Conscious Addiction
An examination of Shakespeare's Sonnets 54 and 57
Addiction. It haunts the minds of those it inhabits in varying degrees, driving some against their moral values, to the point of insanity at times. Substances, activities, even objects can serve as the target of addiction. The victim can simply never experience enough. Many are tormented by the excruciating cycle of it; craving it, being satisfied, craving it two-fold and so-on. In certain cases, the victim is completely oblivious to their addiction. It is their normal. Other cases, perhaps more agonizing, involve the victim consciously struggling with their addiction, acknowledging they have a problem but being unable to escape the rush. Such describes the plight of Shakespeare’s narrator over the span of more than one-hundred sonnets, his undying addiction for a spry youth. He is enchanted by their faultless beauty, dedicating sonnet after sonnet to it. He speaks to its evanescence, almost seeming to covet the youth’s beauty more for its waning quality. Simultaneously, however, the narrator wavers in his perception of this youth, considering his vanity among other faults while acknowledging his own indomitable obsession. He knows he has a problem but cannot resist the temptation. A meticulous examination of sonnets 54 and 57 reveal the narrator’s wavering convictions paralleled by his conscious addiction the likes of which he finds inescapable. The crux of the narrator’s wavering conviction during the fifty-fourth sonnet would be the beauty he finds in truth. He leads with an exclamation regarding the “sweet” ornamentation truth adds to one’s beauty (ln. 2). He then transitions to a series of delicate floral metaphors, comparing the rose to that of the canker bloom. While they both carry a radiant appearance, the rose is host to a fragrant scent that lingers even after death. The canker bloom has no fragrance to relish and fades unnoticeably. The narrator concludes the sonnet with his volta couplet, in which he connects these metaphors to the youth’s own character. In a rather foreboding tone, the final line states: “When that shall fade, by verse distils your truth,” (ln. 14). With this final claim, the narrator implies that perhaps akin to the canker bloom, the object of his affection may not be paralleled with an innate truthful beauty. Other sonnets present light criticism of the youth’s evident pride in his gifted attributes and selfishness, but this sonnet demonstrates the narrator’s deliberate scrutiny of the character of the youth. He cherishes his beauty but desires for the youth to be everything he fantasizes him to be. If the youth’s motives are not as immaculate as his appearance, it entirely tarnishes the narrator’s fantasy of him. Ironically, this is a bout of selfishness on the narrator’s part, projecting perfection onto another person to satisfy the direction of his fanciful verse. Aside from expressing his parasocial tendencies, this sonnet fully exhibits that the narrator recognizes the potential flaws of the youth. He is conscious that the youth is not everything he has imagined of him. He is reluctantly infatuated with him, not a blind follower. Addressing the narrator’s cognizance of the entirety of the youth’s character brings up the question of the intensity of his addiction which can be measured in Sonnet 57. In a rather satirical tone, the narrator describes himself as a slave to the youth’s desire, imagined to be responsible for mending any wrinkles in the perfection of the latter’s life. Of course, contextually, this could be interpreted as the narrator’s literal social installment in the setting of the sonnets, in which he literally serves the youth, existing beneath him, bearing constant witness to his deeds and perhaps even sacrificing himself to heal the damage the youth has wrought upon his life. Alternatively, it can also allude to the unconscious power the youth exerts over the narrator as he lives in frivolity. Satirically still, the narrator further recounts his responsibilities in contrast to the youth’s pleasure. He endures in idle wait, in the “bitterness of absence,” (ln 7). He wistfully describes his only notion as the youth’s happiness, how he neglects to fathom any vices he may commit. The sonnet is concluded with the narrator’s assertion that love renders him a fool for he cannot permit himself to think “ill” of the wayward youth. Once again, one must account for the narrator’s probable literal standing as a servant to the youth in which he would be expected to idly attend to his needs and exhibit no ill perceptions of him. In the context of the grand expression of affection cataloged in the other sonnets, however, this sonnet carries a different meaning. By this point, the narrator has confirmed that the youth’s nature is not as pristine as he would prefer, noted when he states, “[w]here you may be, or your affairs suppose,” (ln. 10). The tone of his wording would also suggest that the narrator is not only aware of the youth’s antics but has grown tired of them. He is frustrated with his position in the matter. However, despite all of the narrator’s vexation with the youth, in the final couplet, he arrives at the conclusion that he cannot disdain him. Whatever mystical beauty this youth possesses triumphs over the narrator’s better nature. In spite of how the youth defies the perfect fantasized image the narrator has conceived, he hopelessly idolizes his love, not having the strength to cast aside his addiction. It has been confirmed that the youth may very well be the canker bloom imitating the grace of a rose, unornamented by the truth. Nevertheless, although he values the beauty of truth, the narrator maintains his undying dedication to the external beauty that initially captured his heart. It paints an agonizing picture, a man haunted by the guilt of his struggle. His very own morals being forcibly prioritized under what he knows to be of less importance but regardless guided by the strings that lead his puppet form along. He knows he has a problem but cannot resist the temptation. The narrator displays his disgust with the youth’s vice, acknowledging he himself has a problem but inevitably unable to escape the rush of the addiction.
