Anne Frank's Diary & MAUS

Anne Frank

Truth in Deviation

In discussing the Holocaust, it is important to note the difference between historical and narrative truths. Naturally, the greater emphasis is on the former, as it is the systematic and accurate stating of facts. In contrast with historical truth, narrative truth is somebody’s perspective of those factual events. This “deviated” truth, nonetheless, when speaking of the Holocaust and its dreadful events, does not convey untrue messages in regards to the subject. In order to show the various gendered perspectives in the light of narrative truth, examining Anne Frank’s Diary of a Young Girl and Art Spiegelman’s MAUS might further illuminate the subject. The characters in both works are all hardworking individuals, with incredible resourcefulness and initiative. Both stories concentrate on specific, family lives and their struggles during the Holocaust, rather than on every event in Europe during the Holocaust. There is a certain specificity that comes with speculating the gendered perspectives in both stories through narrative truth, managing to the inhumanity of man to man. Furthermore, the protagonists’ direct and indirect recollections and reflections of their experiences do not provide answers to their degraded and traumatized states, yet they do not fail to show man’s inhumanity to man, whether through the perspective of a young girl or an experienced, male survivor.

Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl can be seen as a personal historical document. Although, it has touched millions of readers worldwide, still many criticize the diary, because it contains no first-hand accounts of the horrors of the Nazi genocide. They fault the book's popularity because it focuses on an individual in a unique situation, rather than on the broader Holocaust experience. Despite the negative views of the Diary, Frank’s perseverance fills a need to return to optimism. The reader, especially the teenage reader, sympathizing and empathizing with Frank, might as well be inspired by the indomitable spirit of teenage Frank, disregarding the absence of some solid recounting of the events of the Holocaust. Despite the seriousness of the subject, Frank incorporates humor in her piece, intentional or non-purposed, which contributes to the uniqueness of the book. A New York Times best-selling author, Francis Prose notes in her book, Anne Frank: The Book, the Life, the Afterlife, “Occasionally, horror is commingled with comedy, again in ways that deepen our understanding of Anne’s ‘characters’ and their interrelations” (123). The humor and comic elements are typical of a teenage girl, in their irreverence and sarcasm. She holds nothing back in her biting portrayals of the other hideaways, and the result is often quite comical. In one of her entries, she comments on Mrs. Van Daan, one of the residents of the Secret Annex, explaining that her bed is "shoved against the window so that Her Majesty, arrayed in her pink bed jacket, can sniff the night air through her delicate little nostril” (96). Anne's humor is also turned on herself, as in the entry on December 22, 1942, in which she concludes that she is afraid that her common sense will vanish by the end of the war since she uses too much of it (63). Sarcasm is a key element of Frank's sense of humor and one that plays a vital role in her ability to cope with her extreme situation.

Melissa Muller in her book discusses the importance of narrative truth, it having a greater chance of reaching the reader, than the bare and plain stating of events: “The historian Yehuda Bauer has said that historical research cannot rely on theoretical analysis alone; it requires as well the telling of true stories” (Muller xi). The storyteller is ranked higher by Muller than a historian because without perspective, in the Diary’s case, one would not empathize with Anne Frank. “History does not repeat itself, but man does” are the famous words of Voltaire. It is with repetition that one comes to understand the struggles and the dehumanization of individual experiences. It can be assumed that it is Frank’s gender that allows her to be quite expressive and repetitive; nonetheless, associating expressive traits with women is a stereotype and has not been proven by psychological research. At several accounts, however, Frank states: “Paper is patient” (123), “Kitty is always patient” (46), or “Paper is more patient than man” (2), indicating that she is in need of a non-judgmental listener, who will patiently listen to her joys and sorrows, worries and pleasures. The reader may find many of her feelings and experiences familiar, indicating that the process of growing up, with all of its pain, joy, and uncertainty, is generally the same regardless of time, place, or situation. Her age and gender affect the narrative technique and style, as Frank, in awkward and introspective time of maturity and in extraordinary circumstances, chooses a diary as her confidante. Being the optimistic person that she is, and the great potential that she might have as a writer, it is especially frightening that Frank’s hopes and dreams, along with her body give way to typhus, at a concentration camp.

Moreover, Frank’s optimism is so deeply embedded in her identity that it sustains her through much hardship. She writes in one of her last entries of the Diary, “It is really a wonder that I haven’t dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd . . . to carry out . . . in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart” (263). This statement is compelling when the reader realizes that this entry was one of the last made by Frank, after having lived in the Secret Annex for two years and hearing news of the horrors taking place in the outside world. There is a highly complex situation here: would acknowledgment of the situation, by Nazi targets, including Frank, ensure that action would be taken in the direction of rescue? In Frank’s case, it would not, as she is a teenage girl who lives secretly in an annex, with her family. There is not much she can do about missing a meal, being constantly in the danger of getting bombed and killed, or being taken away by a train to a camp.

On the other hand, Frank’s sensibility, as opposed to Vladek Spiegelman’s reserved nature, from MAUS, contrast in a way. Vladek Spiegelman is the principal protagonist in the narrative and also acts as an intermediate narrator for most of the material in the book—that is, he narrates his life story to Art, his son, who retells Vladek's story, frequently using Vladek's own words. Again, there is an example of narrative truth, where the events are described through somebody’s understanding of those accounts. These events are somewhat affected by the great trauma of the survivors. Art Spiegelman is one of the narrators within the graphic text where he frequently tries to express the inexpressible. In other words, Art is self-referential, in narrowing the space between the reader and the text, by adding personal opinions outside of his conversations with the other protagonist, Vladek. This is obvious in the beginning of the story when Art provides some context for the reader in the third person perspective. The beginning is not only worthy of mentioning in terms of style, but it also provides some perspective on Vladek’s character. Art mentions, “My father was in front, fixing something” (5), which already indicates that his father is a hardworking man. This, also, foreshadows the later struggles, recollected by Vladek, during the difficult times. Within the text, Vladek and his second wife, Mala, represent the point of view of Holocaust survivors, while Art represents someone who did not experience the Holocaust, but is still deeply connected to it; the text is manifestly a reaction of a non-survivor because of generational trauma. Anja, Art’s mother, eventually seeks to escape the trauma of the Holocaust by committing suicide. According to author Leni Yahil, “It appears to be an empirical fact of human nature that it is difficult for people to adapt their way of thinking to new circumstances” (544). Yahil’s point seems to be evident in this case, as nothing seems to save Anja from death, from the involuntary exhaustion of her own mind.

