Mrs. Ramsay - A Mystery Wrapped in an Enigma, Squeezed Into a Book That's Just a Little Too... Tight.

Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse holds a myriad of characters, the most interesting and enigmatic of whom would probably be Mrs. Ramsay. The mother of eight and wife to a rather dry intellectual, Mrs. Ramsay consistently contradicts herself. She finds ways to belittle herself next to her husband, and in the same chapter raise herself up as a beautiful, almost goddess-like woman. She both feels powerful and powerless, in an interesting mix of feelings which, if anything, makes her more difficult to understand, rather than shedding light on her personality.

When she reads to her child, James, Mrs. Ramsay contemplates her relationship with her husband, and concludes that “she did not like, even for a second, to feel finer than her husband” (Woolf 42). Interestingly, she even feels that she can’t trust the truth of her thoughts around her husband, as if having true thoughts would make her better than her husband, who prides himself on his intellectualism. That she doesn’t like to feel as if she’s better than her husband points to a classic ideal of the nineteenth century (and even into the twentieth and sometimes today) that the woman was less than the man in a relationship – property for the man to do with as he pleases. It would appear that Mrs. Ramsay conforms to this ideal, that she must always be lesser than her husband – the greater of the two parts of the marriage. However, this represents only one side of Mrs. Ramsay’s proverbial coin. When she isn’t in close proximity to her husband (in either body or mind), she has a very different view of herself. When Mr. Carmichael is over, she admits that, “She bore about with her, she could not help knowing it, the torch of her beauty,” and goes on to describe her own beauty in a very positive sense (44). This first person description, coming again directly from Mrs. Ramsay, depicts the startling foil within Mrs. Ramsay herself. On one side, she adamantly wishes to be lesser than her husband, on the other she clearly knows she’s a very fine, beautiful woman. That she feels two extremes of the spectrum indicates that she really doesn’t know how to feel about herself, and as allows others to define her self-image.

Once more, when Mrs. Ramsay plays with James and thinks about his later life, she thinks how he won’t ever be as happy later as he was when he was a child, but , she “stopped herself, remembering how it angered her husband that she should say that” (62). Even in thought, Mrs. Ramsay has a sense of apprehension towards doing something which might make her husband upset – in this moment, she’s fully incapable of having an independent thought. Society and a very, very long marriage have indoctrinated her to completely accept her husband’s values, even when they are completely different from her own. This Mrs. Ramsay has a completely different outlook from the one who flaunted and openly acknowledged the bright torch that is her beauty. And yet, when Mr. Ramsay leaves her mind, she asserts, “No happiness lasted; she knew that” (67). It would seem that her only encumbrance to being able to form her own thoughts and ideas is her cynical, dry, and even childish husband. As Mrs. Ramsay features prominently in the novel (one could even say her character is the most important), clearly her relationship with Mr. Ramsay is also pivotal. Mr. Ramsay drives her character to be so enigmatic, and quite paradoxical, even. Mrs. Ramsay’s twistedness of character provides an un-grounding point for the rest of the characters. Where everyone else has a set of characteristics that do not seem to change, Mrs. Ramsay finds herself in a constant state of flux depending upon whom she surrounds herself with. As the main character, how, then, can she become dynamic if she already changes her state of mind and being just because of the people she surrounds herself with??

I’d propose (and I’m going out on a limb here, because I’ve never read Woolf before), that she may find a state of steadiness – she can no longer change her mind every so often, but comes to a point where she must choose something and stay with it, thus making a reverse in the world of dynamic characters, and coming to rest in one place rather than finding many new ideas to change her perspective. But, that last bit we’ll have to leave to the novel and each one’s own imagination!

Misery in Marriage

Today in class, a certain question was raised about a certain someone being happy in her marriage to Mr. Collins. I intend to answer the question with the utmost clarity and decisiveness.

I’m going to make this perfectly clear: the word “happiness” does not apply in any way, shape, or form, at any point in time, to Charlotte after she marries Mr. Collins. In fact, a better word to describe the Collins’ marriage would fall more under the scope of absolute misery.

