” No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the Prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -
Almost, at times, the Fool.”
This passage is very interesting when one considers just how Prufrock is characterizing himself. He blatantly states that he is not Prince Hamlet; he is not the hero. He is nothing but an “attendant,” whose actions can only play a minor part in the scene. This is a very interesting, yet appropriate way to end this poem. Prufrock seems to be nothing but a neurotic, self-tortured man who does not seem to be competent enough even to confront the one he loves. As he had previously said in the poem, although “there will be time, there will be time” to accomplish his goals, he says, “I grow old … I grow old.” He accomplishes nothing despite his intentions. This inability to act does not characterize a hero, like Hamlet, and so appropriately Prufrock is similar to an attendant lord.
However, there is a part of this quote that is quite disturbing to this viewpoint of futility. The last two lines referencing the “Fool,” can possibly be seen as contradictory to Prufrock’s self-identification to a lowly attendant. As seen in Twelfth Night, the Fool is a much more worthy character than its name entails. Feste demonstrates a keen knowledge of the situation around him, and has the ability to use that knowledge to facilitate different actions throughout Twelfth Night. By saying that Prufrock can be, “at times, the Fool,” implies that he might not be as useless as he has convinced himself he is. Prufrock said earlier that, “I should have been a pair of ragged claws / Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.” Just as a crab finds use for usually useless objects (i.e. it is a scavenger and uses garbage as food), possibly Prufrock can generate purpose and worth in his life masked by self doubt after all.
Although Elliot hints that Prufrock might not be totally useless, the reader must be careful before blindly agreeing with this notion. The very end of the poem, “Till human voices wake us, and we drown,” definitely has an anti-romantic tone. It quickly thwarts the tendency to instantly comply with the idea of hope for Prufrock in reference to his competency. It is as if the end of the poem answers the question of the possibility of hope that the “Hamlet” stanza presents; with an abrupt “no, there isn’t any.” In congruency with the poem as a whole, much contradiction is present.
The novel has now introduced Gail Wynand, who is the notorious founder of the Banner and who is even more famous for his real estate ventures. Wynand is thinking of getting involved with a new real estate project, Stoneridge, and eventually is convinced by Toohey to consider Keating as the architect. Later, after a cruise on Wynand’s yacht, Wynand proposes to marry Dominique and she accepts; Keating embraces the trade off. Eventually, Wynand calls upon Howard to build a house for Dominique. Wynand starts to feel redemption through Roark’s unfailing ideals. Meanwhile, Keating’s firm falls apart, and his last chance for survival is to obtain the Cortlandt commission, which Keating gets Roark to design for him. When Howard returns from a trip with Wynand, he finds his Cortlandt building altered, and decidedly blows it up. Roark is arrested, and Wynand’s control over the papers has become useless against Toohey’s corruption of his organization. Soon after, Dominique goes back to Howard, and makes a public scandal of it. Roark defends himself in court condemning “second-handers,” and stating the importance to create truth in the world, and that he blew up the Cortlandt building because it corrupted his truth. Roark is acquitted.
Howard’s speech in court is definitely the best part of this novel. It preaches the true necessity for independence of thought in a very compelling way. He says:
“We inherit the products of the thought of other men … But all through the process what we receive from others is only the end product of their thinking. The moving force is the creative faculty which takes this product as material, uses it and originates the next step. This creative faculty cannot be given or received, shared or borrowed. It belongs to single, individual men. That which it creates is the property of the creator. Men learn from one another. But all learning is only the exchange of material. No man can give another the capacity to think. Yet that capacity is our only means of survival” (679).
This statement frames the theory of independence in a way that certainly I, and probably most readers, have never thought of Truth before. It frames the idea of individuality as the addition of new paths to an already laid road, as opposed to the spontaneous generation of one in the wilderness. The theory that men learn from one another, but must use that information to create some novel idea, is a very new one to me. Previously, truth and uniqueness has been defined as using past success and slightly modifying it to suit newer personal needs. Roark condemns this kind of thinking, and classifies that type of man that borrows ideas as second-handers. Keating is a second-hander, and therefore he is eventually debased to nothing.
