Creating Meaning out of the Absurd

As I was scrolling through my Instagram feed a few days ago, I saw a Humans of New York video clip that reminded me of The Stranger. A boy wearing a suit was sharing his life motto: “The meaning to life is that there is no meaning, and because of that, you have to make there be a meaning for the people that haven't realized it yet”. In addition to being incredibly insightful, his advice speaks to the same themes that Camus does in The Stranger, and is not as different from Meursault’s worldview as it might seem.

Absurdism, a philosophical school of thought developed by Camus, centers around the conflict between humans’ attempts to find inherent meaning in life and ultimate inability to do so. One key question is how humans should go forward once having recognized this absurdity. Camus and other absurdist philosophers present three possibilities: suicide, belief in the existence of a reality beyond the absurd (whether religious or more general), and acceptance of the absurd. The solution endorsed by Camus, as we see in The Stranger, is the acceptance of the absurd. Meursault detests the fact that the method of his execution forces him to become complicit in hoping his execution succeeds, and hopes in the last line of the novel “that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate” so that he can at least feel defiant despite being powerless (123). Meursault also rejects religion, and any attempts to try and convince him there is greater meaning or a life after this one. The one time we see any display of emotion or passion from Meursault is when he lashes out at the chaplain after his many attempts to reach and sway Meursault. The approach Camus believed in was recognizing the Absurd, but continuing to live and create your own meaning. Meursault seems to have been living with the knowledge that there is no larger meaning in life throughout the novel, but only truly grapples and comes to terms with it in the last chapter, saying “As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself--so like a brother, really--I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again”.  He recognizes that the universe is indifferent--there is no greater meaning--but in spite, or perhaps because of this, is happy and able to create some meaning of his own.

This is where I saw the similarities between his outlook and that of the boy interviewed for Humans of New York. Both agree that there is no larger meaning in the universe, and any meaning that humans can find they have to create for themselves. Where their philosophies differ is that Camus would be against perpetuating in any way the “delusion” that there is meaning inherent in the universe, while the boy believes in finding meaning by creating it for others.

Although I’m not going to analyze them in this post, I also found it interesting how relevant some of the comments on the post were to other aspects of The Stranger:

1. “This is a dangerous worldview.”
2. “That’s literally what I think about life. To me life has no meaning, so just enjoy it while it lasts.”
3. “If life has no meaning, why is it a bad thing to go around killing each other?”

What kind of insect is Gregor?

We’ve spent some time in class while reading The Metamorphosis discussing what kind of insect Gregor is, and the potential implications thereof. Although Gregor is often described as a cockroach in English translations, the type of insect he is is never mentioned in the original German text, and Russian author and scholar Vladimir Nabokov argued in a lecture on Kafka (link below) that Gregor is not transformed into a cockroach but rather a beetle. Nabokov argues:

A cockroach is an insect that is flat in shape with large legs, and Gregor is anything but flat: he is convex on both sides, belly and back, and his legs are small. He approaches a cockroach in only one respect: his coloration is brown. That is all. Apart from this he has a tremendous convex belly divided into segments and a hard rounded back suggestive of wing cases. In beetles these cases conceal flimsy little wings that can be expanded and then may carry the beetle for miles and miles in a blundering flight.

Gregor is in fact described on the first page as having a “hard shell-like back”, a “curved brown belly, divided by stiff arching ribs”, and “numerous legs, which were pathetically thin compared to the rest of his bulk” (64).  

I was intrigued by this hypothesis and looked through the book and on the internet for further evidence to support or counter this argument. It took a while to find any information online on how to differentiate between a beetle and a cockroach based on behavior; I learned that both can and will climb on walls and the ceiling as Gregor did, and that you can keep a decapitated cockroach alive for over a month (tie off the head area with a tourniquet and keep it in a cool, humid area), but nothing particularly useful until I took a look at the life cycle of a beetle.

The life cycle of a beetle, coincidentally called a metamorphosis, is in some ways reflected in Gregor’s short life as an insect. The cycle begins when a female beetle lays “hundreds of tiny, oval white or yellow eggs”. Right after Gregor wakes up, he observes a spot on his stomach “covered with a mass of little white spots that he was unable to interpret” that could be intended to bring to mind eggs and show that this is a new state of being for Gregor (65). The second stage in the life cycle of a beetle is the larvae stage. Again, although Gregor is physically an adult, he exhibits some of the behavior typical of the larvae stage, such as eating copious amounts of food. Early in his transformation Gregor complains of extreme hunger and eats whatever he can of what his sister brings in. Later, his appetite diminishes until he barely touches his food at all. Next in the life cycle of a beetle is the pupal stage. During this stage the beetle creates a cocoon similar to that of the caterpillar and inside it grows into an adult. This could be represented in the novel by the hiding place under the couch with a sheet draped over it that Gregor creates for himself and spends most of his time in. The fourth and final stage of a beetle’s life is the adult stage. It is during this final stage that the beetle reproduces and then dies. Although Gregor does not reproduce as an insect, the reason he finally does burst out from his cocoon under the couch is to try and save the picture of the woman in furs he had framed and hung on the wall.