Furthermore, Anja’s act reverberates throughout Vladek’s life and affects his narrative; he feels somehow responsible. The reader can see Vladek’s soft and sensitive side, when he breaks down in front of his son, remembering Anja: “Oy, Anja! Anja! Anja!” (129). Before this point, his narrative seemed to be a reportage of the recollection of the events during the Holocaust. Even if there were sensitive moments included in Vladek’s stories, they were all accounts of the past. However, part of his now-character is revealed, and under the alienated, proud survivor figure, one can notice the man who suffers and is unfulfilled with his life. Although he survived, Vladek remains colored by his experiences: “I cannot forget it . . . Ever since Hitler I don’t like to throw out even a crumb” (Spiegelman 238). To Vladek, money is literally life—too many times having a bribe literally saves his life—and he refuses to willingly part with any amount of money that can be squirreled away. Vladek’s gethering of materials, kept from the Holocaust has another layer to it. Its symptoms, as expressed by Mala—“He’s more attached to things than to people” (132)—are apparent. The degrading and drastic situations in concentration camps mold Vladek into the character that he is at present. As the male of the household, he almost had a responsibility to survive, for everybody’s sake.

In addition, the material objects are tangible rather than virtual; therefore, they are more immediate to the collector. In his essay “Counting Six Million: Collecting Projects and Holocaust Memorization,” Jewish Social Studies scholar Daniel H. Magilow, explains this phenomenon: “Unlike memorials that grow old and illegible, collecting projects do not treat trauma as entirely separate, distant, and relevant only as an object of reflection . . .The collecting of material objects connects past with the present” (39). The tangibles from the past do not fade like memories might, due to aging, but are constantly there to remind of the past. Vladek, although a stern-seeming father figure, still lives the aftereffects of the Holocaust. To Mala he might seem antisocial, or a total insensitive human, yet he is a typical product of the Nazi-planned genocide, looking for a path to second salvation.

Frank’s Diary and Spiegelman’s MAUS have the Holocaust as the central theme and dominant feature of both texts. Both authors recount their Holocaust experiences in a more individual and specific manner. Although the Diary, in contrast with MAUS, has a single narrator, it still does not fail to portray the struggles and sorrows of the sufferers during the Holocaust. Both works, however, no matter the dreadfulness of the topic, provide comical elements which by no means are there to trivialize the serious subject, but to show the accuracy of those recollections and reflections. The narrative truth might not be as precise as historical truth; yet, it is still a depiction of historical events, in a more immediate and personal manner. Surviving physically does not mean surviving mentally or being liberated from the trauma of the Holocaust. The protagonists, on their entry to the camps, are overcome before they can adapt; they are beaten by the time they realize a strike is on its way. They are not only entangled in the infernal knots of the drastic events, but also in their narrative truths.

Works Cited

Frank, Anne. The Diary of a Young Girl. Trans. B. M. Mooyaart-Doubleday. New York:

Bentam Books, 1986. Print.

Magilow, Daniel H. “Counting Six Million: Collecting Projects and Holocaust

Memorialization.” Jewish Social Studies 14.1 (2007): 23-39. Print.

Muller, Melissa. Anne Frank: The Biography. Trans. Robert Kimber, et al. New York:

Henry Holt and Company, Inc., 1998. Print.

Prose, Francine. Anne Frank: The Book, the Life, the Afterlife. New York: HarperCollins

Publishers, 2003. Print.

Spiegelman, Art. MAUS. New York: Pantheon Books, 1991. Print.

Yahil, Leni. The Holocaust: The Fate of European Jewry. New York: Oxford University Press,

1990. Print.

Victorian Literature--Vanity Fair

Becky Sharp: Vanity Alert!

“Ah! Vanitas Vanitatum! Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or having it, is satisfied?” (Thackeray 809). William Thackeray ends his novel, Vanity Fair: A Novel Without a Hero on a pessimistic note. Up to this point, Thackeray has not failed to show the piercing hypocrisies of Vanity Fair, revealing the disgusting, brutal, degrading affliction behind and below its elegant gleam. The main attack here is on the Victorian, bourgeois society and the extreme and bizarre motives that drive some characters’ passions. Rebecca Sharp (Becky), known as Rebecca Crawley later in the book, is one of those characters: She is calculating, manipulative, crafty and most of all, vain. Becky is not virtuous, and in speaking of her as a morally significant figure, one should not possibly confuse her moral meaning with the meaning of “virtue.” By representing her world at its highest energetic potential, by molding all its evil, confused, and formless impulses into brilliantly controlled intention, she tricks the reader in believing that she actually endows her world with meaning. Becky is the orphaned daughter of destitute parents, and she learns early on how to look out for her own interests. Her urge to climb the social ladder and claim social status is concretely portrayed in the novel. Becky herself is a member of no particular class, and her desires for upward mobility are that much stronger. Thackeray, through the character of Becky, discusses the acquisitive society in great detail, by revealing the actual corruptions of performance.