Chasing Emptiness
An analysis of Shakespeare's "King Lear"
An incessant climb characterizes the human ambition, constantly reaching upwards to the next rung, never stopping. As ambition is one of the greatest strengths of humanity, it can also be described as a short-coming. While it can inspire some to achieve greatness, it can pollute the minds of some with an insatiable desire for the unnecessary. They will chase this desire blindly, a mirage on the horizon, casting off all of the achievements they have garnered up until that point, possessed of a pure faith that true satisfaction resides in achieving that desire. Once they reach this desire, if they reach the desire, they must also reach a decision. As they stand before the debris of all they once were, they must determine if the desire was worth the sacrifice. In most cases, it is not. A pure demonstration of the dangers of ambition can be expressed in a myriad of Shakespeare’s plays but one that demonstrates it most emphatically would be that of King Lear. It is a play that woefully echoes the warning of appreciating what one possesses and to evade the predacious nature of toxic, empty ambitions. Throughout the entire course of the play, King Lear presents us with a profound theme of the pursuit of emptiness in which characters who have everything cast all aside in favor of a hollow ambition that they will bestow them the illusion of happiness. One of the most prominent examples of this concept is evident in Lear’s first moments as a character, in which he prioritizes empty words over true expressions of affection. Standing before the map which represents his greatest achievement, his kingdom, Lear is faced with passing on his greatest responsibilities and therein his seat of power. As the elderly king himself states, this choice will “divest [him] of rule, interest of territory, [and] cares of state” (1.1, 50-51). In other words, Lear is losing everything. Despite this weight, in lieu of pursuing a calculated process of division for his property and responsibilities, arguably more respectful to his accomplishments, he proposes a contest of affections between his heiresses. As Kent, Lear’s trusted servant, asserts, the expressions of the “empty-hearted whose low sounds reverb no hollowness” cannot be trusted (1.1, 154-155). By this, Kent refers to Lear’s eldest daughters. Gonreil and Regan shower Lear with praises suspiciously quickly after he reveals the circumstances to be that of a contest and Kent’s statement implies that their expressions of love are completely hollow. Kent distinguishes that these praises are merely flattery, not the expressions of love Lear had initially asked for. Lear apparently was not seeking actual love; it was validation of his greatness. In this pursuit of flattery, Lear casts off his only loving daughter, Cordelia because she cannot express how she feels into words. As she says, “…I am sure my love’s more richer than my tongue,” (1.1 78-79). Cordelia truly loves and cares for her father as much as her sisters claim to, something that cannot be expressed in words but in actions. Her refusal to shower her father with praises in spite of the consequences truly demonstrates Cordelia’s genuine love for her father. She values the genuine expression of her love more than any inheritance she could have, more than her comfortable position in the court. It is also to be noted that Cordelia did not once try to vie back into her father’s good graces when he disowns her and renounces her fate. Lear, however, is blind to this sacrifice because he blindly chases empty words to substantiate himself. He does not need someone to love him to the point of making themselves “enemy to all other joys” (1.1, 74). As he soon finds, Gonreil and Regan never once hold true to their supposed fathomless affections for their father, immediately taking advantage of his receding judgement when they have received their separate shares of his kingdom. Lear casts off everything he has, an entire empire and the sole daughter who truly loved him for a speech of empty promises. Another character who surprisingly demonstrates this concept would be that of Edmund, the illegitimate son of Gloucester. Edmund is understandably frustrated with the status he is born to, constantly reminded of his illegitimacy. Such frustration is what inspires him to his monumental plot of revenge against all who “mock” him with their legitimate origins. After reviewing the inconveniences of his status, Edmund resolves that he must act on revenge: “Well then, legitimate Edgar, I must have your land. Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund…” (1.2, 15-17). To strike out against his illegitimacy, he decides to attack those legitimate and noble parties surrounding him, his father and brother. Edmund also states, “Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit” (1.2, 188). He feels trapped by the definition of illegitimacy and seems to believe that if he accomplishes this plot of revenge, he will not only have attained something for himself but for anyone else plagued by a life defined by illegitimacy. While his frustration is understandable, much is left to question in terms of Edmund’s reasoning to pursue such a vile path of revenge. In accordance with the details of the play, albeit Edmund’s illegitimate status is repetitively announced or perhaps even boasted by his father, the Earl of Gloucester, Edmund seems to be in amiable standing. While it may be irksome to be reminded of his status constantly, Edmund’s being illegitimate does not appear to thwart other people’s perception of him. He has his father’s trust, as demonstrated when Edmund makes his false proclamations against Edgar and Gloucester immediately believes him. He also possesses his brother’s trust as Edgar blindly does as Edmund says when he orders him to flee to safety. Edmund himself is not blind to these amiable factors, in fact he takes advantage of them. At the conclusion of scene two of the play, he states, “A credulous father and a brother noble, whose nature is so far from doing harms that he suspects none…” (1.2, 184-186). Gloucester’s steadfast belief in Edgar’s guilt based on a smattering of words from Edmund is a testament to the degree of trust the earl has in him. Were he to never have acted, he would probably have inherited just as much as Edgar would have. By acting in revenge, Edmund gained nothing while hurting those that trusted and bestowed kindness upon him. Beyond this, Edmund’s actions spurred on the deaths of every member of the royal family. Cordelia, Gonreil, Regan and Lear lives are all lost as a result of the plan he instigated. After the plan is dashed, although he is reinstated into his brother’s favor, these actions will always be associated with his name. He sacrificed his trustworthy reputation and proved that there exists truth to the negative stereotypes of the illegitimate. Edmund secures no redemption for illegitimacy, the original point of his strive. One of the characters to suffer one of the grisliest sacrifices would be that of Gloucester. On the pure rumor instigated by Edmund, he is immediately driven against Edgar, describing him as an “unnatural, detested, brutish villain” (1.2, 78-79). Merely assuming that Edmund would never deceive his father, Gloucester immediately imagines the worst of his other son. He is not even certain that that the handwriting on the wicked evidence Edmund produces is legitimate; he places all of his trust in the words of Edmund. At no point in the play does Gloucester apply a rational perspective to Edgar’s potential guilt. Similar to Lear’s condemnation of Cordelia for her “failure”, Gloucester automatically assumes Edgar would plot against him and ironically, trusts Edmund’s word. Eventually this costs him his sight. If he had paused a moment to consider the variables of the situation, to consult Edgar and provide him a moment of mercy, Edmund’s plan would never have resulted in such a great degree of tragedy. Discussing the demonstration of the lethality of ambition in this great tragedy could not be overlooked in the characters of Gonreil and Regan. Initially it is established in the first scene that these two crave the unnecessary. When they are prompted to deliver their accounts of love to their father in exchange for the territory they were going to be bequeathed regardless, the eldest daughters reserve no effort in the depths of their flattery. As Lear stands before the map of the kingdom in the first scene of the play, he states, “Know we have divided in three our kingdom; and ‘tis or fast intent to shake all cares and business from our age, conferring them on young strengths…” (1.1, 38-40). In spite of this fact, they pledge an excessive amount. As a result, this excessive praise causes Cordelia’s expulsion because it overshadows her professions. In doing this, the sisters successfully increase the size of their individual domains. They take advantage of the knowledge that Lear’s judgement has all but diminished and manipulate a situation in which they would already gain a significant amount in favor of a greater treasure. Gonreil and Regan represent a pure example of chasing ambition, never quite satisfied with what they already possess. After obtaining their respective halves of the empire, the sisters that had once unified against their family to secure an empire revolt on each other. Despite possessing an entire empire between the two of them, they sacrifice it all for Edmund’s hand in marriage. Similar to all of the other characters, this pursuit of ambition examined from an outside perspective is entirely irrational, on the verge of ridiculous. After all of their intricate manipulations, they