Let’s begin with the object of Charlotte’s eternal misery, Mr. Collins. From the very outset of the engagement (not the marriage, the engagement), Charlotte demonstrates that she clearly understands the horrific entity that is Mr. Collins. In a rather colorful demonstration of indirect characterization on Austen’s part, Charlotte describes Collins as “neither sensible nor agreeable, his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary” (Austen 83). As almost all negative commentary on Collins’s personality comes from indirect characterization, everyone but Collins knows that he’s basically the single person that no one wants to be around (with the exception of Lady Catherine). Charlotte’s certainly not a fan, and she knows that part of Collins’s interest in her is due to the fact that he wants to get back at Lizzy. Charlotte doesn’t even care. All she wants is to be secure in life, happiness was never part of the equation. She willingly sacrifices her happiness to be a part of Collins’s game with Lizzy.

With the event of her marriage, Charlotte’s potential happiness takes a downward turn, as Elizabeth observes during her visit to Rosings Park. When Collins talks about working in his garden, “Charlotte talked of the healthfulness of the exercise, and owned she encouraged it as much as possible” (104). So, basically, Charlotte does everything she can to kick Collins out of the house so she can have time to herself. She desperately needs an escape. Charlotte and Collins have been married less than six months at this point in the novel, and already Charlotte does everything she can to escape the union (barring actual divorce. This is the late 18^th century, divorce is still a no-no, and only possible under certain very explicit situations. See this link if you wish to learn more). Though she thought she was prepared for a loveless marriage, one that might potentially grow love in the future, Charlotte clearly underestimated the supreme awfulness of the situation at hand. Society never taught her how to handle something of this nature, so she runs away from it.

Moreover, she has to deal with Lady Catherine, arguably one of the most intolerable women of any fictional era, and, coincidentally, a historical allusion to Catherine the Great of Russia. Catherine the Great, though very powerful and well-known, was not often well-liked. In fact, she had a small circle of people who liked her very much, and a large conglomeration of people who didn’t like her at all. Lady Catherine de Bourgh intentionally mirrors her historical predecessor to the very last, to emphasize the utter misery in which Charlotte must spend the rest of her life. One night when playing cards after dinner, “Lady Catherine was generally speaking – stating the mistakes of the three others or relating some anecdote of herself” (111). This represents Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s general action and attitude. She’s self-important and haughty, and the only person who likes her is Collins (that’s her “small circle” which parallels that of Catherine the Great). Pretty much everyone else can’t stand her, but they’re nice to her because she has money. Charlotte has to deal with this woman at least once weekly, sometimes more if Lady Catherine is feeling condescending and ambivalent enough. That alone in and of itself would be enough to make any person with half a rational brain – which Charlotte most certainly has – miserable for all of eternity. Out of propriety, society requires Charlotte to interact with the woman and seem as if she likes Lady Catherine, but, in reality, the woman is completely intolerable.

In conclusion, security and happiness are very different concepts. While Charlotte has the money and stability she wanted, she doesn’t have anything to facilitate a feeling of happiness or felicity. Her husband, from the very beginning, isn’t described as an agreeable person. Charlotte has to actively work to get almost-happy time to herself, and is constantly confronted with a nasty woman who adamantly feels the need to criticize everything everyone else round her does and says. These are not the elements of a happy marriage, or even a happy life situation. Charlotte is secure, not happy. These are two completely different ideas, of which only one can apply to the new Mrs. Collins. 

Society - The Monster or the Master?

The late and great Jane Austen penned many an insightful, witty novel, perhaps none more insightful and witty than the classic Pride and Prejudice. While some might deign to say that it’s just another trashy romance, in reality it combines humour, high society, and relationships into a tightly-packed, socially relevant novel about the trials and tribulations of growing up as a woman during the transition from the eighteenth to nineteenth centuries.

Perhaps one of the most important and relevant messages in Pride and Prejudice – even for today’s audience – lies in that a person (particularly a woman) must choose to be active in her life, and not allow the constraints of society and money to shape her expectations of life and herself. This especially comes through in the very evident juxtaposition between Charlotte and Elizabeth. Both of these women want to be secure in later life, but each takes a surprisingly different approach to gaining this security. In fact, both women have very different definitions of what security means.

