Foe.

         I actually was pretty surprised I enjoyed the book, considering the fact that Robinson Crusoe was a book or concept I was not a fan of. Though, just like Crusoe was in Robinson Crusoe, Susan was a bit of a whiney narrator, I feel more inclined to sympathize with her as she has tried to make well with her misfortune and genuinely continues to persevere; whereas Robinson Crusoe did things on a whim only to whine and regret his actions later.

         Now onto the actual tale. Foe is pretty good. In fact my favorite part of the book would be Susan Barton’s own retelling of the tale. A lot of it reminded me and harkened my thoughts back to The Tempest, a play by Shakespeare, which we discussed a while back in the course. The characters all exhibit traits of the central castaway characters of The Tempest. In particular I wanted to talk about language, ‘civilization’ and colonialism. The relationship of the three are somewhat similar to that of Prospero, Caliban and Ariel. And all exhibit characteristics of the three. The relationship between Prospero and Caliban is similar to that between Cruso and Friday. Despite Friday bearing no ill will of Cruso (or none that we can see apparent in Susan Barton’s tale, as she herself has talked about reliability and accuracy of recounting the tale told from Cruso and not Friday) and that he willfully help, the relationship between words and language that they use towards each other is one that can be compared to Prospero and Caliban. A major difference, and a theme they hold similar, is what should be taught of language and what effect it has. As Susan Barton feels it would be a privilege for Friday to learn the language, ‘civilizing’ him. Just as Prospero does for Caliban, who in turn mostly uses the language to curse and hate on Prospero, as he learns knows the island is rightfully his. Interestingly enough, Cruso feels that the only language he needs to know are the ones that are ‘useful’ to him. Which is very interesting to me. From which the comparison takes you to show, language is power. Had Friday widened his vocabulary, would he feel differently from Prospero, who they have worked and lived together. Since both of them are not from the island, would he feel more entitled to being king or a shared partner in crime? Do we in the English language have too many ‘useless’ words? Does language ‘civilize’ us? And different is that Caliban is vocal and voices his opinions and objections, where as Friday does not. IN addition to this you can see Susan somewhat stifling his voice when she blows up at him for playing the same tune, though that may be the only tune he knows and is how he can express himself. Which is strange as she wants him to know the wonders of being ‘civilized’ to talk and chat to, but not to really express himself? I don’t know. I am probably thinking off course and off topic.

         This is getting a bit long. But I’ll leave the blog with one of my other thoughts of The Tempest and Foe. Susan Barton taking both Foe and Friday off the island. IN this way it can be said that Foe is much like Caliban, who just wants to live on the island as the reigning king. With not much need for words or legacies. In this way she is like Prospero who puts Friday under her wing, though he seemingly does not enjoy being away from the island, as Ariel longs to be free.
         I don’t know how to juggle all my thoughts on this piece. But I will vouch for Jon. This is a good book, that is enjoyable, in my humble opinion.

When I first began reading “Watchmen,” I didn’t like it- and I didn’t want to admit it, because everyone I talked to said they liked it. Some even admitted being very excited to read it! Truth is, I found “Watchmen” to be a boring book at first. It was the first time I’d ever read a graphic novel and I preferred non-graphic novels to graphic novels. I think I would’ve liked “Watchmen” much more if it had been a non-graphic novel. The comic-book layout of the novel rather annoyed me, because after reading the dialogue bubbles, I had to scan over the images to take in the whole situation.

            And then…

            I read Chapter 6 of “Watchmen.”

            That was when I found the book to be interesting for once. It shattered my earlier beliefs that it was a boring book. It was after reading Chapter 6 that I actually liked “Watchmen.” If there’s one thing that I like about “Watchmen,” it’s the emotional depth to it. All the characters feel and act like real characters. They’re not flat, stereotypical characters. Everything they say and do has a back-story to it. I never expected a graphic novel to be so dense. After reading Chapter 6, “Watchmen” became, quite possibly, my 4th or 5th favourite book on the Arts One reading list (Frankenstein being my favourite, followed by Jekyll/Hyde, Medea, and The Yellow Wallpaper).

            I also thought about the “monster” in “Watchmen.” I first thought Rorschach as being the lonely, isolated “monster.” Then I thought Adrian Veidt was the “monster.”  By the end of the graphic novel, I came to three conclusions: a) There are no monsters, b) Everyone is a monster, OR c) Rorschach is the monster. Why are there no monsters? Because I think of monsters as being individuals that others can’t understand. I can understand why the characters act as they do. As the reader, you get to see snippets of the life history of almost all the main characters. Once you know why they act as they do, you no longer think of them as “monsters.” Or they could be all monsters, in the sense that they all live kind of… isolated from society? Rorschach is certainly isolated. He was framed from the start. Adrian Veidt is the stereotypical villain mastermind in one sense (but whether he truly is a villain or not is debatable) and operates from Antarctica, of all places! Dan and Laurie both change their name at the end. Are they now living in disguise?