both die sacrificing all of their territory for the sake of a single person. So many characters to what has been celebrated as one Shakespeare’s greatest works exemplify the path of one who chases hollow ambition in spite of all they already possess. Lear trades his kingdom, cherished daughter, and essentially all of his power for a dose of flattery. This results in his descent into madness, a path concluded in despair. Edmund trades his life of innocence with a supportive family for the sake of an ambition to prove himself equivalently powerful to those born legitimately. His efforts result in the ruin of his reputation and the affirmation of the distrustful reputation of those born illegitimately. Gloucester irrationally and unwittingly sacrifices Edgar to Edmund’s devious schemes. As a result, he is mutilated in his own residence and stripped of his sight. Gonreil and Regan who exploited their way into owning an entire empire by taking advantage of Lear’s poor judgement and confessing their affections. Ironically, it would be their pursuit of affection that would result in their undoing. It is a tale of hardship, loss and seldom any redemption. Interestingly, the characters exhibit a sort of irrationality to their ambitions, which is reasonable. Realistically, chasing after something that will not benefit one is a decision characterized by irrationality; it does not make sense. They demonstrate the toxic quality that can be attributed to pursuing empty ambitions that will obstruct one’s path forward. By chasing their ambitions to reach greater heights, the characters actually caused themselves to plummet downwards from the incessant climb, the rungs spontaneously snapping beneath them.
Rediscovering Fangs
A psychoanalytical feminist critique of Zora Neale Hurston's short story "Sweat"
Intimidation is a defense tactic organisms have taken advantage of since the beginning of life itself. While a creature may not always be the most powerful, a situation can always be manipulated in their favor. For example, not many humans could argue the fact that they could survive an individual altercation with a rattlesnake. With a weapon, however, the tables are turned. Humans themselves are not naturally equipped with the venomous capabilities of the rattlesnake; therefore, they must manipulate the situation to mitigate their disadvantages. They inspire fear in the snake. However, if the rattlesnake could perceive the power they actually possessed over the situation, they could approach the human. If the rattlesnake bridged the gap between them and the human, it would be the human to flee. If the rattlesnake glimpsed past the human’s façade of intimidation, they would see they have nothing to fear. The dynamic between intimidation and natural power can be effectively represented in Zora Neale Hurston’s short story “Sweat”. This enrapturing piece regales the reader with the tale of Delia, a washwoman who’s past fifteen years have been drowned in sweat. She labors tirelessly to survive and support her negligent husband, Sykes. In return, Sykes contributes to Delia’s incessant misery by abusing her physically, emotionally, and financially. A ruthless dictator, he overburdens his wife with intimidation. Eventually, through a tumult of irony, Sykes is killed, and Delia freed from her misery. On the surface, it is a tale of female empowerment. A Psychoanalytical Feminist lens, however, can prove “Sweat” to be the tale of Delia’s awakening from years of unconscious suppression of her identity due to the intimidating manipulation of her husband, Sykes who feels threatened by the patriarchal imbalance of their power dynamic. Aspects of Feminist Criticism, which is a critical theory dealing with the literary role females play in a text, can be applied to identify the patriarchal foundations of the relationship between Delia and Sykes and additionally the patriarchal aspirations of Sykes himself. After identifying these patriarchal foundations and aspirations, Psychoanalytical Criticism, which involves the application of the real-world concept of psychoanalysis to literary characters, can be applied to reveal the true power dynamic behind the characters of Sykes and Delia, showcasing that through unconscious suppression of trauma has reversed the power dynamic of the two characters. By applying Psychoanalytical Feminist Criticism to “Sweat”, a story of a dynamic ruled by intimidation and fallacy which gradually reverts to its genuine origins can be discovered. The opening scene of the story establishes the existing power dynamic between the characters of Delia and Sykes, which assumes the form of what Feminist Criticism labels as a patriarchal relationship. A patriarchy is defined by the occupation of power held by independent male figures whilst female figures are depicted as an inferior, vulnerable class of