Vanity Fair, of course, is most concerned with performance for personal advancement. Although Becky is an attractive character because she is refreshingly active and lively in contrast with the passive and uninteresting Amelia Sedley, the daughter of John Sedley who is successful and moneyed as the novel opens, and refreshingly natural in contrast to the self-righteous and hypocritical characters like Mrs. Bute Crawley or Lady Southdown, still her ongoing act and performance to gain rise above her state is cunning and deceptive. Early in the novel, she appears to be greatly managing her performance, and she is yet only an apprentice. By attending and earning her keep at Miss Pinkerton’s academy, Becky overshadows Miss Pinkerton by her wits and “sweet” and “timid” aims. Thackeray uses two phrases about her for this case, which are worth dwelling upon. The first is not striking in itself, but still shows her ambitious nature: “Began acting for herself” (22). Here, the literal sense of acting is emboldened by its context. There is an absolute comparison with the first pages in her childish mockery of Miss Pinkerton when “the dismal precocity of poverty she talked and turned away duns, and coaxed and wheedled tradesmen” (Thackeray 18). Thackeray, here, presents her as gifted in performance, wit, and mimicry, and turning her gifts into a necessary trade. Thus, in a way, as Christopher Lindner points out in his article, “Thackeray’s Gourmand: Carnivals of Consumption in ‘Vanity Fair’,” “Thackeray’s narration exhibits a fascination with commodity culture’s spectacular and performative aspects” (566). In her constant urge for consumption, Becky Sharp is thoroughly corrupt in reaching her goal—upward mobility. Her vanity, self-fashioning, and performance have one purpose—to gain control in every situation. These blemishes she possesses are never to be lost.

Thackeray further emphasizes the notion of performance for personal gain through Becky’s character. He also shows her encouraged and contaminated by her father’s “wild companions,” performing the part of “the ingénue” (19) at Miss Pinkerton’s. In order to get in to the upper circles and be accepted, Becky puts on a different kind of act in burlesque and caricature at home. Thackeray intentionally seems to blur the distinction between performance as profession and as a way of life, and within that way of life he shows the reader Becky’s act being as persuasive, self-commodifying, deceptive, and subversive. Becky goes through stages in order to achieve the stated foibles: At the Academy, Becky is driven to act by loneliness and boredom, especially among women, then by envy, and lastly, by a carefully crafted project of ambition: “She had not been much of a dissembler, until now her loneliness taught her to feign . . . Yet, she determined at any rate to get free from the prison in which she found herself” (Thackeray 20). The “prison” is referred to the Academy, but also, metaphorically, it alludes to the world to which Becky belongs—the world of the common people. Brian McCuskey, the author of the essay, “Fetishizing the Flunkey: Thackeray and the Uses of Deviance,” makes a commentary on people like Becky Sharp, who feel as downcast and alone, outside of the noble circle: “Without an invitation to the very best dinners, the lower-middle-class snob sees little of high society apart from the liveried footmen who . . . stand between him and those dinners” (387). Living so close to such lavishes and not being able to taste the treasures of the high rank motivates Becky even further and gives way to the act of performance, both literally and figuratively.

Moreover, in order to better understand Becky’s character and her motivation through act, one ought to scrutinize her first non-professional performance. The event takes place in Amelia’s house, and Thackeray stresses two things: her experience, as when she surprises Amelia by saying, unnecessarily, that she dotes on little children, and her avariciousness, as she envies Amelia’s things—“her books, and her piano, and her dress, and her necklaces, brooches, laces and gimcracks” (22). In this novel, objects are envied, used, acquired, bought, presented, and the result is to emphasize through them the apparent and overplayed consumption, and also their dramatic use. Mostly, Thackeray accentuates the act itself, rather than the materials desired. The exceedingly cunning Becky Sharp will stop at nothing to get social power—whether through performance or cunningly artful dialogue or seduction; she will coax the prey into her dungeon.

Not only does Thackeray, through the actual description of scenes of performances, convey meaning across and further unveil Becky’s character, but also through her language patterns, costume and property, cumulative behavior description, the account of her controlled behavior enclosed to words, tones, gestures, and at times extending to laughter and even tears. In her conversation with George Osborne, a wealthy young man, though not a nobleman, who is Mr. Sedley’s godson, performs one of her best acts, with great show of emotion: “And she dropped her voice, and looked so sad and piteous, that everybody felt how cruel her lot was, and how sorry they would be to part with her” (Thackeray 39). Becky continues her overdramatic acting, “‘Oh heavenly, heavenly flowers! Exclaimed Miss Sharp, and smelt the [flowers] delicately, and held them to her bosom . . . in an ecstasy of admiration” (Thackeray 45). The author shows Becky arranging her language, tone, and behavior, often simply doing things in appropriate emotional fashion, like entertaining her friends, or in talking about fascinating India, or in arranging her clothing and appearance to bring out her pathos.

Becky plays many roles, yet Thackeray does not fail to portray her cunning nature through the use of language in her manipulative performances. According to critic, Lisa Jadwin, “Thackeray emphasizes that this discourse of acquiescent duplicity—‘the female double discourse’—is a universal female genderlect spoken by ‘coquettes,’ ‘domestic models,’ and ‘paragons of female virtue’ alike” (663). Certainly, Jadwin, in her mentioning of “domestic models” and “paragons of female virtue” has in mind Amelia, and not Becky. However, it is clear that the term “coquette” undeniably refers to Becky. She flirts with George and Jos, Amelia’s brother, simultaneously right in front of Amelia of whose feelings toward George she is aware. The Coquette’s flirting is not just a girly, innocent act, but also a calculated epilogue of gaining as many rich, marriage candidates as she can. Her egotistical self surfaces during her every show, yet all who surround her, especially those who are directly betrayed by this paragon of vanity, fail to notice the blemishes. Even in the first few chapters of the novel, Becky is already too steeped into her own self-fashioning and self-centeredness that it foreshadows no point of return to virtue. Leila S. May, in her piece titled “The Sociology of Thackeray’s ‘Howling Wilderness’: Selfishness, Secrecy and Performance in Vanity Fair,” suggests that “Psychological egoism therefore rejects the possibility of altruism, if by altruism one means the sacrifice of one’s own interest for the interest of another” (22). Becky seems to enjoy the control she has over others, without caring about somebody else’s feelings. Her cynical obsession with money lies beneath all her actions as a major cause.