            Then there’s my opinion that Rorschach is the sole monster in the graphic novel. I’m not a firm believer in this belief, but it’s arguable that he is. He’s actually my favourite character in the novel. If there’s one character that made “Watchmen” worth reading, I’d say it’s Rorschach.

 He’s fundamentally good, but because of circumstances and certain decisions that he’s made, he’s sent into “exile” from society. He reminds me of Frankenstein’s creature! Come to think of it… It was after reading Rorschach’s back story that made me like “Watchmen.” Why is he the monster? According to the esteemed Jonathan Beasley-Murray, monsters are creatures or individuals who live in isolation from society and are misunderstood. Rorschach lives in isolation from the beginning of “Watchmen” to the end. He doesn’t enter a relationship with anyone, unlike Laurie + Jon, or Laurie + Dan. He’s sent into prison by society, even though he had punished a man who had butchered a girl and fed her remains to two German shepherds. He cared about his whore of a mother, only to be physically assaulted by her and two guys he encountered on the street. He’s misunderstood a lot. I once thought Jon might be a kind of monster too. He sends himself into exile in the end. Then I decided against it, because Jon had always been welcomed by civilians. Rorschach never was.

I apologize for the late blog posts! But anyways,

With that being said, I thought that Survival in Auschwitz was undeniably, a remarkable piece. Not going to lie though, upon initially reading it, I was definitely a bit spooked.. like in the sense of, “whoa, this is a dark read.” Prior to reading Levi’s work, I did have quite a bit of background knowledge on the Holocaust, and the genocide. However, finally getting the chance to read a primary account was really touching. I was able to better recognize the struggle of the Jewish people, how they were completely disregarded simply because of the fact that they were not of the Arian race.

What I would say best stood out for me, was Primo Levi’s unyielding strength. In spite of it all, he still managed to find something to believe in. He believed in a better world, and ultimately, I think that is what enabled his freedom in the end of it all. Strength like that, in a place like that? I find that greatly admirable. Levi’s piece was by far, one of the darkest reads we have done thus far, obviously for the fact being that this isn’t some fictional piece that we can just shed off… but rather, this is history. We are reading an account from a man who went experienced the unimaginable and came out on top. I think that Survival in Auschwitz was one of my favourite reads this entire year. In spite of the fact that it was heavy and at times graphic, I thought the message was remarkable. Levi doesn’t write this account as a means of getting sympathy in return, or even as a means of making the reader hate the Germans for what they did. He wrote Survival in Auschwitz for the sole purpose of educating the reader; helping one understand history in more depth.

Overall, I really enjoyed this book. I felt privileged having gotten to read it from an individual who exhibited such immense strength during the Holocaust. I think that Levi’s piece is one that I will never forget, and it has also taught me to never take things for-granted as well. Reading this first hand account was an eye-opener, which makes this one of the best, at least in my opinion, thus far.

.

Regarding Borges and Daisy Dolls, I thought that his and Hernandez’ works were equally entertaining.

First though, I would say that Daisy Dolls was definitely a rather odd piece. The concept was no doubt intriguing, but I do think that at times, it had me feeling weird and eerie.. if that even makes sense. In some instances, I would say I found this piece to be rather sadistic, and the protagonist creating the scenes with the dolls a bit deranged, but nonetheless interesting. Hernandez definitely found a way to draw me back into the story time and time again. However in spite of Horatio’s odd, definitely weird ways, this piece is great. In spite of it being super strange and awkward, I did greatly enjoy it— and for whatever reason.. Horatio finds immense entertainment with dolls (I guess that’s respectable)…. to each his own I guess?

Now as for Borges, I’d say that he is one of the more complex and “deep” authors we have encountered. Now I say deep, mainly because of the Library of Babel. I found this to be my favourite Borges story, for the main reason that I thought the concept in itself, of a library carrying an infinite amount of books, some not even created yet, carrying each and every idea thinkable is truly remarkable. I found that this complex and revolutionary concept is what really drew me in to this particular story. I guess I just can’t seem to get over the whole idea of overlapping books.. of an endless abyss of books upon books upon books.. thoughts upon thoughts. Looking up several depictions of what this labyrinth of books would look like also didn’t help my obsession with this story and the way it would be in reality. Overall, I would say that I enjoyed this story a lot because of its idea. Not to say that Borges’ other stories didn’t intrigue me.. which they did.. but not nearly as much as this particular one did.