beings. Hurston opens her tale with a situation that radiates patriarchal energy. Delia is squatting on the kitchen floor sorting clothes, what is imagined to be an uncomfortable position, “humming a song in a mournful key, but wondering … where Sykes, her husband had gone…” (517). Not only is Delia introduced sullenly laboring but in a position close to the ground, almost symbolic of her patriarchal position. She is described to do this every Sunday night, someone with a predictable cycle of behavior. Simultaneously, the reader is informed of the fact that Sykes is not present in the scene and is not in a location privy to his wife. In other words, Sykes seems to be unpredictable and therein unreliable. When Sykes eventually makes his appearance to torment Delia with his snake-like bullwhip, he is described as “standing there bent over with laughter at her fright” (517). Sykes’ depiction immediately establishes him as symbolically and literally above Delia as he stands over her, but someone who takes advantage of her, finding joy in it. He taunts her and “prays” for conflict (517). Delia is described to have had a “habitual meekness” about her, likely due to his erratic, abusive behavior (518). At a glance, this relationship appears to be stereotypically patriarchal. Delia acts as a submissive female figure whilst Sykes appears to be a superior male figure. This is exactly what Sykes desires Delia to believe. However, under closer examination, the true power dynamic is completely the opposite of what is appears to be. In terms of patriarchal values, Delia is the superior person. Delia has held a stable career for fifteen years. Delia provides for her household. Delia has paid for the roof over her head. The most important factor: Delia manages all of these things completely independent of Sykes. Moments after Sykes’ overturns her laundry, these are the revelations that strike Delia. It leads her to “seize… the iron skillet from the stove and [strike] a defensive pose” (518), a previously uncharacteristic act for her. In this moment, the powerful aspects of Delia’s identity, which had long been suppressed, spring from their entrapment in her unconscious mind. In the exact same instance, Sykes also acts out of character. The story describes, “he did not strike her as he usually did” (518). When the illusion cracks, Sykes experiences a moment of hesitation because he has been fooled into believing he had the higher ground. While Delia has tirelessly worked for fifteen years to support her household, Sykes has been consistently penniless since the first year of their marriage. As previously established, he is not a reliable person; his wife cannot fathom where he spends his time. In fact, she seems to have given up trying to. While Delia violates her ”assigned” role in the patriarchy, Sykes also immensely violates his. According to the expectations of the patriarchy, a man is not only expected to be superior but also independent, a quality which grants men superiority. A quality that does not apply to Sykes. Without Delia, he would be without money, without food and without home. Though he acts as such a grand proponent of the patriarchal stereotype that prioritizes men above women, Sykes completely invalidates it. Yet, somehow, Delia is still cast as a submissive character. How does he manage to inspire such qualities in her? Intimidation. Through abuse and fear, Sykes manages to force Delia to suppress all of her confidence and accomplishments into the depths of her unconscious. The unconscious is a psychoanalytical term used to describe the place where a person’s deepest trauma is submerged. This submersion entirely obscures the trauma from the world, and it is often lost to the waking conscious. It is through trauma, that Sykes erases Delia’s identity from her waking conscious banished to the depths of her unconscious. He recreates her in an image that suits his patriarchal preferences, but even still it is only a façade. As Delia so suddenly illustrates to Sykes by threatening him with a skillet, she has not completely forgotten the power she possesses over him. Delia has a quality of independence that Sykes lacks which drives him to resent her. Such lack is why women such as Bertha make an appearance in Sykes’ life. According to the story, “Sykes was … paying her room rent at Della Lewis’” as he has for three months (521). Additionally, when Bertha is introduced to the story, Sykes makes sure to treat her “magnificently”, ordering whatever her “heart desires” (520). He reminds Bertha “that this was his town, and she could have it if she wanted it” (520). Where Sykes finds compensation to fund this indulgent behavior is unknown, but one fact is for certain. These collective gestures of disingenuous generosity satisfy Sykes as acts of a true emblem of the patriarchal statute. Bertha is dependent on him