As the novel progresses, the reader is expected to understand the behavioral mode without invasions into Becky’s mind, which also turns out to be unnecessary because both she and the reader become more efficient. Sometimes the words alone show the performance, but Thackeray usually accompanies them with non-sentimental descriptions. Now that both the character and the reader are masters in their roles, Thackeray describes language merely in terms of sound: “she dropped her voice,” “said Rebecca,” or “Becky thought” (352). This creates a sharp contrast between what’s visible and audible in Becky, and what goes on in other characters’ minds, whose behaviors are less controlled and calculated. Some of the characters are after riches and status, but none of them has her desires, determination, wits, and cold-hearted nature. Her mind is saturated with the notion of accumulation of wealth or at least the appearance of it. “To achieve these goals” and May continues, “each organism becomes a dissembler, and each performance is a weapon—offensive or defensive—in a larger armamentarium” (33). Most of Becky’s plans harm and offend many of the characters in the novel, but at the same time, her actions are a defense mechanism for her confined self—in her separation from the nobles.

Moreover, Becky’s performances continue and merge the highly professional acting, singing, and dancing with her continuous personal performance, but of course, that professionalism is relative. Thackeray depicts this when showing Becky’s attitude to the professional artists engaged to entertain the upper circles of London. Much later in the novel, she discusses performance with Lord Steyne. The connection between the use of art in human relations and aesthetic effort has already been made clear, by now, in the case of Becky. She has entered the great world of vanity and fashion, and she had begun to perform, by singing to a little group at a party given by the Prince of Peterwardin, with Lord Steyn (Thackeray 586). On one occasion, she tells Steyne, “I would rather be a parson’s wife, and teach a Sunday School than this . . . O how much grayer it would be to wear spangles and trousers, and dance before a booth at a fair” (Thackeray 589). She uses for effect an absolutely honest view, which comes up again when the reader sees her resilience and adaptability in Bohemian society. She confides a genuine boredom, but the confiding is a performance: “She used to tell the great man her ennuis and perplexities in her artless way—they amused him” (Thackeray 589). Becky is clever enough to use even truth-telling artfully. Her performance not only exploits and enjoys truth and candor, but it has a subtle impact.

The characters in Vanity Fair are involved in performance in many ways, as actors, actresses, singers, and audience. Becky Sharp is the ultimate performer in the novel and the epitome of vanity. Her constant strive for social status desensitizes her to any kind of emotion. Thackeray makes it clear that Becky needs all her arts in “the great world,” and that great world while demanding entertainment, sucks her into its glitz and glamour, vanity and commodities. Becky seldom does anything disinterestedly—everything is calculated and is done for profit. Her egoism is most apparent in the beginning of the novel and even left uncommented by the narrator toward its end. Thackeray then shows performance as including the dramatic sense, the desire to project, to win, to be admired by an audience within and without. Becky’s audience within is her own self-possessed essence, which displays the ensnaring and uncommon performance of her own passions. All the irony and cynicism, the obsessed urge for worldliness, and the scorn of fools, gives this note a deeper compassion: “Ah! Vanitas Vanitatum! Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or having it, is satisfied?” (809).

Works Cited

Jadwin, Lisa. “The Seductiveness of Female Duplicity in Vanity Fair.” Studies in

English Literature 1500-1900 32.4 (1992): 663-87. Print.

Lindner, Christopher. “Thackeray’s Gourmand: Carnivals of Consumption in Vanity

Fair.” Modern Philology 99.4 (2002): 564-81. Print.

May, Leila S. “The Sociology of Thackeray’s ‘Howling Wilderness’: Selfishness,

Secrecy and Performance in Vanity Fair.” Modern Language Studies 37.1 (2007):

18-41. Print.

McCuskey, Brian. “Fetishizing the Flunkey: Thackeray and the Uses of Deviance.”

NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction 32.3 (1999): 384-400. Print.

Thackeray, William Makepeace. Vanity Fair: A Novel Without a Hero. Ed. John Carey.

New York: Penguin Books, 2004. Print.

The Fabled Sector--Hollywood Boulevard (mere observation)

It is January 19, 2011, about 5:00 in the evening. The sun has almost set, and the blazing lights around the letters of El Capitan Theatre are just one of the many things I spot among the classic Hollywood attractions and structures, stores harkening to a bygone era of Hollywood glitz and glamour. As I continue my walk, I notice the Masonic Temple with its Neo-classical design. The light turns green. As long as I see the “WALK” sign, I venture forth to the other side, to the cradle of our modern pop culture: the Hollywood Walk of Fame. There are bronze star-plaques, embedded in pink and obsidian terrazzo squares embodying names such as Walt Disney, Gene Autry, Bob Barker, Walter Lantz, Marilyn Monroe, Mickey Mouse, and perhaps hundreds more I walk on or by. A man with braided hair sits on an upside down white bucket, in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. He creates music or consistent sounds by hitting on the two other white buckets or “drums” with two sticks. The tension and frequency increase as he gets compliments or attention, reducing the amplitude of the sound. The edges of the sidewalk are not concluded with the drummer, but my eye catches a variety of superheroes, movie characters, and villains, who add to the buzz of the already crowded sidewalk, ready to entertain and be entertained. My walk ends where it started, at the El-Capitan, rising high in the “moderne” style. There is a crowd, mostly consisting of Latinos, gathered together in front of the Theatre. There are a few cameramen, some with microphones, two police officers, and several orange-vested organizers as factions of the multitude. Adults, as well as many kids chant: “Disney, Disney stop the greed! Listen to our family’s need!” Most of these protestors hold candles, and some hold each others’ hands or their children. Almost all the children carry some kind of a Disney toy. A man speaks on behalf of others in regards to Disney making health insurance unaffordable for them. Some of the kids get to the podium and express themselves in short, yet striking sentences: “They don’t like us anymore;” “Please share;” “Disney treats my mom like a slave;” “Be nicer to our mom and dad;” or “They don’t respect us.” The protestors walk to the Walt Disney Studios and throw their toys in front of the Mickey Mouse statue.

