Very Long Nights

Very Long Nights

Short Works of Literary Criticism

By Charles Rocha

Copyright © 2017 by Charles Rocha

Published by Charles Rocha at Smashwords

ISBN 9780463970553 (epub version)

Cover design by Charles Rocha

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Contents

Section I - British Literature

Reflections on Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Knight’s Tale

The Body and the Soul in The Castle of Perseverance

Satan: Hero or Villain of Paradise Lost?

Adventures in the Sublime: An Explication of Romantic and Literary Influences in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

Entwined in the Ether: An Explication of John Donne’s The Ecstasy

A Brief Analysis of the Structure of John Donne’s Love Poetry

Tragic Endings: Virtue and the Renaissance Heroine

Devil’s Advocacy in Pre-Puritan England: The Influences of Platonism and Social Climate in ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore

A Discussion of the Duke’s Motives in Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure

A Comparison of Old Goriot and King Lear

The Pagan References in Shakespeare’s King Lear

A Comparison and contrast in the narrative style and content between A Tale of a Tub and Gulliver’s Travels

A Discussion of Virtue According to Jonathan Swift

Augusta Webster’s A Castaway as a Discourse in Victorian Gender Roles

The Broken Symbolism of the Marabar Caves in A Passage to India

The Fox: A Love Story?

The Construction and Destructiveness of Passion in Wide Sargasso Sea

The Sorrows of Young Werther as a Rationalist Novel

The Overlapping Perspectives of History in Abeng and A History of the World in 10½ Chapters

The Elements of Deconstructionism in A History of the World in 10½ Chapters

The Role of the Castle in English Medieval Literature

Madness and British Literature in the 18th and 19th Centuries

Section II - American Literature

The Blues I’m Playing as an Ethnic Interpretation of Art

Another Kind of Passing in The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man

The Negative Portrayal of Fatherhood in The Women of Brewster Place and Linden Hills

An Examination of Female Heroism in Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye and Beloved

An Analysis of Linguistic Strategy in In Blackwater Woods

The Element of Feminism in The Daughters of the Late Colonel

Elements of Modernism in Cruise and Strychnine in the Soup

Hemingway’s Cat in the Rain and the Four Principles of Poetry

Hills Like White Elephants as an Embodiment of Poetic Principle

Cries and Whispers: Multiple Voices in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Language Nuances in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

The Interpretation of Color Imagery in Le Monocle de Mon Oncle

Wallace Stevens Decoded – Hoonian Color Definitions

A Discourse on the Poetry of William Carlos Williams

A Confluence of Influences in Alan Ginsberg’s Howl

Order in the Disorder: Allen Ginsberg’s Howl

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and A Country Year: Living the Questions – Changes in the Narrators

Zora Neale Hurston’s Sweat as an Allegory for Self-Destructive Forces in Black American Society

Sula as a Study of the Propagation of Familial Dysfunction

The Uncovering of Feminist Concerns in Jean Toomer’s Cane

The Singing Tree: Jean Toomer’s Song of the Son as a Revelation of Author Intent

Section III - World Literature

Metaphor, Simile and Symbolism in The Death of Ivan Ilych

A Discussion of the Anti-hero in the 19th Century Russian Novel

A Comparison of the Duel Scenes of Eugene Onegin and A Hero of Our Time

Self-Destructive Tendencies in Eugene Onegin and A Hero of Our Time

A Comparison of Tone and Author Attitude between The Death of Artemio Cruz and Pedro Paramo

Florentino Ariza and the Mirabal Sisters: Possibilities in Love and Romance

A Comparison of the Survivorship of Dede Mirabal and Florentino Ariza

The Contrasts Between the Roles Played by Point of View in Love in the Time of Cholera and The Time of Butterflies

A Discussion of the Contrasts Between the Portraits of the Dictators in In the Time of Butterflies and The Lizard’s Tail

A Comparison of the Protagonists of In the Time of Butterflies and The Lizard’s Tail

The Portrayal of Women in Part I of Don Quixote

The Role of Romantic Literature in The Sorrows of the Young Werther and Madame Bovary

Section IV - Criticism on Criticism

Coleridge and Wordsworth on the Aesthetics of Beauty and Pleasure

A Critique of M. Keith Booker’s New Historicist Essay on Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

Aristotle on Tragedy

Structuralist Interpretation According to Roland Barthes

Longinus and the Sublime

A Comparison of Historical and Structuralist Approaches in the Scientific Method of Interpreting Literature

Hippolyte Taine on the Influence of the Past in Literature

A Collective View of the Role of History in the Creation and Critique of Literature