The last statement of this passage is particularly the most moving. The fact that Roark states that the capacity to think originally is man’s ONLY means for survival is a very overbearing statement, yet upon further examination it really is true. The only way that man can be happy is if he feels worth. As Roark clarifies, the only way to accomplish that worth is to make oneself different and unique among other men’s worth. Roark uses the medium of architecture to create worth. For others, individual thought make encompass any other area of life. Keating becomes bitter and almost suicidal because he has no worth, only the worth of others. Roark’s speech is so true to life, that the jury has to understand why he destroyed the corrupted structure of the Cortlandt building being erected: to prevent the continuance of the praise of worthlessness. Roark and Dominique’s relationship is filled with worth and strength because they have tested each other’s ideals. Keating’s and Katie relationship is not worthwhile. The Fountainhead is definitely one of the best books on individualist thought ever written.
The novel is becoming increasing complicated as it progresses. Howard, as expected, loses his office because he cannot obtain any commissions. He had a good chance to build a bank, but when they offered him the job under the condition that he create a traditional facade, he declined. He is forced to work in Francon’s granite quarry in Connecticut. There he encounters Dominique Francon, Guy’s daughter, and after several meetings Howard rapes her (although Dominique does enjoys the experience). Peter later wins the Cosmo-Slotnick building competition, and instantly becomes an overnight, national success. Keating additionally becomes Francon’s partner. Meanwhile, Dominique comes back to New York and determinedly tries to ruin Howard by writing reviews in the Banner, but yet she continues to have sex with him willingly. Howard wins the contract to build a house for Roger Enright, and reopens his office. Howard receives a few more commissions, including the opportunity to build the religious Stoddard temple to humanity. Toohey then convinces Stoddard to help ruin Roark by suing him for breach of contract and malpractice. Stoddard wins the suit. Then, Keating promises Katie that they’ll get married, however elopes with Dominique later that night. Dominique immediately cheats on Keating with Roark.
Now, after that relatively long, but necessary summary, lets get down to business.
One of the most confusing, and yet enticing, aspects of Roark’s life so far is his relationship with Dominique Francon. He has raped her, yet it is that act alone that has fulfilled Dominique. She repeatedly states throughout the novel that she hates Roark and that she is going to ruin his reputation, but it is that hatred that undeniably draws her closer to him. This seemingly sadistic relationship is totally abnormal, yet it is happening. One night, after they have just made love, the meaning of relationship becomes a bit clearer.
“When they lay in bed together it was - as it had to be, as the nature of the act demanded - an act of violence. It was surrender, made the more complete by the force of their resistance. It was an act of tension, as the great things on earth are things of tension” (282).
The passage compliments a theme present throughout the novel: that compassion, warmth and “aesthetics” mean nothing. Only objectivism, and true competency should prevail. The violence of their relationship is there in order make the connection to the hard, sharp, and real. Dominique is testing Roark’s true strength and belief in his ideals, hence the resistance and tension. Their relationship of power and independence is vastly contrasted with that of Keating and Katie. The latter couple is pitifully comprised of occasional meetings of cuddling and almost whining dependence upon each other. Keating’s and Katie’s evening spent whispering to each other ideal, yet empty, love promises embodies the hypocrisy of their relationship. I feel that is why Rand felt the need to create such a violent relationship between Roark and Dominique - she has to contrast the overly soft with the hard. The novel is filled with incompetent ideas that result in immense success, and valid ideals resulting in failure. The sadism between Roark and Dominique has to violently contrast the weak and meaningless relationship between Katie and Keating in order to emphasize the importance of the novel’s message: stay true to your own unique ideals, wants, and beliefs. Unlike Keating, Howard applies his strength in order to uphold unique ideals in architecture. Although Roark may have his office closed, be sued, destroyed through journalism, or ridiculed, he will persevere, just as he perseveres in “breaking” Dominique. It will be very interesting to see how the relationships in this novel unfold.