His Pieces (Gallop Apace)

Perhaps I was mysteriously captivated by the tales of his movements . . . Although reciting Solomon, Ondaatje, Keillor, Nash, and Poe, he remained acutely ingenious . . . The melodic voice with its high and low modulations seemed to have found sustenance on earth, yet insinuated the non-terrestrial . . . Inebriated by those words, phrases, and intervals, I managed the thought: what an enchanting performance.

Short Narrative (Epistolary)

Dear Mama Jean,

I am awake at 2:05 a.m., and it is very silent at my apartment complex. The only thing that can be heard is the dripping of water from the hose of the sink in my kitchen and the humming of the air conditioners cooling everyone's resting bones. I do have a subject at hand and a pertinent message to communicate to you through this letter. I woke up in my bed. My fan kept me cool as I stared at the ceiling or the back of my eyelids. Imperceptibly, my thoughts went from the heat to you. Probably because I never got to share with you the details of my trip with Crab or should I call him Daddy; I am not sure. I do not have an urgent message other than wanting to communicate my thoughts to you so you can have a vague picture of that trip to New York, Tennessee, and Arkansas. After being weathered by the stress of everyday at graduate school and my over-thinking, after all this great and often detrimental mental activity, my thoughts turn to you, and they nourish me with happiness and warmth, that sense of harmony in the world I rarely find.

I do not know why I always imagined him holding a job in a bus garage, but all I remember is that those illusions were soon crushed by his appearance that day in the fourth floor of our apartment. Why did he have to show up after nine years and have nothing to tell me? That is nothing, other than “I just came by to pick up Jarell.” He said it with such an ease that in turn undermined his nine years in prison. I wanted to ask him things; I had so many questions, such as have you ever thought about me? Have you thought about how I might have liked playing football, or how you could have taught me to throw a ball? Why haven’t you written? No time? I suppose. The answers to these questions were always left to my imagination. Telling him that I thought nothing of him was a lie. The term “nothingness” somehow seemed like the perfect noun to conceal my anger and in a way offend him, by implying negation. However, I felt empty afterwards, and perhaps this guilt is what caused me not to rebel against taking that trip.

My stomach was hurting, and I do not think that the pancakes over at Colonette had anything to do with it, but rather the pressuring feeling that I could not utter the phrases: “I am glad you are here,” or “I love you too Daddy,” or “I am sorry you are in pain” caused me distress. I felt a lump in my throat, and missing you was only adding to the darkness that gathered in the form of heavy clouds, forming an uneasy wandering mass in my soul. I could feel the stark contrast between you and him, separating unevenly like water and oil in a pan. At moments, I wished I had never taken the trip. I did not want to listen to his justification of killing the guard, his ongoing mumbling of the robbery, and even more so—about Rydell. I missed the feeling of the warm hand on my shoulder, pressing in . . . your hand, your approach of never telling me what to do. Well, telling me, but in a different way. Crab was not telling; he was stating.

I hated Frank. I never told you about him because he intimidated me. Actually, now that I recollect, I did not hate him. I hated what he shared with him, with my father. They spoke as if they had some things in common. It was not even the speaking, as much as Crab smiling at Frank, as if being proud of his manliness and abilities in the boxing matches. I wanted him to teach me things . . . anything. But he did not. He only stated. That one conversation in regards to me beating Frank, I remember clearly, Crab’s assertions being different, ornamented with a smirk on his face. Every time that smile appeared and vanished, it took away some particle of the accumulated darkness, sitting heavy right here, in my soul. After, the trip was not so dreadful anymore, and the feeling of strangeness did not make itself known as much. He respected me . . . me—the fourteen-year-old boy he met a few days ago. He told me he “needed to look in a mirror and see something he could respect.” I never responded to this specific notion. I was angry at him. I was tired of his mentioning of the endless “I.” “I need.” “I need.” “I need.” When was the time to incorporate Jarell in the picture—in the dark picture painted on a torn and old canvas?

Nonetheless, I felt his pain. Perhaps I was selfish too in a way. Perhaps I got him aspirin because I desperately wanted him to get better, in order for him not to abandon me in the middle of nowhere. Something changed. Without much thought, I started showing interest in his stories, asking him about his mother (or should I say my grandmother), his father, and his life in Forest. I realized that the tears I shed were not because of my confused, yet current state, but they were for him, for his serious illness. I cared for him. In that Blue Bar I did not want to hear his justifications and Rydell’s approvals, not because I did not believe him, but because I did not care of those justifications. I trusted him regardless. One way to make a person trustworthy is to trust him, right?

Never have I been scared of losing someone, but I was that day. The pictures of Crab heaving by leaning to the light pole, struggling to put his hands behind his head in order not to get shot, appear reel after reel in my mind. It was then, when I called him “Daddy;” and even more importantly, it was then when I forgave him. After the funeral, I felt sad but not empty. We shared things.

Jarell

Virginity-loss: Contemporary

To anticipate the main empirical findings reported in Laura M. Carpenter’s article, “Gender and the Meaning and Experience of Virginity Loss in the Contemporary United States,” there might be something for everyone. Whether one views virginity as a gift, a stigma, or a process, these aspects still shape the individual’s identity.

It might be true that gender may be diminishing in importance as a determinant of sexual meanings and experiences, according to the study, yet there is sexual agency exercised in many relationships, where one partner disempowers the other. On this issue, I think, feelings run strong. Within the adolescent world, it is the rhetoric of romantic love that provides boys with the key cultural mechanism by which they “get a yes” from girls. Why this behavior? Most male participants in the study associate virginity with stigma. So virginity as a stigma, for men, is also a disempowerment for them. This explains the key cultural mechanism and the pressure coming from adolescent boys. It also shows the relationship between gender and virginity loss being more complex.