Austen’s message most prominently comes to light in the two girls’ reactions to Mr. Collins. Charlotte very clearly states that, “Marriage had always been her object, it was the only honourable provision for well-educated women of small fortune” (Austen 83). At twenty seven years old, Charlotte literally does not care. She simply requires a reasonably well-matched marriage; the feelings, specific situation, and other details are of absolutely no consequence to her. Charlotte absolutely conforms to society. Elizabeth, on the other hand, refuses to allow society’s design to shape her life. Upon Collins proposing to her, Elizabeth exclaims, “You could not make me happy,” clearly articulating that, contrary to Charlotte’s idea of security, Elizabeth believes security to lie in happiness rather than monetary value and comfort (73). More than juxtaposing only Charlotte, Elizabeth juxtaposes all of English society. Austen essentially employs Elizabeth as one huge slap in the face for English society, stating that a woman should have (and does have) the power to choose a partner for love over money, in the same way that a man can. Austen uses this juxtaposition to articulate that although the everywoman (Charlotte) will consistently follow society, there is another way (Elizabeth).

Clearly, both of these women want the same result out of life – some form of security. However, the word “security” emanates different meanings for each. Charlotte rides with the generally accepted, socially farmed-out meaning: a comfortable income and husband who can provide said income = security. Elizabeth, the rebel child, takes a completely different road. For her, security begins with love, none of this “the love will grow from the relationship” crap that people who arrange marriages have been spouting since the beginning of time. The money, for Elizabeth, grows (hopefully) secondary to picking the right man to love. She refuses to be unhappy in a societally secure relationship over being happy in a possibly less wealthy situation.

Moreover, even each woman’s situation seems to grow into a juxtaposition of the other’s, after Charlotte’s marriage to Collins. When Elizabeth observes Charlotte’s air when Mr. Collins is not present in their home she notices that, “When Mr. Collins could be forgotten, there was really a great air of comfort throughout” (105). Clearly, Charlotte does not find any happiness in her current situation. Had she felt any positive feelings at all for her marriage (above convenience and relief), Charlotte might endeavor to be slightly closer to her new husband, as a newlywed and all. However, she actually does her best to get him out of the house, forget about him, and go about her own work! Following society’s guidelines becomes one of the least emotionally rewarding decisions Charlotte makes, and she has no choice but to live in this discomfort for the rest of her life. Elizabeth, however, finds herself enjoying life after she rejects Collins. She finds herself often fraternizing with Mr. Wickham, and openly admits “Mr. Wickham’s society was of material service in dispelling the gloom,” which arose from the departure of Bingley and his family from Netherfield, in addition to recent events with Collins (93). Lizzy quickly moves on with her life, and her decision to flaunt authority and go against society has, thus far, worked very well for her. Austen demonstrates that sometimes, though it may seem wrong to go against society, defying society comes out with the best individual results.

And, to conclude, isn’t the individual result more important than the conglomerate result which society desires? The fact is, not all the women in a society can hope to marry up and have comfortable livings in nice parishes where stuck up rich women tell those young ladies how to properly arrange their living room furniture. There simply aren’t enough good, rich men for that. So, instead, Austen proposes that a better way to gain happiness and security in life is to do something that makes you happy, rather than trying something which society dictates you should try, in the minute hope that maybe everything turns out okay. 

Milton's Evolution

Well, I know this post is technically 2 days late, but, as they say, better late than never!!

Today, I thought I’d talk about the radically different tones between Paradise Lost and Milton’s poem “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent.” Quite frankly, I’m surprised at how different the two are. As I discussed in one of my earlier posts, Milton basically holds nothing back in his massive preaching of God in Paradise Lost, but in this poem, Milton takes a much different tone. Rather than the high and mighty path we see in the epic, this short poem is much more solemn, and Milton uses it to reflect upon his purpose in life, and discover whether he was meant to work harder that he did, or if he was meant to do something less.