for housing, food and monetary accommodations as Sykes is dependent on Delia for the same. Sykes dictates Bertha’s comfortability in life. Essentially, he controls her. Bertha exists as the polar opposite of Delia, someone who can fulfill Sykes’ psychological fantasy. When he is with Bertha, he can suppress his identity into his own unconscious and forget about his failures. When he is with Delia, Sykes is constantly reminded of his failures and his fear of true commitment. He pines after true power in his relationship without committing to the same degree of labor Delia has. Momentarily, Sykes is able to restore a semblance of power to his relationship with Delia when he presents the contents of his mysterious soap box: a rattlesnake. This is one of Sykes’ final attempts to intimidate Delia and initially, it seems to work. Delia reacts in terror “all but faint[ing] outright”, begging and pleading for her husband to remove the reptile (521). Such a reaction feeds into Sykes’ patriarchal ego as his intimidation once again fuels the illusion that Delia needs her husband and cannot function without him. Ironically, it is this attempt which drives Delia to completely renounce her loyalty to Sykes. Her fear transforms into “a red fury that grew bloodier for every second that she regarded the creature that was her torment,” (522). When Delia fixates on the rattlesnake, all of Sykes’ ploys at intimidation become evident to her and most importantly, that the ploys are intimidation. Sykes has no power. Delia unleashes all of the suppressed emotions that occupy her unconscious when she confesses her innate hatred for Sykes, that she hates him as passionately as she once loved him (522). Her actions have the intended effect, demonstrated by the statement “Sykes departed from the house, threatening her, but made not the slightest move to carry out any of them” (523). Once again, Delia strikes back against her husband and he flees, unable to accept the un-patriarchal reality of the power dynamic. After this excursion, Delia exists in a completely different state than that of the beginning of the story. She sings hopeful tunes as she enters her home and resolves to rest as she works to “sit and reach through the bedposts” (523), rather than groveling over the basket on the kitchen floor. She even addresses the rattlesnake directly, indicating a new presence of confidence. Symbolically, when Delia reaches for a match, she finds “[t]here was only one there” (523). This final match grants Delia the power of light when the snake pours its “awful beauty” and allows her the opportunity to seek escape (523). Sykes is not granted this opportunity; he does not have any matches to light his way. It is this microscopic detail that paints the final picture for the two characters. Delia has the power and Sykes does not. Consequently, it is Sykes crying out for assistance on “his hands and knees” (524), and Delia who retreats to the Chinaberry tree resisting the “surge of pity” that swells in her (525). Delia, ironically like the snake, has been freed from her cage of suppression and is free to live her life. Bluntly, it is obvious that Hurston’s narrative yields itself individually to both Feminist and Psychoanalytical Critical interpretations. The text is riddled with evident allusions to patriarchal views and weaved with the psychoanalytical threads of Delia’s fears. While these individual interpretations offered unique ideas to pursue, fusing the two theories together allowed for a truly profound analysis of the story. Together, the theories reveal an interpretation that transcends the results of either theory’s individual results. A tale in which patriarchal ideals lead to an unconscious suppression in both primary characters. Delia who through Sykes’ intimidation, is driven to suppress her identity as an independent and powerful woman who rediscovers herself as the story progresses. Sykes ,who through intimidation, is driven to suppress his own identity as a dependent and weak man, who simultaneously rediscovers himself as the story progresses. Through application of the two theories, the story seemed entirely redefined and renewably fascinating, with a myriad of possibilities for exploration of interpretation. Akin to the earlier analogy, “Sweat” delivers the tale of Sykes, the vulnerable human who raises his weapon, abuse and trauma against Delia, the naturally superior rattlesnake. However, the rattlesnake perceived the power they actually possessed over the situation, and they approached the human. The rattlesnake bridged the gap between them and the human, causing the human to flee. The rattlesnake glimpsed past the human’s façade of intimidation, seeing they had nothing to fear. Delia resists her fear of the weapon Sykes’ raises and in rediscovering her fangs, her identity, victoriously overpowers her tormentor.