P.S. Sorry for the long blog, but as with the original text, length seems to be inherent.
A lot has changed in the life of Howard Roark since his previous encounters with Peter. While Peter has become the right hand man of Francon, destined someday to become partner, Roark has accomplished nothing. Roark moves around from job to job, losing them as quickly as he acquires them. For the brief time period when he was employed by the firm of John Erik Snyte, Roark impresses a widely known critic of architecture, Austen Heller. After Roark is inevitably fired from his job with Snyte, Howard decides to start his own architecture firm with the commission he receives from Heller. Roark starts immediately to arrange for the construction of Heller’s home, but first he goes to tell his friend, Henry Cameron, about his business. Cameron says,
“It doesn’t say much. Only ‘Howard Roark, Architect.’ But it’s like those mottoes men carved over the entrance of a castle and died for. It’s a challenge in the face of something so vast and so dark, that all the pain on earth – and do you know how much suffering there is on earth? – all the pain comes from that thing you are going to face. I don’t know what it is, I don’t know why it should be unleashed against you. I know only that it will be” (133).
The most profound aspect of Howard’s character is his ability to unwaveringly adhere to his morals. He believes that nothing about a building should be useless; everything must have purpose. He despises ornate cornices, needless columns of Classicism, and facades that deceive the building within. What does Howard receive in return for his determinedness to build structures that satisfy their function, yet also have a form that is not copied from the archetypes of architecture? He cannot hold a job, he is a public mockery, and he is at the verge of starving. The worst pain of all, however, is the fact that incompetent men like Keating and Francon are worshipped by the public. Cameron has been beaten by this reality. The general ignorance of the public, specifically in this case meaning the willingness of the public to accept buildings that have been copied and re-copied for centuries as innovative, is the dark “thing” that Howard is going to have to face.
What makes this passage so compelling for me is the language that Cameron uses to describe the challenge that Howard is going to have to overcome. Cameron frames it as a mottoe that men have died for, and that that same reality will confront Howard. Up to this point in the novel I, and probably most readers, could not truly support Howard’s indifference to the world. The way Howard acts is almost unrealistic, and seems to practically not be possible in the real world. After Cameron’s warning I’m starting to second-guess that assumption. The pain that Cameron describes so accurately is certainly real. How many times has a man wanted to accomplish some task his own way, yet is stopped from doing so by cultural norms or outside influence? How often is his castle overrun by a mindless mob? The ability for autonomy over one’s actions and choices is in fact some real thing that every individual desires, and yet none are satisfied. After extracting this meaning from Cameron’s words, Roark transformed from a character to a man. He is man because he has that same desire of autonomy, which is in his case is the need to build unique structures. He is, however, different than most men because he is actually fighting to maintain his autonomy, just as Cameron says he is. The name on the door of Howard’s own office is nothing but one symbol of victory in his moral struggle.
Initially as I read this book I confused Howard’s almost suicidal adherence to his morals as a form of idealist arrogance. Currently, I disagree. Cameron’s words made Roark’s actions more relatable to real life: it made Howard into the man that everyone has the ability, but not the will, to be. It will be interesting to see if any other opinions of mine will change as I continue to read this novel.
The idea of individualism is a profound, yet commonly overused and underrepresented in literature. This is definitely not the case in Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead. Two of the most important main characters are Peter Keating and Howard Roark. The former is a dangerously ambitious architect, and the latter is a genius who has dropped out of college because of his refusal to compromise his architectural designs (even if it means certain corporate failure). A major insight into both of these characters is presented when Keating has to design his first real project for his boss, Guy Francon. Fearing that his design isn’t good enough, Peter rushes off to consult Roark.
“Keating felt naked. Davis, Stengel, Francon meant nothing here. People were his protection against people. Roark had no sense of people. Others gave Keating a feeling of his own value. Roark gave him nothing. He thought that he should seize his drawings and run. The danger was not Roark. The danger was that he, Keating, remained” (72).
The people referenced (i.e. Davis, Stengel and Francon) are those whom Peter has either gotten fired or successfully manipulated in order to move up the corporate ladder.