The interpretation of virginity as a gift by most women (participants) portrays a cautious approach to the idea. Most women were amply rewarded, or just had the experience of reciprocity (“gift” exchange was fair). In other cases, there are dissatisfying virginity-loss encounters, where there is a nonreciprocating partner who does not “participate” in gift-exchange, but rather treats the situation as a casual encounter. Here, the lifelong view of virginity as a gift gets lost, and what remains is a person who has a missed, romantic experience once dreamed of. On the other hand, in the absence of social control and labels, adolescents are more susceptible to engaging in nonnormative, “enjoyable” behavior or heightening the cost of such behavior.

Some may argue that interpreting virginity as a gift does not make one gain or lose self-esteem, suddenly join sports teams, do better in school, have better relations with his parents, or become less or more attractive. It just simply means delaying intercourse. However, others may argue that delaying intercourse is a way to stress moral systems that justify saying “no thank you” to sex. Are we seeing a new subculture emerged in which it is “cool” to say no to sex? What happens when celebrities such as Leonardo DiCaprio in several accounts shout to the interviewer: “Virginity is hot!”? Perhaps virginity does not disempower women, as the study suggests, and maybe gender is not losing salience as an aspect of identity shaping.

On the other hand, there is the interpretation of virginity loss as a step in process, which the study shows does not disempower neither males nor females, but rather enhances one’s knowledge about sex, albeit with a partner’s assistance. There seem to be no psychological downsides to this interpretation—virginity loss as a process. Nonetheless, I believe this might be true mostly for adults who are more perceptible to viewing virginity-loss as an empowering and health-enhancing experience.

Work Cited

Carpenter, Laura M. “Gender and the Meaning and Experience of Virginity Loss in the Contemporary United States.” Gender and Society 16.3 (2002): 345-65. Print.

Linguistics--The Sign

Although it is clear that structuralism, as a literary movement is unthinkable without Ferdinand de Saussure, his linguistic argument is difficult to assess. One of the main insights of Saussure’s essay is the arbitrary bond between the signifier and the signified. It is clear that Saussure’s “signifieds” are particles cut from the jumble of thought, which makes the attempt to decipher the relation of the mind to an extrinsic reality to be Saussure’s main goal.

Furthermore, one must understand that the emphasis here is on the reciprocal nature of the sign, which is split into two parts: a signifier and the signified. As he asserts, “The linguistic sign unites, not a thing and a name, but a concept and a sound-image” (Saussure 852). Sign, in this case, is not just a name for a thing, but a complicated entirety that links a “sound-image” and a “concept.” Saussure labels in the Course in General Linguistics, the former to be the signifier, and the latter—the signified. For instance, we have the concept of a car in our mind, but what we also have, is the word “car” which brings about the sound-image. If we think of a car, the form of it or the concept, we also, immediately think of that concept as the “car.” This seems like a standard explanation, in which the “car” for which “car” stands for is presumably the concept of car only, but one does wonder about the reference to the things to which words have no natural relationship. Do things exist outside the mind?

Another ambiguity that comes across while deciphering the text is whether or not a language makes the distiction directly, can also make it indirectly or completely ignore it. Discussion of differences between words in different languages, between synonyms in the same language, between words that are incommensurable or are antonyms, rely ultimately on sense verification in the real world. Certainly, it is true that one may not notice details in a perceived scene for which one has not been prepared by language, but as interesting as this may seem, it is insignificant alongside the inability to avoid certain sensations whether one has language for them or not. For instance, an experience like a headache does not depend on the existence of a signifier.

“So what?” I ask myself. We never get it quite right, and there are no definite outlines. There is nothing novel in recognizing the incongruence of language.

Work Cited

Saussure, Ferdinand. “From Course in General Linguistics.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed. Vincent B. Leitch. 2nd ed. W.W. Norton & Company Inc.: New York, 2001. 850-66. Print.

Karl Popper--Falsification (Philosophy of Science)

As Popper notes it, “every genuine test of a theory is an attempt to falsify it, or to refute it.” [1] Popper’s continual conjectures and refutations clearly deny any induction as part of scientific method. This is not an entirely jointed theory, yet it makes sense. Popper is not trying to exonerate induction in the scientific method; rather he completely eliminates it while he clarifies the scientific method: “Popper, then, repudiates induction, and rejects the view that it is the characteristic method of scientific investigation and inference and substitutes falsifiability in its place.” [2] He believes that theories are always falsified at a later date. Moreover, he argues that “theories [Marx’s, Freud’s, or Adler’s] appeared to be able to explain practically everything that happened within the fields to which they referred.” [3] But this, in his opinion, is not enough for them to be called genuine. Popper thinks that in every step of the way, these theories find verifications and this in fact, is their weakness. He calls these theories “non-scientific” because they are not disproved or proven erroneous: “A theory which is not refutable by any conceivable event is non-scientific. Irrefutability is not a virtue of a theory but a vice.” [4] On the other hand, scientists might argue that the best scientific theories are the ones that have multifarious verifications and confirmations. Maybe there are no vehement validations or verifications in science but there are some confirmations. In this essay, I will argue that Popper’s theory of falsification is tenable and is skillfully evasive; it is not another hollow conception of disproving theories but a genuine argument against verification.

We are getting closer to the truth as Popper asserts, but what is the so-called truth? How are we getting closer to the truth? At this instant Popper presents his idea of falsifiability. Popper’s notion of verisimilitude is a somewhat hazy and entertaining conception, yet when viewed with care it makes more sense and supports falsification. As noted in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Popper argues that “A ‘good’ scientific theory has a higher level of verisimilitude than its rivals, and he explicated this concept by reference to the logical consequences of theories.” [5] This idea mirrors the mutations in the standards, contrary to which we appraise the feats of the past. Popper’s definition of verisimilitude seems to necessitate the habitual pertinence of mathematical and valid (logical) systematic procedures, which are for many scientists the paragons of external reality. The idea of verisimilitude is not an objective idea; however, general notions of verisimilitude are suitable in scientific applications because they, in fact, raise the applications’ genuine status by hiding assessed aims, concealing themselves in the shadows of antecedent operations. Social sciences are well-acquainted with this plight when innate evaluations are conceded to disguise the end results of logical or mathematical computations. If supposed that verisimilitude of scientific theories are deliberated plainly by a collection of comprehensible genuine outcomes rather by a collection of false outcomes, then any given scientist could augment the verisimilitude in his theories in every step of the way and assumingly innovate science by heedlessly iterating the experiments that are only “corroborated.”