All in all, these stories are all intriguing and captivating in their own ways. They all have a rather strange and bizarre, yet enticing feature to them.. which is generally why I think they are so popular and renowned. The stories manage to convey a story that grasps the reader’s attention (like the Daisy Dolls and Library of Babel to me!) Thus, Daisy Dolls and the Library of Babel were of greatest interest to me.. probably because I enjoyed the concept and the peculiarity of their stories the most.

After reading “Survival in Auschwitz”, I can easily say that it’s my favorite of all the books I’ve read so far this year. While the subject matter Levi was writing about was horrifying and tragic, the way in which he writes it all is beautiful. His writing reflects the bleak tone prevalent throughout the events, yet certain descriptions are so vivid that Levi brings this now dead world back to life. One of my favorite passages has to be the one in which he describes the rest siren of the camp:

“And at last, like a celestial meteor, superhuman and impersonal like a sign from heaven, the midday siren explodes, granting a brief respite to our anonymous and concord tiredness and hunger.”

And it’s not just this small passage which is so vividly described, every memorable instance Levi lived through in the camp is meticulously described. Reading the book, it was a constant experience of not wanting to read on (due to the tragic nature of everything written), but having a drive to know more about what had happened. Part of this is also due to the way the book is put together, while it is constantly fairly depressing, certain sections are thrown in (like the chapter entitled A Good Day) which give a sort of break to what could become monotonous and bleak descriptions of a horrible existence.

What I found incredibly interesting (after having read the book) is that Levi wasn’t a writer by profession. He was a chemist, who after these dark experiences in Auschwitz began telling stories of what he’d been through. Little by little, he began to write more, and using the years of suffering he’d been through, he channeled that into his poetry and other works. While this bit of biographical history might seem fairly uninteresting or not useful, I feel like it really shows the importance of writing.

I got this sense from reading “The Yellow Wallpaper”, and especially the small explanation Charlotte Perkins Gilman included with the story about her writing it. Writing truly seems like one of the few outlets for our mind. The way we cope with certain things is to write, probably because talking to yourself out loud seems like a fairly strange method. It’s something we have in common as a species which is becoming more literate, as it’s our way to communicate, share, reveal, and express what we feel. It seems like that’s a very important part of how Levi managed to write these amazing works, as it was his only outlet.

I didn’t mind reading this story because it was quite short, but I really didn’t enjoy reading this book at all. After already reading Robinson Crusoe earlier in the year, the last thing I wanted to read was another story about Crusoe and Friday. Not that I didn’t enjoy Robinson Crusoe, I just wanted to read something different.

I don’t really understand why the author decided to write a “new” story that included elements from a very old story. Reading Foe felt similar to watching a poorly done sequel of a movie that did not need to be revisited. It felt like the majority of the story surrounded the fact that Friday was unable to speak because of his tongue being removed, and while that tid bit of info was interesting for a little while, I became uninterested pretty quickly. Too much time was spent on wondering what Friday was thinking during different scenarios, even though clearly we were never going to be able to get any insight into his thoughts. There was a glimmer of hope of seeing Friday express his feelings when Susan tried to teach him how to write, but even then, we still knew nothing about Friday’s inner thoughts. Basically, I thought too much of the book was filled with pages talking about Friday, who is an incredibly uninteresting character, because he seems to have almost no emotions at all.

I also don’t fully understand what was happening with the girl that claimed to be Susan’s daughter, or the woman Amy that accompanied her. Hopefully my questions will be answered in the lecture on Thursday.

This was one of my least favorite reads of the year, partially because I don’t enjoy reading fiction all that much, but mainly I just did not want to read a reworking of a story that we have all already read.

Well, that was unexpected. Before last week I’d had no idea that Foe was a remodelled version of Robinson Crusoe. Interesting. I find it ironic that Susan struggles so much with her story being distorted by Foe, when the very book itself is a distorted story. I’m trying to figure out if I should be getting more of a statement out of that than just irony. Also, Defoe? Foe? Coetzee is just playing with us here. I just don’t know what to make of it. I mean, Foe is the writer, but he’s also the, well, foe! We’re led to dislike him, Susan dislikes him, she calls him a spider! He wants to turn her story into something she doesn’t want it to be. But are we meant to think of Defoe when we think of Foe? I have no idea, I feel like I must be reading too far into this.