A lot of aspects of not only Keating’s, but also Roark’s character are summed up in a very succinctly, yet compelling way. Keating takes advantage of what T.S. Elliot called “Hollow Men,” and Joseph Conrad categorized as pilgrims in Heart of Darkness; he manipulates people by having no individualistic designs or thoughts. Immediately before this passage Keating states that he does not have to fear that his design will be rejected because it is an exact copy of all the past, already-been-done, architectural masterpieces. If it is actually criticized, “he would agree with either [opinion]” (72). Peter realizes that he essentially has no spine, and that is why he fears confronting Roark so much; Roark embodies the absolute definition of independent thought. Where Peter uses people to mask and accomplish his ambitions, Roark does not care about people, or his success. Roark only cares about his truly unique architectural creations. Keating recognizes the potential of Roark to disprove his entire way of life, even if it is just by his existence. The fact that somebody can live without caring about all of the things that Peter cares so much about - money, status, reputation - scares him very much. Keating realizes all of the sleazy things that he has done to achieve those goals, and Roark effectively debases those aspirations because to achieve them requires sacrifice of one’s self. That is why this quote keeps the reader reading, it confirms those assumptions that have been seeded since the beginning of the book, and yet keeps the reader is left wondering if Peter will eventually give-in and uphold his individualism, or just continue to please the masses.
Nothing is a more prevalent symbol than the “darkness” in this novel. Not only is it in the title, but it is also used to describe almost every single thing that is mentioned during Marlow’s journey. It describes the cloudy river, the foggy atmosphere, Kurtz, the natives, and absolutely everything. In today’s discussion the fact that the “darkness” can possibly represent ignorance and a loss of foresight was quite compelling.
Taking into account the setting of this story, a brutally imperialized
Congo, this idea of “lack of vision” is more easily understood. One of the best representations of how a lack of vision, the “darkness,” is most significant appears during the fight scene between the natives and the pilgrims. Not only does the confrontation occur in the midst of Marlow’s and the pilgrims’ temporary blindness (due to the fog), the pilgrims’ retaliate by blindly shooting into the wilderness. Marlow notices this when he describes them blindly shooting from the hip. The pilgrims’ action represents the unknowing, unplanned, and futile, yet brutal force that the imperialists use to abuse the natives. The notion that the darkness means a lack of foresight and ignorance of the native populations (and the entire imperialist situation) is definitely present here. I feel that it is a direct message from Conrad of just how inappropriate and bad the imperialism is in the
Congo. Before this discussion I never really could put my finger on exactly what “the darkness” might represent, but now I realize that it is partly the ignorance of the imperialists in
Africa.
Conrad is the master of symbols, and the biggest symbol in Heart of Darkness is the river itself. It provides Marlow with a way of traveling throughout the story, which enables him not only to find Kurtz, but to discover a lot more about himself and humanity. The group that discussed the symbolism of the river whet my appetite to dive deeper.
One point that I found particularly interesting during today’s discussion was the suggestion that the river acts as a parallel to the emotions of the characters. Kat pointed out the quote, “I [Marlow] expected the wretched thing to give up every moment. It was like watching the last flickers of a life. But still we crawled” (45). It is at this point in the novel that the reader begins to recognize that both Marlow and the pilgrims are hopeful, yet helpless. I thought that his was an extremely compelling statement, because it supports one of the main purposes of this book. The “heart of darkness” is supposed to represent man’s ability, and even outright willingness, for depravity. Even though Marlow does not quite recognize this, he later does. Another thing that was not mentioned in class is that the river also represents the progression back into time. As Marlow gets closer and closer to Kurtz, the jungle gets denser, his mannerisms become more primitive (i.e. throwing his helmsman overboard without a proper burial), the fog clouds his vision and foresight, and eventually he becomes surrounded by the primitive tribes of the region. This is meant to have serious implications when Marlow discovers the abomination of Kurtz, which is the ultimate proof that Conrad uses to show peoples’ potential for depravity. It is meant to imply that this darkness, this inability to empathize with other people that Kurtz so vehemently demonstrates, is a primal aspect of human nature.