Kafka was not an entomologist, so these observations may be a bit of a stretch in trying to support an argument for what kind of insect Gregor is. Another interesting twist of Gregor potentially being a beetle is that, as in the Samsa and Seuss radio play, Gregor had wings the entire time without having any idea. This fact emphasizes the qualities in Gregor that made him insect-like in the first place. He was so willing to go with the flow, do exactly what he was told, and make himself as innocuous and helpful as possible that he never noticed the one thing that could have saved his life or at least made his predicament somewhat more enjoyable.

If you’re interested in reading more of Nabokov’s lecture on The Metamorphosis, or more about the life cycle of a beetle and how cockroaches don’t actually need their heads to survive, here are the links I got my information from:

http://www.kafka.org/index.php?id=191,209,0,0,1,0

https://animalcorner.co.uk/beetle-life-cycle/

http://www.pctonline.com/article/pct1107_cockroaches/

Is Brett the Main Character in The Sun Also Rises?

During panel presentations today, one group while discussing the role Brett plays in the novel brought up the idea that in some ways she is the main character of The Sun Also Rises. Although Jake is the narrator of the novel and the only character whose thoughts we have access to, Brett is truly the person who drives the plot and who the other characters are defined in relation to. She is also the character who arguably shows the most growth over the course of the novel.

Although Brett is not introduced until the end of chapter three, it is only when she makes her first appearance that we get some real insight into Jake and the plot starts to pick up. Jake’s feelings for Brett are the first thing in the novel to dismantle his “tough-guy” facade and allow the reader to see through to his actual character. The scenes in the taxi with Jake and Brett, and then of Jake alone in his room thinking about her paint a clearer and more honest picture of him than we had gotten in the entire three chapters preceding. This theme of the reader learning more about Jake through his interactions with and feelings for Brett continues throughout the novel, from where she comforts him in his bedroom to their conversations in Pamplona to the final scene in the taxi in Madrid.

Brett is also the character who drives the plot of The Sun Also Rises. If she were not in the novel, there would not be much of a story to tell. Jake would continue with his life on the outskirts of expatriate society in Paris, interrupted by a brief interlude in Spain where he fishes with his old friend Bill. The trip would be made only slightly less relaxing by the presence of his annoying acquaintance Cohn. There would be almost none of the tension that exists between Cohn and Jake, Mike would be out of the picture entirely, and Jake’s value system would remain unchallenged as he and his friends wholeheartedly joined Montoya in supporting Romero in the bullfights. Brett is the character who again and again defies the reader and characters’ expectations, creates the tension and drama, and forces the other characters to question their values and what they hold to be true.

Brett is also the character who grows the most over the course of the novel. At the beginning, she is perpetually drinking and rushes from one relationship to the next to avoid looking back at the damage both that she’s caused and that’s been done to her. However, in the last chapters she acknowledges that she “can’t just stay tight all the time” and is able to stop and reflect on the status of her relationships instead of just continuing to rush forwards. She sends Romero away when his intention to marry and reform her becomes apparent, plans on returning to Mike whom she identifies as the best match personality-wise for her and someone who will still allow her to have the freedom and lifestyle she wants, and in the final scene appears to be resigned to the fact that she and Jake will never be able to have the relationship they had hoped for.

The Lost Generation

“You are all a lost generation.” -Gertrude Stein in conversation

“One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever. . . . The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose. . . . The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits. . . . All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.” -Ecclesiastes

The two epigraphs that Hemingway includes at the beginning of The Sun Also Rises paint an ambiguous portrait of the generation of young adults affected by WWI whose lives he depicts in the novel.

There are two ways that the second epigraph (Ecclesiastes) could be interpreted. One could read it as saying that generations are simply something that come and go against the larger background of the earth that “abideth forever” and the natural world. Human life is presented as transient, temporary, and ultimately unimportant against this background. Regardless of the state of human life, the earth keeps turning and the sun will continue to rise and set. In this context, having Gertrude Stein describe Hemingway and the characters’ of The Sun Also Rises generation as “lost” does not have a large impact. The little blip in the cycle that they are is insignificant in the larger cycle of generations, and even more so when compared to the natural world.

However, you could also read the second epigraph as comparing the cycle from one generation to the next to things as fundamental as the sun rising and setting. All of the elements of nature mentioned in the epigraph are described in a cyclical way. The sun rises, sets, and goes back to the place where it rose. The wind “whirleth about continually, and … returneth again according to its circuits”. The rivers flow into the sea and then back to the places where they began. This imagery echoes how as “one generation passeth away… another cometh”. In this context, Stein’s description of the generation described in The Sun Also Rises as “lost” takes on a much greater significance. Imagine if one day the sun didn’t rise, or rivers just stopped flowing. Like in those extreme cases, a piece of a recurring cycle we take for granted is simply gone.