A Brief Overview of Feminist Criticism

Section V - Film Studies

A Comparison of Theme and Plot in the Film Adaptations of Frankenstein

Joan Crawford: Faith in Herself

The Desirability of Annie in Annie Hall

Manipulation of the Mise en Scene in Love Story - Overview

Manipulation of the Mise en Scene in Love Story

Edna Purviance: Charlie Chaplin’s First Leading Lady

Section VI - Literary Summaries

Gazing through the Pines at Dusk: An Exploration of Jean Toomer’s Cane

Summary of Virginia Fowler’s Essay, Mirror in Your Soul

Summary of Maxine Montgomery’s Essay on Bailey’s Café

Summary of Nancy Jessar’s Essay on Beloved

Summary of Michael Awkward’s The Bluest Eye Essay

Summary of Barbara Christian’s Brewster Place / Linden Hills Essay

Summary of Michael Awkward’s The Women of Brewster Place Essay

Summary of Letter from Birmingham Jail

Summary of Lindsey Tucker’s Essay, Recovering the Conjure Woman: Texts and Contexts in Gloria Naylor’s Mama Day

Summary of Catherine Ward’s Essay, A Modern Inferno

Plotting Time in White Angel by Micheal Cunningham

Section VII - Reviews and Reactions

Russian Literature

Other Literature

Section VIII - Other Works

Possibilities in Active Interpretation of Nonverbal Communication

Compassion without Compromise: The Case for Medically Assisted Suicide

A Reaction to Here Comes the Groom: A (Conservative) Case for Gay Marriage

Grammar in the Classroom: A Personal Perpective

First Aid for Student Writers (Article)

Winning by a Nose (Article)

She’s the Ninth most Beautiful Girl on Campus (Article)

Education is Wasted on the Young (Editorial)

Mock Articles

English Department Ads

Glossary

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Other Books by this Author

Section I – British Literature

Reflections on Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Knight’s Tale

The Knight’s Tale in Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is the longest of the tales told by the pilgrims. On the surface, it is the lively story of two knights vying for the love of a fair maiden. Just below the surface, however, the reader finds a multiplicity of themes. As with the tales told by the other pilgrims, the tale of the knight betrays the true nature of its teller.

The knight is the first pilgrim described by the Chaucer the Narrator in the General Prologue. Unlike Chaucer’s description of the other pilgrims, he describes the knight mainly in terms of character and accomplishments. The description of the knight’s physical appearance is scant. Still, the reader has enough information to realize that the knight’s appearance matches the reality of his deeds. For example, the knight is a veteran of many battles. He also took part in the Crusades, and in fact, has probably just returned from one. Correspondingly, the knight’s attire is plain, and his armor appears battered. Even his horse is clad in a lackluster way. The entire description suggests function over facade. Consequently, Chaucer the Narrator regards the knight with awe. Of course, since he is not a reliable narrator, his admiration means nothing in itself. Nevertheless, he has not misplaced his admiration with this particular pilgrim.

The structure of The Knight’s Tale is a contest between two Thracian knights, Arcite and Palamon, in a quandary of chivalric love. The details given in the text let the reader know that both of these knights are cousins; they are equals in age, rank and physical might. Though the knights share the basic chivalric creed, that is, honesty, courage, and valor, some critics have pointed out differences in their personalities. Peter Elbow points out in his book, Oppositions in Chaucer, that Palamon is a bit more open, impulsive and naive than his cousin, and Arcite is discernibly more tough-minded and less open (75). These differences, although subtle, influence the actions of the knights. For example, before the tourney, consider the prayers the cousins give to their patron deities. Palamon prays to Venus to grant him Emilee’s love; Arcite prays to Mars for victory in the coming battle. The two prayers contrast Palamon’s lofty idealism against Arcite’s composed pragmatism. Despite their different personalities, however, neither cousin is less worthy than the other for Emilee’s hand.

Many critics compare Theseus to the knight. Peter Elbow, in his book, Opposition in Chaucer, writes: Theseus is the richest character in the poem. He is mature and experienced, and in this respect, he is like the knight who tells the tale (79). Elbow supports this statement by pointing out that like the knight, Theseus speaks in the same colloquial tone. Both have a sense of humor, and they share the same values of conduct. In addition, Theseus is not idealized as are the other characters in the tale, but he is described in "concrete specificity (79). This concrete specificity allows the reader to draw parallels in the relationship between Theseus and the cousins, and the squire and the experienced knight. Arcite succeeds only in battle while Palamon succeeds only in love. Theseus, however, is experienced in both love and war. The squire succeeds in love, but in comparison to the knight, he is inexperienced at war. Hence, both cousins are a component of Theseus as the squire is a component of the experienced knight.

Theseus projects a wider range of traits than the other characters in the tale. As critic Paull Baum points out, He is inclined to laugh at love, having put all that behind him…he laughs at Palamon’s confession of wrong doing…he has pity on Creon’s victims…he is properly angered at the two for fighting their duel in secret (98). Theseus is the most fleshed out character of the tale. This fleshing out shows that the knight at least identifies more with this character than with the others.

A major theme present in The Knight’s Tale is the conflict between chaos and order. The struggles of Arcite and Palamon represent chaos, and Theseus’s leadership represents order. In this light, the temples to Venus and Mars are symbolic extensions of the misfortunes of the central characters (Baum 99). Indeed, Arcite and Palamon’s struggle expanded until it polarized the heavenly powers, and therefore, disrupted the balances in nature.