Popper’s critique of Karl Marx’s theory of history, as its “predictions were testable, and in fact falsified.” He argues that the theory is weak because most of the time it was confirmed. [6] What makes it falsifiable? Moreover, Popper asserts that the theory is saved by ad hoc, and “in this way they rescued the theory from refutation.” [7] Likely, Popper is correct. Today, capitalism has expanded the impoverishes of the class of workers and the exploited so quickly that they are strained to make changes and revolutions just to stay alive. These social classes are perpetually positioned in opposition to each other, and the classes are inclined to preponderate; whose standards would be met maximally within the claims of production. Popper argues that Marx’s theory of history is not scientific; moreover, it is scientific only by moral excellence of the determinism of its phantasm. It inclines to ascribe societal mutations to the active directions of social construction.

An example of a theory that has been falsified, which confirms Popper’s falsification, is Kepler’s laws. His three planetary laws state that “every planet travels round the sun in an elliptical orbit, with the sun at one focus. The moon, in the same way, travels in an ellipse round the earth, though in this case he recognized that the ellipse was not perfect.” [8] It is not to oppose that Kepler’s law of planetary motion is not an astounding discovery, yet the laws are proven to be factually erroneous. Kepler’s second law asserts, “The velocity of a planet varies with its distance from the sun in such a way that a line joining the planet with the sun sweeps out equal areas in equal times.” [9] These laws are mere approximations and the uncovering of Kepler’s principles and regulations established a requisite step in an advocating research of science that preceded generously confirmed Newton’s theory from which an altered version of the Kepler’s laws was attained. Kepler’s third law states that “The square of the time taken by any planet to make a complete orbit is proportional to the cube of its mean distance from the sun.” [10] A discovery of untenable principles such as Kepler’s come out to be important in the scientific progress, yet they are still falsified, confirming Popper’s notion of falsification. Popper might assert that theories like this one may have some confirmations or truth content, yet it is not falsified at a later date. It seems like the theory was like creating a mirage, which is illusionary, a fake.

A true theory aggregates to the acquiring of a novel entry of noesis, not just coming across with a fresh target without distinguishing that phenomenon or understanding its importance. Kepler has not realized what he had discovered. Later his theories have been falsified by Newton in regards to the planetary system. Kepler’s first two laws were results of mere observations. “Kepler regarded them as mathematically equivalent, although in fact they are not; the inverse distance law is a good approximation for ellipses of small eccentricity, but is not exact.” [11] It is clear that Newton might have derived from Kepler’s laws to come up with his theory; however, he does not seem to have relied on Kepler’s laws for an explicit empirical substance. When ellipse was accepted by many astronomers, Newton did not identify that the pragmatic ascertainment did not give assurance of an elliptical model. This makes it prominent that Newton falsified Kepler’s laws, which proves Popper’s falsification as genuine. “[Some astronomers] who accepted Kepler's first law with enthusiasm, nevertheless rejected the second and substituted some simpler but less accurate alternative.” [12] They rejected it because the falsity content is higher than the truth content is lower. It is the opposite of verisimilitude.

On Kepler’s first law Newton is considering the area law, utilized to the principal planets merely as a very estimative empirical content. “Newton showed that the area law was derivable from a much simpler and more ultimate set of exact mathematical laws. Even those who accepted the area law in principle often used simpler but less accurate variants in practice.” [13] Newton is not affirming a fixed pragmatic verification of the area rule by Kepler or any scientist, but instead he is requesting us to view the planetary system in a universal and qualitative mode. Newton’s laws are utilized to attain derivative equations for the shifted magnitude and direction from the sun to for instance, Venus or any planet. Then it is displayed that the shifted magnitude and direction are sited in a plane for instance, if the base end is moved without rotation to the point of derivation; the base point sums up the elements as an ellipse.

As Newton states, the number Kepler gives in his Rudolphine Tables for the mean radius of Saturn's orbit, namely 9.51 semidiame-ters of the Earth's orbit, is smaller than the third Keplerian rule would require; with the commonly accepted values for the Earth's and Saturn's periods, the number should be more nearly 9.54. Newton suggests that the error may derive from Jupiter's action on Saturn, and he further gives a rough estimate of the effect he expects.[14]

It is an instant effect of Newton’s laws that the middle point of two entities with their

gravity may succor as the root of an inertial coordinate system. Kepler’s laws do not apply Newton’s Laws or vice versa. Newton did not rely on Kepler’s laws to come up with his Laws. Nevertheless, he falsified Kepler’s laws in his reasoning. Newton’s onset point was the dynamical laws engaging influences of cosmic bodies that decide the orbits of planets. Newton’s theories are different than of Kepler’s laws. Kepler’s determine that if anyone has such laws then it is of great certainty. Popper, here, would argue that this kind of verification is what makes that theory weak or even he might call it “non-scientific.” These kinds of confirmations are what make a theory not genuine: “ Every genuine test of a scientific theory, then, is logically an attempt to refute or to falsify it, and one genuine counter-instance falsifies the whole theory.” [15] Moreover, Popper thinks that theories that put themselves at a greater risk of being refuted are genuine.

