days, is a ray of light, a glimmer of hope of a life redeemed. Ivan Ilyich Golovin finally realizes what many of his "friends" probably never will - that his life was not "what is should have been." This knowledge finally breaks through the smog cloud of self-pity and self-glorification that has poisoned Ivan - and, indeed, all those in his social class - throughout his entire life. He realizes that death is the best thing that can happen, because it frees him from the pain of life and frees his family from the pain of his suffering. Light replaces death, and Ivan dies liberated from life and triumphant over death. Thus, his thanatophobia dies only as he himself draws his last gasp - but it is no matter, because Ivan Ilyich Golovin conquered life, death, and his fears. He truly dies a happy man. Perhaps, then, that bump on the curtain was not such a bad thing after all: a blessing rather than a chastisement. (643)
From Ivan Ilyich's perspective, death first enters the story when he accidentally bumps his side trying to put up curtains for his new house - proper curtains in a proper house that attempt to prove how proper Ivan Ilyich and his family are, when in reality they are like every other upper-middle-class family in Russia, or so it seems. Perhaps, then, his "bump on the side" is a punishment, from above, for living life so foolishly, so foppishly, so purposelessly. And yet, at the time of the incident, Ivan Ilyich believes his life is finally coming together, and that all is right with the world. In a disarmingly short amount of time, his "correct" life falls to pieces as he becomes completely bedridden, and, worse, as he becomes completely sure of his looming death.
At first, Ivan has the same reaction we all would have in his position: he is terribly frightened of death. He is unsure of the process, unsure of how much time he really has left, unsure of his disease, but most of all he is unsure about the nature of death. The process is to him so foreign and unknown that he cannot at first comprehend it. Ivan's chief joy in life is to have things go according to his will; he becomes upset when things do not happen as he so intended, such as his failure to get promoted. Death, certainly, was not in his plans at all.
Entwined with all this confusion brought on by death is the slow realization that Ivan Ilyich Golovin is not really anything more than ordinary. His reference to "Kiezewetter's Logic" embodies both these hard truths: not only the grim inference of death, but also the equally-grim notion that he, Ivan Ilyich, is no more than an abstract like Caius. From these depressing thoughts, Ivan Ilyich develops an increasingly hysterical thanatophobia - he personifies Death as It, he convinces himself no one cares for him, and he even describes Life as nothing more than "a series of increasing sufferings [that] flies further and further towards its end - the most terrible suffering." He reaches the pit of despair following his communion, at which point he realizes the end is really here - and none of his questions concerning death have been answered.
But in the bottom of this "hole", which he falls through for a good two days, is a ray of light, a glimmer of hope of a life redeemed. Ivan Ilyich Golovin finally realizes what many of his "friends" probably never will - that his life was not "what is should have been." This knowledge finally breaks through the smog cloud of self-pity and self-glorification that has poisoned Ivan - and, indeed, all those in his social class - throughout his entire life. He realizes that death is the best thing that can happen, because it frees him from the pain of life and frees his family from the pain of his suffering. Light replaces death, and Ivan dies liberated from life and triumphant over death. Thus, his thanatophobia dies only as he himself draws his last gasp - but it is no matter, because Ivan Ilyich Golovin conquered life, death, and his fears. He truly dies a happy man. Perhaps, then, that bump on the curtain was not such a bad thing after all: a blessing rather than a chastisement. (643)
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