Baum sums up another theme in his statement: The power of love overrules all fellowship, even that of the truest of knights and devoted friends (100). Arcite’s speech to Palamon in the grove exemplifies this renouncement of friendship:

"Thou sholdest nevere out of this grove pace,

That thou ne sholdest dyen of myn hond.

For I defye the seurete and the bond

Which that thou seist that I have maad to thee." (746-749).

A subtext found when combining this passage and the previously stated theme is that the blind pursuance of love without reason results in chaos. But despite the resulting chaos, the tale retains a sense of harmony and symmetry that reflects the equality between Palamon and Arcite. For example, the temples of Venus and Mars are equally and amply described; the two 100-strong armies and accompanying beasts are equally matched, and later, on a more symbolic level, the two opposing patron deities, Venus and Mars, win the tournament, that is, the outcome slights neither.

The knight uses Palamon’s defeat in the tournament to reveal yet another theme. Consider the following words spoken by the Knight after the tournament has ended:

"For soothly ther was no disconfiture-

For fallyng nys nat but an aventure-

Ne to be lad by force unto the stake

Unyolden, and with twenty knyghtes take,

O persone allone, withouten mo,

And haryed forth by arme, foot, and too,

And eke his steede dryven forth with staves,

With footmen, bothe yemen and eek knaves,

It nas aretted hym no vileynye,

Ther may no man clepen it cowardye" (1869-1879).

In this passage, the knight clarifies (for his pilgrim audience) that if one tries his or her very best; he or she should not be ashamed of failure if overcome by great odds. In other words, a crushing defeat is not necessarily dishonorable. Arcite and Palamon have no lack of desire or skill to win Emilee, so Palamon’s desperate yearning for Emilee makes this theme of consolation quite poignant. And though the passage is spoken in the context of Palamon’s defeat in the tournament, one may apply it to Arcite’s resulting misfortune when Pluto’s beasts startle his horse. In both cases, defeat is not the result of poor judgment or lack of will or ability, but through the extrinsic forces of the universe.

Forgiveness is the final major theme of the tale. At the time of his death, Arcite eschews his jealousy and his worldliness, and ultimately, he forgives Palamon. Critic Judith Ferster observes that Arcite describes his cousin in similar terms used to describe the knight in the General Prologue (38). Some of the specific words and terms used are honour, wysdom, humblesse and heigh kynrede (1937-1938). Then, in the most gracious act in the tale, Arcite bequeaths Emilee to Palamon by saying to her:

"As in this world right now ne knowe I non

So worthy to ben loved, as Palamon

That serveth yow, and wol doon al his lyf;

And if that evere ye shul ben a wyf,

Foryet nat Palamoun, the gentil man" (1941-1945).

In reference to this passage, Ferster points out: Arcite is also sympathetic to the Emily’s wish to remain a virgin and does not try to coerce her, but only recommends his cousin conditionally (38). In leaving Emilee to his former enemy and freeing her from their fervent possessiveness, Arcite elevates himself above the materialism and selfishness that had brought him to his final condition. His newly revealed generosity connotes a loving, humble spirit. Arcite seems almost Christ-like when one considers his previous, monomaniacal conduct.

Some critics have uncovered an interesting paradox late in the tale in relation to the knight’s faith. This is the knight’s uncertainty of where a good soul goes after death. First, note the words uttered by Arcite shortly before he dies:

"And Jupiter so wys my soule gye…

So Jupiter have my soule parte" (1934-1940).

In these two lines, Arcite dedicates his soul to Jupiter. Now, consider the irony in the following passage when the knight speculates on the destination of Arcite’s soul after the cousin’s death:

"His spirit chaunged hous, and wente ther

As I cam nevere, I kan nat tellen wher,

Therfore I stynte; I nam no divinistre,

Of soules fynde I nat in this registre,

Ne me ne list thilke opinions to telle

Of hem, though that they writen wher they dwelle

Arcite is coold, ther Mars his soule gye" (1957-1963).

Incredibly, the perfect, Christian knight admits he does not know where Arcite’s worthy soul will go despite the fact that Arcite dedicated his soul to Jupiter. This hints to the possibility that the experienced knight became disillusioned during his crusades and was now tainted with doubt over the certainty of salvation. Baum believes this piece of irony was an oversight on Chaucer’s part caused by his infusion of humor into the poem: One must recognize [these oversights] as examples of a fault into which Chaucer’s cheerfulness may at any moment betray him (90). In other words, Baum thinks Chaucer was careless. If Chaucer soberly intended the knight to seem disillusioned, then the narrator in the prologue overlooked a significant aspect of the knight’s character.

In summary, The Knight’s Tale is a complex fable that conveys several layers of allegory. The tale is rich in moral value and speaks of forgiveness, honor and generosity, the same virtues inherent of the knight’s character. The structure and theme of the tale confirm Chaucer the Narrator’s description of him in the General Prologue. And though the knight may suffer from some disillusionment, his character is nevertheless revealed as true to his outward description. Therefore, the knight is most certainly the pilgrim who loves truth, humility, and generosity in both appearance and reality.