One of the key topics that my group discussed during the fishbowl was that of Kurtz and what he is meant to represent. It is widely known that Conrad is a master of symbols, but what is Kurtz as a symbol? This fascination of the abomination can only be understood if the reader truly understands Kurtz.
Above all Kurtz is a human being who has succumbed to his primal desires. He definitely is not the humanitarian person that other characters have portrayed him as to Marlow. Part of Kurtz’s abomination is his lust for power and inability, or even refusal, to control that lust. Conrad represents this lack of control through the heads that decorate the camp. They are totally unnecessary, yet they help Kurtz remember his absolute, sadistic control over the natives. Marlow hypothesizes, “that there was something wanting in him [Kurtz]- some small matter which, when the pressing need arose, could not be found under his magnificent eloquence” (68). Coincidentally, Kurtz embodies the imperialism of nations: reckless disregard for anyone except oneself. Once Marlow realizes this, I personally feel that he comes to a startling conclusion.
Marlow is so fascination with the abomination that is Kurtz because he sees himself in Kurtz. He identifies with this deranged deity. Where the initial stages of his fascination were purely based upon curiosity, the later stage is built upon Kurtz’s identity. On the night when Marlow finds Kurtz crawling around the camp, just before he leaves the boat it becomes evident that Marlow identifies with Kurtz. Marlow says, “I was anxious to deal with this shadow by myself alone, - and to this day I don’t know why I was so jealous of sharing with any one the peculiar blackness of that experience” (78). The fact that Marlow is jealous indicates that he realizes that he is almost just like Kurtz - he has abused the native customs, is only looking out for his own wealth, etc. - and sharing that realization with Kurtz is painful. Marlow identifies with Kurtz, and that is why he is so fascinated with the abomination.
The last part of the book is also particularly interesting to display visually. When the governess thinks, “I was so determined to have all my proof that I flashed into ice to challenge him. ‘Whom do you mean by ‘he’?’” and Miles then responds, “Peter Quint - you devil!” a lot is revealed about the story. First of all, the reader realizes just how badly the governess wants to believe that the ghosts are a real physical threat to the children through her language, “I flashed into ice,” in order to fabricate proof out of the situation she is in. Miles’ reply can be interpreted to either be a corroboration of the apparition’s appearance, or a question of the governess’ sanity. This is the precise genius of The Turn of the Screw, no interpretation can be entirely certain. One possible way in which I would try to display the ambiguity of this story visually is through a mobile. On each hanging piece there would be a picture of the children, the governess and the ghosts. On one side of the hanging pieces of paper would be the governess’ over dramatized interpretation of Bly (fierce ghosts, scheming children, etc.) and on the side would be a normal, more calm representation of the situation. The turning pieces in the wind would also go nicely with the “turning” imagery of the book.
One of the quotes that I might do my visual on is on page 105. The governess has just spotted Ms. Jessel across the lake and becomes outraged when both Mrs. Grose and Flora cannot seem to see her. She cries, ” ‘I’ve been living with the miserable truth, and now it has only too much closed round me. Of course I’ve lost you: I’ve interfered, and you’ve seen - under her dictation’ - with which I faced, over the pool again, our infernal witness - ‘the easy and perfect way to meet it. I’ve done my best, but I’ve lost you. Goodbye.’” I like this quote a lot because it exemplifies just how much the governess is over-dramatizing her role as a babysitter. Throughout the book she has said that she is at the helm of her own ship, and she gives herself a purpose in life by saying that she needs to find these lost children. On my visual I would like to represent this by drawing a picture of the governess as a character in her own play, on her own ship, where the children have control over her because she herself is a puppet. The children will have control over her because they seem to know more than they let on, especially in Miles’ case. Everything they seem to do, whether intentionally or not, seems to influence her behavior much like a puppeteer controls his puppet in every way possible. The governess over-dramatizes her role at Bly and therefore I would like to portray her as a player in her own play.