The very first clue that Milton is using this poem to reflect on his life comes in the very first line, when he says, “When I consider how my light is spent,” indicating clear and knowing contemplation of life and his part in it (Milton, 1). More importantly than showing a fleeting, momentary event of contemplation, Milton here demonstrates that he often thinks about his place in the world, in the use of the word “when.” Milton appears to genuinely care what his purpose in life is, and he wants to go on a journey to find out. As a good, Christian man, this actually follows quite well along the Cristian faith, falling in with the idea of using life to learn what God’s purpose for you is. Through this poem, Milton demonstrates his good Christian character. However, the tone put forth in this poem is very different from the tone in Paradise Lost, even from the very beginning. In the beginning of Book 1, Milton states that he will “justify the ways of God to men,” essentially setting himself up as a priest, someone with utmost authority (1.26). Milton also says this in a way to assert that he knows his purpose – to tell man why God does what He does. Historically, this makes sense, because “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent” dates at around 1655, while Paradise Lost was published in 1667. It can then be assumed that, sometime between 1655 and 1667, Milton discovered his purpose, and began to fulfill it through writing and publishing Paradise Lost.

One could even say that Milton began his spiritual journey through the poem “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent.” Milton asks whether he should be expected to do hard labour for God, without his sight or a physical light to guide him, and he receives this response: “Who best bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best” (Milton, 10-11). Evidently, Milton begins to see that, though he cannot do hard labour, or work in the way that he used to, when he could see, he can still serve God in his own way. Milton begins to find himself again, and regains the purpose that he lost when his sight failed. Now, Milton can be a part of humankind again, not hindered by his blindness. Milton can belong. Belonging is, often, the most important part of life. A person can have all the food, shelter, and warmth in the world, but a life without belonging, purpose, and human contact can literally cause a person to die. Studies have shown that people – especially children and infants – actually require a sense of purpose and belonging to live, otherwise the person in question (especially babies) can actually give up on life and simply die. The poem “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent” is Milton’s attempt at continuing his search for a sense of belonging and purpose. As a continuation, Paradise Lost would be the ultimate culmination of Milton’s journey.

So, in a sense, Paradise Lost is not Milton’s journey to self-knowledge, but rather a demonstration of what he now knows because of his journey. The tone of the poem “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent” is unknowing, unsure, and searching. Milton doesn’t yet know what he is supposed to do to serve God, and he wants to find out, and begins to. Conversely, Paradise Lost oozes sureness, confidence, and trust. Milton knows exactly who he is and what he wants, and he doesn’t fear what people might say about his high and mighty personality. The God Complex, so evident in even just Book 1, isn’t an accident or fluke of how Milton was writing, but actually is purposeful and meaningful. Milton meant for his epic poem to come off in the way it does, because Milton truly believes that he has learned his one true purpose, and that purpose is to define God and His ways for the likes of man. 

Milton and the God Complex

Milton’s Paradise Lost includes many aspects of the epic poem, and while there are those who would argue otherwise, I propose that the most evident aspect of his epic that seems to follow in the steps of others which I’ve read (especially Dante’s Inferno) is the overwhelming God Complex the author demonstrates in his message. As does Inferno, Paradise Lost has a highly predominant and religious message, in which the text (Book 1, especially) attempts to persuade that power trumps righteousness.

Let’s begin with Book 1, where Milton clearly sets up his entire thematic message, and (rather inadvertently) demonstrates that he has a huge God complex that he’s incapable of writing around or omitting from anything he puts on paper. In fact, within the first thirty lines of the epic, Milton states, “… to the heighth of this great argument/ I may assert Eternal Providence/ and justify the ways of God to men” (1.24-26). Essentially, in this very brief section of Milton’s opening aside, he declares his all-knowingness of God’s work. Additionally, the fact that he did this in an aside makes this even more potent. Milton sets the stage for the entire epic in this one sentence. He writes not about Adam and Eve, not about Satan, not about good and evil, or even the bible. All of these concepts are present, yes, but in reality, Milton writes this epic for the sake of showing off his knowledge of God, and to persuade everyone who reads Paradise Lost that Milton’s opinions and positions on God, creation, paradise, and anything and everything else biblical are to be taken as of the highest regard. And, Milton declares this directly to his audience, without the mask of dialogue, distraction of setting, or confusion of characters. Milton clearly thinks himself greater than man. While Milton may be righteous in his actions, his intent is to demonstrate his – as opposed to His – power.