Works Cited

Baum, Paull. Chaucer: A Critical Appreciation. Durham: Duke University Press, 1958.

Elbow, Peter. Oppositions in Chaucer. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 1975.

Ferster, Judith. Chaucer on Interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985.

The Body and the Soul in The Castle of Perseverance

The Castle of Perseverance presents the puzzle of mankind. Far from exhibiting a simplistic dualism that strictly maintains the body/soul dichotomy, the play offers a covert portrayal of the complex interaction of body and soul. The play does not suggest that they exist in opposition to each other. Instead, the presence of the body and the soul together complete Mankind. Where is this presence? Concerns about resurrection informed medieval understandings of body/soul interaction. The physical integrity of the person was important to the denizens of medieval society because they believed that people were resurrected in physical perfection. They associated profoundly physical acts and feelings with contact with the divine. We argue that the view of medieval understandings of body and soul as simply dualistic is inconsistent with the concerns revealed in The Castle of Perseverance. The physical portrayals of the soul physical thing are more than simply tropes or necessities of stagecraft; they reveal a deep concern about the resemblance of body and soul. Mankind’s journey in life is emblematic of all humans’ journeys in life—but his journey is not completed when he dies. An important component of his existence occurs after his death. Although his human body is no longer animated, Mankind virtually lives on after his death as a physical presence on the stage. Furthermore, The Castle of Perseverance depicts the soul’s accusation of the body. It is in this brief speech of accusation that the question of the soul’s residence is most keenly felt.

The placement of the siege in the action is analogous to the physical arrangement of the castle in the place. This takes place essentially in the middle of the action of the play. When the siege occurs, Mankind has left his youthful folly of a life of sin and joined the Virtues. Considering the theme of the play, this symbolic centrality of the physical and earthly life cannot be ignored. Mankind resists the sins because the Virtues within the castle promise him spiritual protection. He begins to waver at the temptation of Covetousness when he realizes that their spiritual protection offers no physical relief for his old age. The often-reviled material, fleshly, earthly existence of Mankind is an integral part of his spiritual health. Earthly existence tests Mankind’s spiritual fortitude because he exposes his soul to danger whenever he gives in to temptation. During the siege, the castle functions as an interesting symbol of the flesh. Just as the human body houses the human soul, the castle functions, metaphorically, as a protective garment for Mankind. Metaphorically, however, the castle is also a specific location for the Sins to attack. Without the locus of the flesh, Mankind’s soul would be impossible to locate. Mankind’s soul would be impregnable without the weakness of the flesh because there simply would be no way to attack it. The flesh provides access to the soul because it ties the soul to materiality. When the Sins attack the castle, Mankind is as incapable of repelling their attack on his protective garment as the soul would be to repel an analogous attack on the body. He relies on the Virtues to defend him; unfortunately, their residence in the castle has been brief. The allegorical Virtues’ short stay in the castle represents their short stay in Mankind’s body. Alarmingly, Mankind, who functions as a trope for the soul residing in the body (castle) in the above discussion, leaves the castle of his own volition. Logically speaking, the physical consequences of a siege drive human beings to leave castles. They must satisfy their hunger and thirst, and they must escape disease. Mankind leaves the castle to satisfy his earthly desires, but his function as a symbol for the soul makes his decision problematic. Mankind seems to manifest symptoms of physical desires felt in the soul. What disease resides in The Castle of Perseverance? Perhaps the disease, the physical need, that drives Mankind out of the castle, may be called mortality. As a symbol for the soul, it seems odd that Mankind would fear his mortality. Physical existence is fleeting, ephemeral, and useless to a soul that is promised eternal protection and eternal life by the Virtues. The soul is not as insubstantial as the overt dialogue of the play suggests.

Aspects of physicality surface in the soul throughout the play. All transformations that affect the soul are performed through some contact with the body. An undercurrent of physicality that subverts the ostensible portrayal of the soul as something that is not some thing. The soul appears to reside in the body, as though it is a thing with matter that requires residence. When Mankind dies, the Soul appears to accuse the body. Logistics of medieval staging required a physical representation of the soul, but the soul reveals its physicality in important ways. The soul foresees physical punishment in Hell. He imagines himself in hell on hooks experiencing pains strong (lines 3079-3081). Thomas Aquinas popularized the view that the body and soul are incomplete when separated and they long for one another until they are reunited at the resurrection. Resurrection signifies a rebirth and a return to life. It is accomplished in the perfect reunion of the body and the soul.

The castle itself is an adequate symbol of the body-soul unity. Sitting on stilts above the earth, the castle resembles mankind: at once a physical structure bound to earth, and something elevated and divorced from contact with the physical world. Unified and strong, the castle represents human integrity. Also, it can be noted that the castle is also a source of feudal power. It represents authority, and in the context of the play, it represents the authority of the Word of God. Mankind violates the castle’s integrity when he accepts Covetous’ invitation to live old age in avariciousness. In a sense, this violation symbolizes Mankind’s betrayal of himself. Mankind. This being that most perfectly illustrates the unity of body and soul also illustrates the inherent incompatibility. The soul’s great investment in the body lies in resurrection because it only experiences complete rebirth and resurrection if the body remains usable. The soul needs the body to achieve resurrection. Similarly, processes of the body influence the soul.