Popper’s notion of falsification is tenable at every instance because what makes sense in this paradigm will not be sane in another. As Dr. McHenry puts it, “Verification of scientific knowledge is replaced by falsification. Accumulation of irrefutable facts is replaced by conjecture and refutation.” [16] If there is truth content in a theory, Popper asserts, it has to be marked as false. It is easy to obtain confirmations and verification, says Popper, looking for verifications will work at best if theories are found as mistaken and later replaced by “better” ones. Kepler when introduced his first law, then the third; he applied some modifications later. Kepler, himself, at some point falsified his own theories, proving Popper’s falsification notion. The acceptance of a new thesis lies in the idea whether or not it can e confirmed successfully having steady empirical grounds. The interest for Popper is not so much in confirming a theory; rather falsifying it. Popper’s theory of falsification is very much compatible with actual scientific practice. Nevertheless, is prone to serious questioning especially by physicists. Regarding the basis of the falsification measure by Popper; it is furnished on the proposal that general laws are epistemologically obscure in the consideration of the enigma of inductive illation. A neat give-and take on a scientific theory will seek to show that the conception of scientific theory as interpreted by a physicist, for instance, is at divergence with that articulated by Popper. Popper argues that general (universal) notions are not forthright accounts because they cannot be logically vindicated. Yet they may be genuinely falsified. Popper brings up a seemingly perfect example to justify his approach:

The empirical basis of objective science has thus nothing ‘absolute’ about it. Science does not rest upon solid bedrock. The bold structure of its theories rises, as it were, above a swamp. It is like a building erected on piles. The piles are driven down from above into the swamp, but not down to any natural or ‘given’ base; and if we stop driving the piles deeper, it is not because we have reached firm ground. We simply stop when we are satisfied that the piles are firm enough to carry the structure, at least for the time being. (qtd. in McHenry)

Popper’s “customary” approach is what makes him distinguishable among other philosophers. His one idea-the idea of falsification is a genuine statement.

Bibliography

McHenry, Leemon. “Popper and Maxwell on Scientific Progress,”

<http://www.csun.edu/~lmchenry/PopperandMaxwellonScientificProgress.html>.

Popper, Karl R. “Science: Conjectures and Refutations,” Readings in the Philosophy of

Science, edited by Theodore Schick, Jr., 9-13. Mountain View, CA: Mayfield Publishing Company, 2000.

Thomton, Stephen. "Karl Popper", The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy

.

Russell, J.L. “Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion: 1609-1666.” The British Journal for

the History of Science. Vol. 2, No. 1 (Jun., 1964): 1-24.

Wilson, Curtis “Newton and Some Philosopher’s on Kepler’s ‘Laws,” Journal of

the History of Ideas. Vol. 35, No. 2 (Apr. - Jun., 1974): 231-258.

---

[1] Karl R. Popper, “Science: Conjectures and Refutations,” Readings in the Philosophy of Science (Mountain View, CA: Mayfield Publishing Company, 2000), 11.

[2] Stephen Thomton, "Karl Popper", The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2009 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL = .

[3]Karl R. Popper, “Science: Conjectures and Refutations,” 10.

[4] Karl R. Popper, “Science: Conjectures and Refutations,” 10.

[5] Stephen Thomton, "Karl Popper", The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2009 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL = .

[6] Karl R. Popper, “Science: Conjectures and Refutations,” 12.

[7] Karl R. Popper, “Science: Conjectures and Refutations,” 12.

[8] J. L. Russell, “Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion: 1609-1666”, The British Journal for the History of Science, Vol. 2, No. 1 (Jun., 1964): 2.

[9] J. L. Russell, “Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion,” 2.

[10] J. L. Russell, “Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion,” 2.

[11] J. L. Russell, “Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion,” 3.

[12] J. L. Russell, “Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion,” 3.

[13] J. L.”Russell, Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion,” 3-4.

[14] Curtis Wilson, “Newton and Some Philosopher’s on Kepler’s ‘Laws,” Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 35, No. 2 (Apr. - Jun., 1974): 231.

[15] Stephen Thomton, "Karl Popper", The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2009 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL = .

[16] Leemon McHenry, “Popper and Maxwell on Scientific Porgress,” < http://www.csun.edu/~lmchenry/PopperandMaxwellonScientificProgress.html>.

The Concept of the Other

At first glance, Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex might seem rationalistic, old-fashioned-modernist, and above all—male biased. Should this work be valued only for historical reasons: feminists ought to become more aware of their historical milieu? If the answer is yes, then the work should be dismissed for its outdated ideas. Nonetheless, a rationalistic approach will examine that Beauvoir’s concept of “Self” is very much up-to-date and provides clues to some of post-modern feminist dilemmas.

Beauvoir argues as an intrinsic premise that the man has always conceived of himself as the Self (not to be confused with the Cartesian concept of “self”), the essential, and has made of woman—the Other: “In sexuality and maternity woman as subject can claim autonomy; but to be a ‘true woman’ she must accept herself as the Other” (Beauvoir 1272). In addition, it is apparent that Beauvoir utterly rejects the notion of matriarchy, taking a Levi-Straussian stand—the public and even social prerogative always belonged to men. Societies that regarded woman as Mother or Goddess, indicated that woman’s power was attested outside of the human realm. This then seems to prove the woman’s power to be somewhat “magical,” defined by man out of his needs. Unfortunately, man could eradicate that definition when it no longer served his wants and needs. Hence, the power prevailed in the hands of man.

Furthermore, Beauvoir speaks of several elements that make the oppression of woman inimitable: First, in contrast with the oppression of race and class, the oppression of woman is not a fortuitous historical fact. Moreover, it is not an occurrence in time which has sometimes been traversed or reverted. Woman has always been subordinate to man. Second, woman has interiorized the extraneous perspective that man is indeed the essential, and the woman is the inessential. A question arises: What male advantages make men succeed in the first place? The definitive answer consists of two factors: women are physically weaker than men; and women bear children. One might think that these biological facts were used in such context only in primitive times. How much has changed? In modern times, has the invention of the birth control pill (with its continuing problems/side effects) really enabled women to see the difference between sexual relations and childbearing? Contraceptives have certainly changed some perspective, but to say that they are a way in dilating women into a Self, and the problem is solved—won’t be cogent.

Work Cited

De Beauvoir, Simone. “From The Second Sex.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and

Criticism. Ed. Vincent B. Leitch. 2nd ed. W.W. Norton & Company Inc.: New

York, 2001. 1265-73. Print.