Milton’s persuasion that power overrides morality goes even further when, through Satan, Milton states, “To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell: / Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven!” (1.263-64). Satan, and through him Milton, admits that though Hell is indeed a terrible place, the power allowed for the fallen angels in Hell poses a better option than any form of servitude in Heaven. Now, for most Christian people, this statement would make absolutely zero sense. In the Christian faith, one’s purpose in life is to serve God and be saved after death, resulting in an eternity serving God in Heaven. Milton completely discounts one of the founding ideals of the Christian faith, instead substituting that servitude, no matter how righteous, is lesser compared to any form of power. The idea of serving in heaven, regardless of the glory and grandeur and other generally positive perks, is so repulsive to Satan, that Milton would go so far as to raise Hell above Heaven in an effort to push home that power is the ultimate goal, even when power involves denouncing God and righteousness, and turning to sin.

Interestingly enough, the concept of power overriding a person’s sense of morality and righteousness aligns well with the Italian philosopher Machiavelli’s ideas on power and the corruptness of so-called “Divine Right.” Niccolo Machiavelli was born in Florence, Italy, during 1469, and today people consider him to be the father of modern political theory. In essence, his book The Prince, written in 1532, outlined the flaws in the justification of the monarchy’s actions. He said that monarchs (and leaders in general) can and will resort to any means for the establishment and preservation of their authority, using the end to justify the means. He also stated that most often, a ruler often justifies his worst acts by citing wickedness and treachery of his subjects. In essence, Machiavelli stated that “Divine Right” was often used as a means to gain power, a ruler could say that God put him in place to fix the corruptness of the people, then that selfsame ruler would be corrupt in himself. The only real goal is power. The same idea comes into play with Satan, Milton, and the relationship that each of them has with God (because Satan’s relationship with heaven runs parallel to, but is different from, Milton’s own relationship to God and Heaven). Satan purposefully steps away from the designated path of righteousness to gain a measure of power which he wanted but couldn’t have as a slave of Heaven; Milton professes his power through Satan, claiming that he (Milton) really is an all-knowing authority on God. In a way, Satan is the personification of Milton: both step away from Heaven to demonstrate their power, with a disregard for the fact that this action takes them away from the coveted righteousness and into a place of power and greed for more, acting not unlike Machiavelli’s concepts of the ruler with a false concept of “Divine Right.”

So, the question to ask is, does Milton really believe he is the foremost authority on God, even equal to one in knowledge, and close in power, or is he portraying himself and Satan in a light that would cause others to exercise caution in the realm of self-promotion and power-grabbing? Does he do this to call a change in human nature, or is he simply an arrogant person with a God complex, writing an epic in the same way that countless other men suffering from the infamous God complex have? Your choice. Choose wisely.

Kreis, Steven. "Niccolo Machiavelli, 1469-1527." The History Guide. N.p., 13 Apr. 2012. Web. 27 Sept. 2013. <http://www.historyguide.org/intellect/machiavelli.html>. 

Beauty, From the Eyes of the Beholder

Hello, again!! I do know that my blog last week was quite formal, and I’ve decided to change it up a bit, and post something a little more personal and fun for our British Lit blog this week.

So, I’ve just recently finished reading a few of Shakespeare’s many sonnets, and a specific one stood out to me. Sonnet 18, to be exact. Now, it didn’t stand out because of its beautiful language, or lovely message, or any literary component at all, which might strike some as odd (especially because I spent two years being trained to only see the literary qualities of works of literary merit). In truth, this particular sonnet struck me because of the television show Doctor Who. In rather a funny turn of events, the show makes out that Shakespeare wrote the sonnet for the lovely Martha Jones, a 21^st century doctor who travels with the actual Doctor for a period of time, meeting Shakespeare in the process. And that’s the only reason I really recognized the sonnet.

However, upon reading further into the sonnet, I realized how pure and true the sonnet is in regards to falling in love with something. It especially came through for me in that the sonnet perfectly describes the feeling of knowing you’ll always be in love with something, no matter how old either party gets. Shakespeare says, “… thy eternal summer shall not fade”, which somehow perfectly elucidates that when someone loves something (or someone), that love never really goes away, if it’s a true, pure love (like the season of summer) (Shakespeare, 9). As most people would tend to agree, this particular sonnet definitely pervades with the theme that love conquers all.