Humans encounter the divine through profoundly physical experiences. Many Medieval writers, especially women, describe being filled up or penetrated by God. Medieval people sometimes bled themselves to punish and purify the flesh with its attendant desires and to empathize with Christ’s suffering. Bleeding, a deeply physical experience represents Christ’s suffering, which in turn represents the point of contact between physical and divine. Physical contact enables Mankind’s spiritual transformations, as Mankind’s physical movement indicates the condition of his soul. Mankind’s life in sin is signified by his physical presence with Covetous and others. His physical travel belies the wandering soul within him. When Penance reaches the soul by stabbing Mankind’s heart with her lance, it is an act of physical penetration used to reach the soul; it implies that the soul somehow feels the body’s hurts, and that the soul is sentient. Penetration of the body allows humans contact with the divine. When the lance penetrates Mankind, he does not fear for his bodily integrity because he feels that the penetration is from a divine source. Penetration of the body conceivably endangers the soul, as penetration of the castle endangers those inside it. The physicality of the soul is revealed by the penetration Mankind experiences as a spiritual transformation. Punishment of the soul, described in physical terms throughout the play, lends credence to depictions of spiritual transformation through physical penetration.

The roses used by the Charities to ward off the Sins during the battle scene in The Castle of Perseverance are the symbol of purity, heavenly perfection, and virginity, that is the body of Christ. The crimson color of the rose is the flower of the blood of Christ. The thorns on the stem represent Christ’s suffering at the crucifixion as well as the fall of mankind from Paradise. In numerical terms, the rose represents the number 5. This is because the wild rose has five petals. (The petals of other roses are in multiples of five.) The geometric pattern of the rose corresponds to the pentacle, the five-pointed star. Of course, by representing five, the rose also represents Truth, and the five senses in the body of man, Christ incarnate on Earth.

Portrayals of gender in the play subvert the strict body/soul dichotomy. Lechery, the only female Sin, denotes a stereotypical female dominated by concerns of the flesh. Yet all of the Virtues are female, as are all of the Daughters of God. The construction of gender is complex in the play because it reflects the instability of gender in medieval representations of Christ.

In conclusion, the overt body/soul dichotomy offered by The Castle of Perseverance is provided by the depictions of the soul’s physicality. The body serves as a vehicle for complete spiritual actualization. The Castle of Perseverance negotiates the body/soul relationship by exploring its complex connection through physical representation of the soul and body of man through allegory and symbolism.

Satan: Hero or Villain of Paradise Lost?

Satan, the active agent of John Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost, has exceptional psychological depth. His soliloquies, born of remorse and tormented psychology, lend him the pathos and nobility of an Elizabethan tragic hero, more so even than Adam and Eve. The Romantics, in their reinterpretation of Paradise Lost, recast Satan as the protagonist and God as a tyrant. Indeed Milton’s portrayal of Satan, particularly in the first two books, is so captivating and capable of eliciting such sympathy that a reader may indeed view him as the hero of the epic. But though Satan is the most developed character of the poem and seemingly deserving of pity, is he truly a hero? And if he is a hero, why did Milton, a devout Puritan, choose to make him so?

In its introduction to Paradise Lost, Volume 1 of the Longman Anthology of British Literature states that from a Renaissance point of view, Satan is like an Elizabethan hero-villain due to his numerous soliloquies and his tortured psychology of brilliance twisted toward evil (1755). Scholar Robert Crosman provides the following explanation as to why Satan is initially so attractive to the reader:

We normally identify with the main character of any story, and Satan certainly has no rivals for our interest in Books I and II of Paradise Lost. He is cast into the mold of the epic hero, which demands of us certain positive responses to time-tested human virtues: courage, strength, endurance, leadership, eloquence, and self-esteem. In Books I and II Satan has, or seems to have, all of these qualities. (29-30).

Echoing and expounding upon the idea put forth in the Longman Anthology of British Literature, Crosman notes that Satan strongly resembles certain anti-heroes of Renaissance drama. Notably, Satan resembles the blood-splattered Macbeth who strides over the blasted heath, surrounded by the mangled bodies of friends and enemies, muttering, So foul and fair a day I have not seen. Later he rightly observes that Satan is a bit like Macbeth: just as he is, in another way, like Aeneas, who is found shipwrecked and despairing on the coast of Africa at the opening of Virgil’s epic (29). In a striking observation, noting both the context of the tale and the principal character, scholar J. B. Broadbent suggests that Satan appears as a tragic hero caught in an epic plot (74). Another critic, John Knott, Jr., contends that Satan’s appeal arises from his power. Such power, he says, is manifest in Satan’s ability to battle the armies of God for three days in heaven, to subvert the new world of man, and to give Sin and Death possession of this world (149). Like Crosman, Knott believes that the complexity of Satan’s motivation and his capacity for doubt as well as defiance make him a protagonist who invites comparison with a Macbeth or a Faustus (149).

