Alice Bricking

Hurrah!

2003-09-25T04:33:01Z

Part Five of Seascape is up at Here, Thar Be Stories!

Also, at pirategasm.

Let me know what you think.

Short essay, for my ENG 371 class.

2003-09-23T05:33:57Z

The joy of academia! Posted largely so's I can bask in its completion.

Traditionally, the use of allegorical characters in a novel only serves to make it two-dimensional. It stands that if a book’s populace is largely one-faced, the novel itself will have little depth to it. Henry Fielding, however, proves the exception to this rule with Tom Jones; his cast of archetypes helps to create a realistic point of view from the perspective of the title character. While the novel itself is not narrated by Tom Jones, its world is defined by how he sees it.

Jones, the reader finds, is supported by a cast of individuals both flat and well rounded; his immediate experience is that of the average human being, privy only to one side of his acquaintances. Some, conversely, are closer than others: Bilfil, while fulfilling the role of the antagonist, has a clear dimensionality about him: “[Bilfil]…professed much Regard for [Tom] and as great Concern at his Misfortune; but cautiously avoided any Intimacy…” (Fielding, 217-8). Sophia, the love interest, is, for most of her life, swayed by her elders: “[Her] Father’s Word was a Law…[she] readily complied with his Desires” (199). She develops, however, into a fully realized character once she obtains the courage to say what she feels: “If you do, Madam,” answered Sophia, with some spirit, “I shall take the first Opportunity of leaving [Bilfil in the room] by himself” (888). She has, in other words, demonstrated more than one major personality trait; like Bilfil, Sophia has a ‘roundness’ not found among the majority of the novel’s inhabitants.

What, then, is Allworthy’s place? Tom’s guardian is as flat as a character can be. His name, clearly, is indicative of his personality. The reader sees nothing of him but that which is good and well-intended; it is no surprise that Tom worships his mentor and father-figure. This blind devotion begs a question, however: is Allworthy’s flatness a failure of Fielding’s? Would Tom Jones itself be a better work if more characters had shading to their personalities? Allworthy, of course, is not the only preset character: Squire Western, Black George, Thwackum and Square all display one-note characteristics.

The conclusion is in Fielding’s favor: at its root, this literary device serves to draw the reader more fully into Tom’s position. The reader understands and relates to him because her own relationships are similar; she sympathizes with Fielding’s character. The average member of society has several complex, well-rounded relationships, and many flat ones – she lives knowing a great deal about a few people, and next to nothing about the rest. Tom, evidently, is no different. His relationship with Allworthy, for instance, is that of father and son; he knows nothing about the man’s inner workings, and, consequentially, neither does the reader.

Fielding, then, by populating his world with flat characters, has succeeded in making it realistic. Tom, like Fielding’s audience, is limited in how he sees others; this trait does not make him deficient or lacking, but human – and eminently relevant.

Teh Domlijah ahhhhhh!!!111

2003-09-22T21:17:07Z

I used to be a Domlijah addict and an avid MsAllegro follower. I'm sort of ashamed to admit it, because now I can look at that fandom with a slightly more objective stance.

And I have deduced that they are bloody insane.

Good GOD, they are insane.

First entry.

2003-09-08T04:24:52Z

This isn't so much a fic as it is -- well, you'll see. Real life, actually.

The Nitrogen Cycle

1.

It’s a half-hearted joke around the family for those few weeks: some mothers and daughters go on spa retreats together. Ellen and Libby go to chemotherapy.

Ellen is sixty-one. Libby is thirty-four. They both have ovarian cancer; they’re both in Stage Three, their CA-125s are off the chart, their shaved scalps are draped with small colorful fabric. They are dignified together, in these five weeks between Libby’s diagnosis and Ellen’s death.

In a conversation with her brother, Ellen says, quietly, that Libby’s cancer is the worse thing possible, the worse thing imaginable, that it’s like some awful twist ending to her life that, God, did she deserve? and there was no puzzling out this shit, no way, no how. Isn’t worth it to even try.

At chemo, they hold hands as Ellen’s cannula line is inserted, as Libby’s central line becomes a new appendage. Ellen does not move; she’s used to the blunt pain of the tube. Libby makes a sound in the back of her throat.

Acupuncture, as California-queer as it sounds, helps them through the week. They sit in the waiting room in Beverly Hills watching the society matrons with waterproof skin flip through magazines, Vogue, Marie Claire. Ellen is not a society matron. Ellen is a lawyer at the best firm in Southern California, and she has argued cases with the Supreme Court. Ellen is retired, now, and she spends her days at home, or at chemo, or at the acupuncturist. Libby trails her; they move through their triangle of residences, and they are injected and poked, and they hold hands, and they talk more than they have in a long, long time.

2.

Ellen and Chris have a garden that’s the envy of the neighborhood, and when she’s home, Ellen spends her afternoons in a chair, at the edge of the nearest flowerbed. The azaleas are her favorite.

She does not mind cutting the bulbs from their stems; quite the contrary. Libby finds cut flowers upsetting, hates seeing the petals fall and rust at the edges.

Ellen explains that she loves the flowers because they die. They are beautiful, she tells Libby, because they’re mortal.

Libby does not understand. She wants the azaleas to stay on the stalk for as long as possible.

3.

Ellen’s mother is still living, at ninety-two, and unlike most women of her age is active, both physically and mentally. She is a three-time survivor: breast cancer twice in the forties and fifties, ovarian briefly in the late 1950s. The fact that she is living is a miracle, and Ellen’s mother is more aware of this than anyone. She is alive and healthy, her daughter is dying, and her granddaughter has little-to-no chance for survival. She collapses a bit inside when she realizes this, when her son comes to tell her that Libby is sick. She is strong, but not this strong.

4.

Chris is Ellen’s husband, though not Libby’s father (who, for various and sundry reasons, does not deserve even a mention in these pages). Chris reads Walt Whitman to Ellen, who finds it comforting in her final days. When she finds energy, she uses it to speak about the nitrogen cycle, that Whitman had it right, that she will, once she is gone, disintegrate and be everywhere. She quotes her favorite line: “Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged/Missing me one place, search another”. She loves this idea; and Chris smiles a bit, and even Libby, sitting on the edge of the bed, finds consolation in Ellen’s thoughts.

5.

Ellen takes two weeks to die.

This is measured in rate of decline; clearly, Ellen was dying all along, but in her final two weeks she goes down as quickly as if the cancer had found some new source of strength. Libby is disbelieving. Chris continues with everything that needs to be done, as Chris always has and Chris will do until the end of his days. He asks Ellen’s brother to take care of the funeral arrangements, and his voice cracks a bit when doing so. Ellen’s brother buys three graves: one for Ellen, one for Chris, and one for Libby, all lined in a row under an acacia tree. It’s a beautiful spot, and Ellen is happy when she hears about it, manages to move her mouth into something approaching a smile. There is nothing strange to Ellen in hearing details about her own grave.

6.

The funeral is lovely.

Chris reads from Sea of Grass, and the family stands by the lip of the grave: Libby, Ellen’s mother, Ellen’s brother and his wife, their daughter. Libby wears a small black hat to cover her head. She sits down midway through the poem; she can’t catch her breath, and the sun is so goddamned hot.

Chris starts to cry during the final stanza. This is the hardest thing for the family, that Chris, who has borne up tirelessly throughout the last six years, is wailing at the foot of his wife’s grave. It’s such a private expression of grief that they turn their heads; this is something for Chris and Ellen alone.

Libby clutches his arm, and takes deep breaths. Her mother is gone, and Libby has a chemo appointment Monday. There will be no one there to hold her hand.