Even, as Shakespeare says, “Nor shall Death brag thou wandr’st in his shade,” demonstrating the everlasting idea that death can’t claim love or beauty for his own (11). Evidently, though Shakespeare sees the imminence of this mysterious love of his leaving (or, for those Doctor Who fans, Martha Jones taking the TARDIS away with the Doctor), he knows she will be beautiful for all of time, and so his love will last with her everlasting beauty. 

Although this really is quite a sappy ideal, and in most cases I might scoff, and say that no person is that good, this really gets to me, because the wording is so romantic and idealistic. The use of a summer day to symbolize the woman’s beauty is quite apt, in my opinion. I feel that, beyond the fact that this is Shakespeare, and recognized all over the world as one of the most romantic poems in all of history, there is a purity and sincerity behind the words that simply can’t be explained.

In many ways, this sonnet is one of the best ways I could explain something I love, such as cheerleading. There never was anything I loved more, and Shakespeare’s words explain the depth of love so perfectly. He says towards the end, “So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, / So long lives this, and this gives life to thee” (13-14). In the end, his love for this woman and her beauty conquered everything else for Shakespeare, just as my love for cheerleading has always (and will always) last. Often, in both people and things, there’s a beauty that others can’t often see, unless they love that person or thing the same as you. And the beauty within the thing or person gives it immortality, just as Shakespeare’s woman’s beauty gives her everlasting life (in his eyes). But, explaining this beauty can be very difficult. For example, if I just give you these videos (please watch them, they’re less than 3 minutes apiece), and told you they were beautiful, you wouldn’t understand.

But, to a seasoned veteran of cheerleading, they each epitomize what the sport is about. The first, a video of the Top Gun Jags from Worlds this spring, is essentially a tribute to their teammate, Omar, who died last year. Every person in that stadium is with the team and cheering for the team, even the ones competing with a rival team. The Jags did worlds for Omar, and even though it’s the highest honor to even make it to Worlds, they stick the entire routine like their cheer careers depend on it, as if this world title could be their last gift to Omar. And it’s beautiful. In all the ways a person could never express beauty, the Jags routine from Worlds 2013 is absolutely, totally, unequivocally beautiful. It’s beautiful in the same way Shakespeare’s mysterious woman is beautiful, “more lovely and more temperate” than the most beautiful thing Shakespeare could possibly imagine, a summer’s day (2).

The second video I threw in is of the Lady Bullets from Worlds this year. They take beautiful to a completely different place than the Jags did. The Bullets are just… well, gorgeous. They all take such pride in their routine, and put their whole selves into the routine (as it should be). You can tell that they wouldn't want to be anywhere else but on that floor, and that excitement and drive and passion alone makes the routine beautiful. Then, they top it off by being nearly perfect, technically.

In both cases, it’s a beauty not well explained or told, and can only be experienced, as they say, in the eye of the beholder. But, isn't that what beauty is? Hasn't every classical author since the dawn of time tried valiantly to explain the beauty of something, only to fail because the words just didn't exist?

So, my parting question to you: If it really is beautiful, is there ever a way to adequately describe it so someone else can see the same beauty as us? I could try for several thousand more words to explain the beauty of the Jags and the Bullets, and goodness knows I’d fail fantastically. Could Shakespeare ever really show us just how beautiful his mysterious woman was, how deep his love was because of her beauty? Or are real beauty and true love two things that we may never find words to adequately describe? 

I Have Me, But I Am Not Me

French theorist Guy Debord once said, “Behind the masks of total choice, different forms of the same alienation confront each other.” Through characterization, syntax, and imagery, William Shakespeare’s The Tempest callously demonstrates that an individual who is alienated from society and power will futilely attempt to re-connect to society and their previously-known power.