Satan’s soliloquies create a complex portrait of the supernatural being, and it is these soliloquies that contribute to the Elizabethan sense that Satan is the tragic hero. Through Satan’s soliloquies, we see that behind his facade of bravado, defiance, and ambition, Satan is painfully aware that he is forever fallen. As scholar Thomas Wheeler states unequivocally of Satan’s position after the fall, Satan knows he is wrong—not that he has made a mistake, not that he has suffered a temporary setback. His pride is wrong, his defiance is wrong, his ambition is wrong: everything that defines him is wrong (102). Wheeler further notes that this knowledge torments Satan enough, but in addition to this knowledge, Satan knows that there is no way for him to get it right, and this compounds his despair (103). Strikingly, Satan admits that the blame falls upon no one but himself:

But other Powers as great

Fall not, but stand unshak’n from within

Or from without, to all temptations arm’d.

Hadst thou the same free Will and Power to stand?

Thou hadst: whom hast thou then or what to accuse,

But Heav’n’s free Love dealt equally to all? (IV.63-8)

As Wheeler notes, such a remarkably honest admission is admirable in the fallen angel (103). The presence of such knowledge, which contributes to Satan’s torment, adds further reason for the reader to pity him.

Satan also shows determination characteristic of a hero; he persistently hopes to procure some level of power and reign as a rival to God as Beelzebub suggested he should do. But Satan faces insurmountable odds; he cannot do anything outside what God allows him to do. The plan is such that God has

Left him at large to his own dark designs,

That with reiterated crimes he might

Heap upon himself damnation. (I.213-5)

God’s plan for Satan seems to follow the old adage, Give a man enough rope, and he will hang himself with it. God is allowing Satan the opportunity to do more mischief under the idea that Satan’s nature will lead him to further doom, and each act will add to his torment, for not only will God increase his torment, but also each act will weigh increasingly upon his conscience. Satan knows that his conscience and the physical realities of his damnation will continue to oppress him. Hell, in other words, will exist within him. Yet, he does not lose all hope that something can be done to alleviate his circumstance, and like the epic heroes he is modeled against, he goes on an epic voyage.

There are two other features of Satan’s condition that evoke pity in the reader and might cause him to appear as a tragic hero. One is that God has not given Satan a chance to reconcile with him, which gives Satan no option other than evil. When Satan says Evil be thou my Good (IV.110), modified by what has preceded this statement, Satan is not saying that he prefers evil. Evil cannot be good for Satan, and he is aware of this. But evil is all he has. It is his choice in the sense that neither his own nature nor God will let him choose anything else. So, in effect, Satan has been backed into a corner. The second feature of Satan’s condition that evokes pity is that much of his torment arises from guilt and regret, which reveals the presence of a conscience. The fact that Satan has a conscience appeals to our humanity, for we recognize him as being like ourselves in that he can think, feel, reason, and consequently suffer remorse from his action.

Both features of Satan’s condition contribute to our perception that Satan is a victim. Wheeler states that though we might be drawn to sympathize with a character who faces so honestly the fact of his own responsibility for his sufferings (such an honest admission of guilt ought to account for something), the primary purpose of Satan’s soliloquies is not to elicit sympathy but to develop and add depth to Satan’s character. Wheeler does admit, however, that Unlike Sin and Death, who are flat allegorical creatures, Satan is portrayed as having a conscience and an inner being which can hardly fail to remind us of the same qualities in Adam and ourselves (103). But character development does not equal hero status. Furthermore, we must not allow our sympathy for Satan to distract us from the true heroes of the poem, Adam and Eve.

The poets of the Romantic era were possibly the first to assert the notion that Satan was the hero of Paradise Lost. Such notions have persisted since this era, and they have influenced critical thought regarding the work. To many defenders of the Christian faith, it is unthinkable that Satan, considering his destructive effect on humanity, could be viewed as a hero. After all, not only is Satan the enemy of humanity, he is also the enemy of God, the Being that embodies all that is wholesome and good. The Norton’s website sums up the powerful effect that Satan’s perceived heroism had on the literature of the Romantic era:

In his ironic Marriage of Heaven and Hell (NAEL 2.72–81), Blake claimed that Milton had unconsciously, but justly, sided with the Devil (representing rebellious energy) against Jehovah (representing oppressive limitation). Thirty years later, Percy Shelley maintained that Satan is the moral superior to Milton’s tyrannical God, but he admitted that Satan’s greatness of character is flawed by vengefulness and pride. It was precisely this aspect of flawed grandeur, however, that made Satan so attractive a model for Shelley’s friend Byron. Byron’s more immediate precedents were the protagonists of some of the Gothic terror novels of the later eighteenth century — for example, Schedoni in Ann Radcliffe’s The Italian, who embodied many of the sinister and terrifying aspects of Milton’s Satan — in addition to the towering historical figure of Napoleon Bonaparte, who to the contemporary imagination also combined moral culpability with superhuman power and grandeur.