So which reading of the epigraphs did Hemingway intend and base his novel on? I would say both. On the surface, the struggles of the “lost generation” seem negligible. Almost none of the characters we’ve met has a job, they spend almost every night out drinking, dancing, and talking, and none of them (except for Robert Cohn who Jake makes fun of) take anything seriously. However, once you get beneath the surface, the reader sees that the characters do have very real struggles, as well as trauma associated with the war.

The Admirable Hugh

A large amount of the comic relief in Mrs. Dalloway comes in the form of Hugh Whitbread. Although a relatively minor character, Hugh, who was a friend of Clarissa’s at Bourton and is now in the same social circle as she and Richard, has had two substantial appearances so far. Woolf has taken advantage of both of these to poke fun at “the admirable Hugh”. He is introduced as “Hugh Whitbread; her old friend Hugh--the admirable Hugh!”, and is described a having a “very well-covered, manly, extremely handsome, perfectly upholstered body”, and while not particularly intelligent or original, “a good sort in his own way” and “still not a positive imbecile”.

The mockery continues when Hugh and Mr. Dalloway attend a lunch at Lady Bruton’s. Hugh is reintroduced as he walks down the street, “ruminating” on a variety of topics he has in the past brushed the surface of (“dead languages, the living, life in Constantinople, Paris, Rome; riding shooting, tennis,”) without pursuing at any meaningful depth. When he arrives at Lady Bruton’s, he greets the secretary by asking, as he always has, if her brother is doing well in South Africa despite the fact that “for half a dozen years, he had been doing badly in Portsmouth”, and when Lady Bruton mentions that Peter is back in town “They all smiled. Peter Walsh! And Mr. Dalloway was genuinely glad, Milly Brush thought; and Mr. Whitbread thought only of his chicken.”

I could continue to catalog a list of Hugh’s funniest moments, but why does Woolf take this mockery to such an extent? And why even include a character like Hugh at all in a novel as serious and nostalgia-laden as Mrs. Dalloway in the first place? I think to Woolf, Hugh is another representation of the Edwardians she criticizes in her essays and of the English upper class and their culture in general. He has a vaguely described job in Parliament or Buckingham Palace, and is described by Peter, one of the most astute characters we have encountered so far as having “no heart, no brain, nothing but the manners and breeding of an English gentleman”. Despite having perfect manners, a job in government, and being well-off and part of an elite social circle, we see that on the inside Hugh is shallow, materialistic, less than intelligent, and so blundering it’s comical.

These criticisms also fit in with how Woolf critiques the people lining the streets and trying to catch a glimpse of the Queen (or maybe it’s the Prime Minister) during the motor car montage sequence. Again using irony and humor she undermines their reverence, patriotism, and awe with the fact that nobody has any idea who’s in the car, and by diverting the attention of the crowd with a toffee advertisement as the car finally enters Buckingham Palace. It will be interesting to see if Woolf continues to use humor and irony as methods of social criticism, and how the critiques she makes in Mrs. Dalloway connect to her identity as a modern writer and her ideas on how novels should be written.

Future Posts will be for the class The 20th Century Novel

The BB

In the chapter “Gangsters”, Randy shoots Benji with a BB gun, leaving a BB stuck just above Benji’s eye. Benji decides not to see a doctor, but is then unable to remove the BB on his own. At the end of the chapter, Ben says,

It’s still there. Under the skin. It’s good for a story, something to shock people with after I’ve known them for years and feel a need to surprise them with the other boy… I asked a doctor about it once, about blood poisoning over time. He shook his head. Then he shrugged. “It hasn’t killed you yet” (159)

With Sag Harbor being semi-autobiographical, a natural thing to wonder after reading this section is whether or not the adult Colson Whitehead actually does have a BB stuck in his eye socket. In an interview for The New Yorker just before the publication of Sag Harbor, Whitehead was asked this very question. Although had he admitted earlier in the interview that the BB gun episode was real and “too stupid an escapade to leave out [of the novel]”, when asked specifically about the BB he says only, “don’t we all?” .

While frustratingly vague, this answer is in line with Benji’s transformation into Ben and how it ties to coming of age as a more general concept. The presence of the BB has no physical consequences for Benji. His parents don’t ever notice the scar, and his doctor seems pretty nonchalant about the whole thing. It’s only significance lies that it is physical proof for the older Ben that he and Benji (who he refers to as “the other boy”) are in fact the same person.

The gap between Ben and Benji is so wide that the reader, and in fact Ben himself, are unsure as to how Benji will grow up and become him. There is the sense that if Ben were somehow at the Labor Day Party at the end of the novel, Benji would never even consider him as a possibility when trying to spot his older self. We talked about this feeling as representative of coming of age in general. Someone mentioned that the amount of change that occurs makes it almost like the person you may be in ten years is someone else entirely who has just stolen your name and continued living as you. For Ben, who very much feels this way, the BB is a way to ground himself and realize that both selves are real--he can have been Benji, be Ben, and still become someone else entirely. Like Sag, the BB is simply a part of who he is, and at the same time something that forces him to acknowledge and embrace the paradox of his life.

If you want to read the full interview, here’s the URL: http://www.newyorker.com/the-new-yorker-blog/fiction-q-a-colson-whitehead