William Shakespeare expertly employs direct characterization in his portrayal of Prospero to elucidate Prospero’s alienation and desperation to return to his previous power. When Prospero tells his daughter, Miranda, of the wrongs he suffered so many years ago, he states, “… he was/ The ivy which had hid my princely trunk/ and sucked my verdure out” (Shakespeare I, II 85-88). In speaking with such venom, Prospero shows his anger over losing his power, and his desperation to get it back. He specifically blames one person (His brother, Antonio), and quite obviously sets the stage for some sort of plan, which ensues as the play proceeds. Because Prospero so vehemently desires power, he consequently becomes very dangerous. When speaking to, (or rather, threatening) his slave Ariel, Prospero declares, “If thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak/ And peg thee in his knotty entrails till/ Thou hast howled away twelve winters” (Shakespeare I, II 294-296). Ariel really didn’t do anything to warrant such a threat, and yet Prospero sees to it that if his exact orders aren’t followed, he will not hesitate to carry out a punishment. Prospero doesn’t care whether or not people are hurt, scared, or otherwise harmed during his plot to regain power, as long as his end is met. In this, he is possibly the most dangerous and terrifying monster any character from the play could encounter during their stint on the island. Prospero is the monster to end all monsters. Thus, through direct characterization, Shakespeare establishes an individual alienated from power will proceed to become dangerous in his quest to regain power.

Because Prospero feels the need to do anything in his power to regain status and subvert his alienation from so many years ago, he proceeds to use the most valuable asset he has: his cunning. Shakespeare exposes this cunning through equally cunning use of syntax through punctuation. Whilst Prospero is plotting, he uses his slave Ariel most cunningly, and quite often. While planning a trick to further the wedding plans between Ferdinand and Miranda, Prospero tells Ariel, “I must use you/ In such another trick,” thus stating clearly his deceit (Shakespeare IV, I 36-37). The lack of punctuation in the statement demonstrates a clear and simple understanding of the implications of his actions. He knows that he deceives the King, his brother, and even his own daughter. Since Prospero has reduced himself to straight manipulation in order to reach his endpoint, he stops at nothing, deceiving even his own blood. As he observes Ferdinand and Miranda falling in love, he slyly states, “… this swift/ Business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning/ Make the prize light” (Shakespeare I, II 448-450). Prospero, so caught up in his desperation to regain power, will not even stop at deceiving his family. At a time when family was very important to not only the people of England, but people all over the Western world, this is shocking. In his quest to return from alienation, he alienates himself from the only support he has (as demonstrated from the use of comma, as if to try to regain structure where it is slipping away), and begins to lose himself. Thus, through punctuation in syntax, Shakespeare demonstrates the beginning of a loss of self as a result of alienation.

As a direct result of allowing himself to lose his closest support, Prospero experiences a loss of self, finally demonstrating that alienation from power drives the individual to attempt (unsuccessfully) to regain that power. This is done through selective word choice on Mr. Shakespeare’s part. The first aspect of Prospero is one of loving, doting even, over his daughter, as shown when he says, “O, a cherubin/ Thou wast that did preserve me” (Shakespeare I, II 152-153). He clearly loves his daughter, and would do anything for her. This is his first “face,” if you will. He calls her a “cherubin,” a noun which has a connotation of love, and happiness. Having her trust, he is happy. Because he essentially loses her, through such deceit (in his own mind, maybe not in hers), he becomes a completely different person. In his epilogue, he states, “my project fails, / which was to please… /and my ending is despair” (Shakespeare epilogue 13-15). Using the words “fails” and “despair” Prospero clearly shows his loss of self. Though he achieved his end, he no longer lives an honest life (as he asked those who wronged him to do). He is, for all intent and purpose, a completely different man, lost. In this, his final statement, we see the difference between the loving man from the first act and the angry, vengeful one from the end. Truly, he loses himself, his daughter, and his purpose in his attempt to return from alienation. Thus, with imagery through word choice, Shakespeare demonstrates that a successful return from alienation does not come without cost.

Finally, Shakespeare uses characterization, syntax, and imagery to demonstrate that though man is often alienated and attempts to return to the state previous to alienation, often the person loses himself in the process. The process to return from an alienated state is long and requires a person to do things they may not do in an ordinary situation. Thus, the man attempting to become “un-alienated,” if you will, is not the same in his return.

So, I leave you with this parting thought: is it not better to remain alienated with a person or group who loves you and will always stand with you than it is to attempt to regain a past state, but in the process lose the core of who you are, and become someone who would be less-than-liked, despised, even (a monster, if you will)? Is it not better to retain who you are than to prove something to someone else, just for the sake of making a point?