Understanding why the romantic poets interpreted Satan as the hero of Paradise Lost requires some understanding of the Romantics’ system of belief. To begin with, the Romantics worshiped rebellion, individuality, and nonconformity; thus they were more enthralled by Satan’s rebelliousness than by the goodness of the divine characters. They interpreted Satan as a metaphor for the constant human striving for individual freedom from oppression.

Reactions to Paradise Lost turn up in many of the works of the Romantic era. For instance, Mary Shelley’s superb 1817 novel Frankenstein, an important work of the era that encapsulates the ideals of the romantics, reflects many Romantic reinterpretations of Paradise Lost. The monster of Frankenstein identifies with Satan after he reads a copy of Milton’s poem: Many times I considered Satan the fitter emblem of my condition; for often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter gall of envy rose within me (Shelley 875). Not only does the monster’s conclusion about Paradise Lost express the sympathy the romantics felt toward Satan, it also represents the Romantics’ elevation of Satan to the status of a hero.

Other similarities exist between Paradise Lost and Frankenstein. Just as Satan does before he is cast from heaven, the monster eventually believes that he is at least equal to his creator. You are my creator, but I am your master—obey! (Shelley 896). Unable to achieve reconciliation with Dr. Frankenstein, the monster becomes a metaphor for the fallen angel who becomes the malignant devil. Just as does Satan in his bellicose speeches and soliloquies in Books I and II, the monster vows revenge in accordance with his internal sense of justice. And as in Satan’s case, the monster’s deep psychological pain arises, in part, from his estrangement from his creator.

Milton’s Satan was also the model for the Romantic satanic model of heroism. Satanic heroes possess great qualities of mind and heart but are products of an inner darkness. The Satanic hero shuns human companionship in order to delve into private thoughts and feelings. This hero is by nature an anti-social being. Byron’s dark hero Manfred is a good example of this model, as are Percy Shelley’s Prometheus, the great rebel against the gods, and Herman Melville’s Ahab from Moby Dick. The Satan of Paradise Lost is a being of great magnetism and potential, yet he is overwhelmed by the elements of darkness, like many heroes of Romanticist writers. One wonders how Milton would react to the Romantic-era interpretation of his masterpiece.

The Romanticists followed Rousseau, who believed that we are created with an innate capacity for love, and that it is our experiences that make us evil. In other words, our minds, at birth, contain an imprint of God’s divine nature. Thus, we are born good. Such a belief, when applied to Satan, affects distinctly the way he can be viewed. The idea is that though God created Satan perfect, his existence in heaven corrupted him. Taking into account the Romantics’ affinity for rebellion against authority, they may have taken the stance that Satan simply became fed up with eternal servitude, which may be interpreted as slavery, and this led to his rebellion. Along with the Romantic belief that man is inherently good, many adhered to William Godwin’s belief that evil is a product of injustice. Satan is not given a chance at reconciliation. Such a perception may have fueled the Romantic’s view that Satan was a victim of injustice.

One may create a cogent argument that Satan appears heroic primarily because of a problematic portrayal of God. While Milton portrays God as unapproachable and didactic, Satan displays human characteristics that we can identify with, such as envy, spite, and most importantly, regret. Milton’s God is the imperious Old Testament God filled with wrath. His stern countenance lacks warmth and empathy. Crosman notes that evidence of God’s tyranny can be found in both Satan’s soliloquies and in the narrator’s commentary. Crosman points out that Satan says, So much the stronger prov’d he with his Thunder (I.92-3). The narrator later echoes, Him the Almighty Power Hurl’d headlong flaming from th’ Ethereal Sky (I.44-5). According to Crosman, such lines suggest Divine brutality and tyranny as effectively as anything Satan subsequently says. Crosman further points out that although the narrator does not refer to God as a tyrant, adamantine chains and penal fire are certainly what we might expect from one. So while overtly condemning Satan as a villain, the narrator is also, though less obviously, corroborating a view of the War in Heaven that supports Satan’s claim to be God’s victim (31). Furthermore, God may be viewed as culpable, for an omniscient, all-powerful being that can see the future must be the originator of not only the good which takes place but also of the evil that arises. Satan, on the other hand, is an underdog. Though he has guile and charisma exceptional enough to sway a third of heaven, he has little of the actual power of his Creator. His primary fault is the pride that God infused in him at the time of his creation. The seeds of his fall were sown at the time of his creation. In other words, Satan was created to fall, and this seems unfair.

Notwithstanding the obvious reasons Satan has for choosing evil, some scholars warn against applying human motivations to a supernatural being:

The complexity of Satan’s motivation and his capacity for doubt as well as defiance make him a protagonist who invites comparison with Macbeth or a Faustus. But in making such comparisons one must remember that Milton humanized Satan only to a point. In the end, hellish hate and hellish power must be measured on a different scale from human ambition. (Knott 149)

Knott goes on to say that in Milton’s view, Satan’s will to destroy results from a capacity for evil that exceeds anything that can be found in human nature, which is similar to the depth of love that Christ has for man that excels any merely human love (149). Such an observation reminds us that misconceptions can arise from qualifying the motivations of immortal supernatural beings as if they were a part of humanity. Beings such as Satan are not human, and they not should be viewed as such.

