Friday, October 28, 2011
www.siue.edu
I want to talk about commas. Specifically, I want to talk about a thing known as the serial comma, or, as it's commonly called in academic circles, the Oxford Comma--okay, okay--if you're from Harvard, it's known as the Harvard Comma (Quinion). I've heard it called by both names, but the important t...
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
KATE CHOPIN
Imbued with multiple levels of irony, not to mention several
unexpected plot twists, “The Story of an Hour” remains a model of economic
narrative power. In the space of only a few short pages, Chopin captures the
history, needs, and personalities of her characters. The story of Mrs. Mallard
is touching as well as engaging. Note, as you read, how the carefully chosen
details of the story function to build an entire fictional world, not to
mention a satisfying story.
“The Story of an Hour” (1894)
¶ 1
Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble,
great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her
husband’s death.
2
It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences;
veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband’s friend Richards
was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when
intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard’s name
leading the list of “killed.” He had only taken the time to assure himself of
its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful,
less tender friend in bearing the sad message.
3
She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with
a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with
sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister’s arms. When the storm of grief had
spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
4
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair.
Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body
and seemed to reach into her soul.
5
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of
trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of
rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The
notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and
countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.
6
There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the
clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her
window.
7
She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair,
quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a
child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.
8
She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke
repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her
eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky.
It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of
intelligent thought.
9
There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it,
fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to
name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the
sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell
tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to
possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will–as powerless as
her two white slender hands would have been.
10
When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her
slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: “Free, free,
free!” The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from
her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulse beat fast, and the coursing
blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.
11
She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy
that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the
suggestion as trivial.
12
She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender
hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her,
fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long
procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened
and spread her arms out to them in welcome. There would be no one to live for
during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no
powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women
believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A
kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she
looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.
13
And yet she had loved him–sometimes. Often she had not. What did
it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this
possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest
impulse of her being!
14
“Free! Body and soul free!” she kept whispering.
15
Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the
keyhole, imploring for admission. “Louise, open the door! I beg, open the door–you
will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven’s sake open the
door.”
16
“Go away. I am not making myself ill.” No; she was drinking in a
very elixir of life through that open window.
17
Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring
days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She
breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had
thought with a shudder that life might be long. She arose at length and opened
the door to her sister’s importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her
eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She
clasped her sister’s waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards
stood waiting for them at the bottom.
18
Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was
Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his
grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of accident, and did not
even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine’s piercing cry; at
Richards’ quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.
19
But Richards was too late.
20
When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease–of
joy that kills.
Discussion
questions:
1. Summarize Chopin’s plot. Tell each
other in class. Work in pairs.
2. What is ironic about the plot?
3. What other ironies can you find in
the story?
4. Plot here creates irony, which in
turn affects the mood thus creating it. How can you describe the overall mood
of the story?
5. What is the difference between the
mood and the tone?
6. Does Louise hate her husband? Has he
been dreadful to her? Has her life with him been terrible?
7. Does she feel grief at his supposed
death? Choosing freely, would Louise choose this man again?
8. How can you describe Louise’s
feelings? Can you say that she feels joy? Why does she experience these feelings?
What do her feelings tell us about the author’s view of the social codes
governing women at the time? What is historic and cultural setting of the
story?
9. Compare the 5th and the 6th
paragraphs (beginning with “She could see in the open square…” with the third
paragraph from the end (beginning with “Someone was opening the front door…”)
as to the style. How do they differ and how are their differing affects
achieved? Consider diction, sound, imagery, and rhythm. What is implied and
what is achieved by the deliberately calculated stylistic difference between
the passages?
10. What is Chopin’s theme? How do the
mood and situational irony help to establish it?
Writing.
Choose one
topic out of three and write a coherent essay with introduction, body (there may
be more than one body paragraph) and conclusion (3-5 paragraphs 6-7 sentences
each).
1) Write an essay discussing how irony,
mood and style help to reveal the conflict and the theme of the story. Please
include your responses to discussion questions 3, 4, 5 and 9. In a separate
paragraph describe your impression of the story and detail (prove supporting
your points using the text) what makes you think so. Write a conclusion
summarizing and paraphrasing your main points. Note that conclusion reinforces
your main points and ideas; it does not bring in a new idea; however, do not
repeat exact words and phrases that you used in you introduction, body and
conclusion.
2) Write about the theme (the main idea) of the story. In a separate paragraph (s) address the
following issues: to what extent
does this story relevant today? You may argue that it is still important or it
is no longer relevant to the contemporary situation of women in the society; in
any case, do not forget to prove your points by using the text of the story and
some of the other sources that you might use for your argument.
3) Write about illusion and reality in “The Story of an Hour”.
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