Foe, the character, was just so incredibly frustrating. He felt condescending and forceful, I really just wanted Susan to ditch the whole thing and either do it herself or find someone else. The light repetition of “at last I could row no further” was significant in expressing the struggle she has with encountering so much resistance to the way she wants to do things. She struggles to find her daughter. She struggles to live. She struggles to tell her story. That’s something that the reader finds impossible to avoid, and it’s frustrating in many ways. Without this struggling there would not be much of a novel, but still, I couldn’t help thinking, what’s the point of all this? Couldn’t this all be avoided? However, I’ve heard it said, and I think I agree with it, that people write because they have to. When you have something to write about, you simply have to let it out and, often, show it to the world. I’m sure most of you know the feeling I’m talking about, a sort of need to get something down on paper, to let the gates down and have your words flow out? Susan has to tell her story. Foe becomes the vessel through which she can tell her story, and he attempts to bar her story. He forces parts that she doesn’t want to tell, and mutes the parts that she needs to have written in detail. That’s why I felt like he is the foe, the opposition. But I’m open to opposition here, does anyone feel like Mr. Foe was really not a foe at all?

This is a novel with good themes. It has you consider the reality of isolation, the value of civilization, the fallacy involved in creating compelling literature, and, of course, the great mystery of the unknown, the dissolution of knowledge, and the ever-flowing substitute of imagination. Good themes—if only they weren’t presented so poorly.

Like many, I began this book expecting a tale mostly centered on the island with the new character offering a change of perspective, and I expected that her interactions with Crusoe would result in a change of Crusoe’s character (possibly Friday too) and their overall situation. What I got, however, was a character who was Crusoe in name only and a woman who effectively accomplished nothing in terms of anything. This is the first problem. People talk about Foe as a reimagining of Robinson Crusoe, but if Crusoe—the protagonist of the original story—gets such a different character, he isn’t Crusoe anymore; he’s just some random stranded guy with a random stranded servant who just so happens to not have a tongue and be named after a weekday. Imagine if I write a book about a young wizard with a scar on his forehead who everyone calls the “Chosen One” and portray him as a narcissistic serial killer with drug problems and then call the book “a reimagining of Harry Potter.” What would the reaction be (besides lawsuits)? I guarantee you that if Defoe was still alive, he would be suing.

That aside, I understand Coetzee’s intention in creating such flat, boring characters and an even more flat and boring plot. He or she is trying to give us the theme—that reality is flat, boring, and mostly consequential. I’m fine with that. However, there are ways of doing this without being so annoyingly blatant and seeping it in melodrama. The protagonist (forgot her name) cannot go three pages without questioning some fundamental human truth or looking at the sky and going on mundane allegories about the meaning of life. Yes, so much symbolism, so much apparent subtext, so much careful use of words—but it just isn’t interesting. Even worse, this book has no pacing at all. There’s one droning text dump about the island, one even more droning text dump about the time in the Foe’s house, a somewhat less droning text dump about the journey, and finally, a nice not-as-awful-as-the-rest text dump with the ending (excluding IV, which I have no comment on).

In the end, Foe both sabotages itself and perhaps proves itself. It’s a boring book about how the world is boring and how what could be interesting (i.e. Friday) will never be revealed no matter how much we try. Perhaps I haven’t read deeply enough. Perhaps I’m missing some very subtle undertones. Perhaps I need to read it again. Unfortunately, however, I will not read this book again. A rereading is something I only grant to novels that I’m interested in, and in no way, shape, or form has this book ever really interested me. 

I’m not really sure how I felt about Foe. Most of the books that we’ve read this year have left a definitive mark in my mind, but I felt rather “eh” about this one. It was definitely interesting and intriguing, but nothing really mindblowing.

I did, however, love the idea of the corruption of truth via media. Obviously, in the day and age where this story takes place, media was mostly in the form of text, but the message still rings true. The complete shift from the truth of Sarah Barton’s story to this great, heroic tale show the importance of the almighty dollar, and how we truly are willing to do anything just for money. I suppose that this story doesn’t just apply to the creative spirit, but to any aspect of life where the truth is altered just for monetary gain. The most prominent image in my mind is the slaughtering of sharks by the Japanese. The Japanese people market their senseless killing of thousands of innocent animals by stating that it is for public safety, yet more people die every year by having vending machines fall on top of them… If we’re really that concerned about public safety, I guess we better torch all vending machines.

I also found Crusoe himself to be a rather intriguing character. I far preferred the Crusoe of Foe to that of Daniel DeFoe’s classic tale. In the original piece, Crusoe appeared far too perfect of a castaway, really. He just didn’t seem plausible. The Crusoe of Foe appeared far more realistic, and he showed this real mental shift from the “civilized” world to complete isolation. After spending however many years on an island all by one’s lonesome, I feel that one would almost become more content in solitude. As well, Crusoe of Foe showed far more mental and emotional complexity. I really could see Crusoe as a human whose lost all sense of authority and structure in life. Daniel DeFoe’s Crusoe just didn’t sit well with me…