We admire heroes who exhibit passion for their causes, and without a doubt, passion plays an important role in Satan’s actions. It can even be stated that Satan allowed his high passion to overcome reason. Where does passion originate in Satan? One does not desire to become what one hates, yet Satan wished to be as God. A psychologically valid reason for this paradox is that at one time, Satan harbored an intense love for his Creator. The converse of this must also be true; for God to have placed Satan as the Morning Star of heaven, He must have loved Satan dearly, and Satan had to have been aware of this special love. Satan’s realization of what he had lost makes his fall that much more tragic. And not only does God made it clear that there is no chance for reconciliation for Satan and his angels, but God also bequeaths his grace to another being:

The first sort by their own suggestion fell,

Self-tempted, self-deprav’d, Man falls deceiv’d

By th’other first: Man therefore shall find grace,

The other none. (III.129-32)

Satan’s actions and reactions throughout the poem resemble those of a scorned lover or disowned child. Hate and love are closely intertwined, powerful emotions. Just like good and evil, one has no relevance without the other; each lends the other definition. A broken heart can certainly cause the intense hatred that Satan feels for God. Note that Satan did not choose to send his new acquaintances (family members), Sin and Death, to meet God’s new creatures, Adam and Eve, out of spite, though he easily could have. His idea was to split mankind from God as God had split with him. Such actions were rooted in jealousy. Consider Satan’s musings the first time he encounters Adam and Eve in Paradise. Satan finds God’s latest creations so attractive that he could love them:

So lively shines

In them Divine resemblance, and such grace

The hand that form’d them on their shape hath pour’d. (IV.363-5)

He is so smitten with Eve that he forgets his evil and basks in admiration of her beauty:

Such Pleasure took the Serpent to behold

This Flow’ry Plat, the sweet recess of Eve…

….That space the Evil one abstracted stood

From his own evil, and for the time remain’d

Stupidly good, of enmity disarm’d. (IX.455-6, 464-5)

These lines may also suggest a latent love that remains in Satan for his Creator, for Adam and Eve were created in God’s image. Satan has changed since his potent speeches of revenge and hatred in Book I. By Book IX, Satan has realized that revenge is bitter and does not even apply to what he hopes to accomplish (Wheeler 103):

Revenge, at first though sweet,

Bitter ere long back on itself recoils…

….Whom us the more to spite his Maker rais’d

From dust: spite then with spite is best repaid. (IX.171-8)

Remarkably, what has happened is that Satan’s lust for revenge has degenerated into mere spite, and his unalloyed hatred has dissipated into jealousy. If one adopts the view that he is a jilted lover, or perhaps an abandoned child, then his personage seems all that much more plausible and worthy of compassion. J. B. Broadbent sums up Satan’s decline and increasing distance from God very succinctly when he writes,

Satan is presented as undergoing a series of reactions which progressively extinguish his own gleams of self-knowledge and other-pity and block the angelic impulses that might have saved him; so that by Book IV and Book IX he embodies irredeemable despair more than absolute evil. (76)

If one embraces the argument that Satan is motivated to do evil in part by his recognition that he can never reclaim the love that God expressed toward him, then his increasing estrangement from God makes him all the more worthy of sympathy.

Paradise Lost is the work of a Puritan, not a Satanist. Thus, it does not follow that Milton wrote Paradise Lost as a vehicle to arouse admiration for Satan. Why, then, would he portray Satan as sympathetic? Perhaps the simplest explanation is good storytelling. Unless the villain is portrayed convincingly, the heroism of the protagonists will seem hollow. In his thorough portrayal of Satan, Milton is not merely setting up a paper tiger. Without Satan’s attractiveness, his brand of evil is a hard sell. After all, why should one choose evil for the sake of evil? Milton took on the task of making the instigation of evil seem psychologically plausible and therefore desirable—and he succeeded.

Some critics believe that Milton went too far in making evil seem attractive or that he did it a little too well. Robert Wheeler was not convinced that Satan comes off as particularly appealing; he did not believe that Satan deserved the level of character development that Milton afforded him: There are oddities about Satan as Milton presents him. They do not suggest that Satan is admirable or good or that Milton was of the Devil’s party without knowing it. But they give us the impression that Milton, whether intentionally or not, went far beyond the needs of his theme in developing Satan’s character (99). Along similar lines, John Knott accuses Milton of not presenting Satan’s eventual ruin powerfully enough. Though Satan has little else to do in Paradise Lost after Man has fallen, Milton gives little attention to Satan’s ultimate defeat, perhaps out of a reluctance to identify his character too closely with the [serpent of Revelation bound by Christ] (148). While most critics do not agree with Wheeler that Satan is an unattractive character or conclude as Knott does that Milton should have identified semi-admirable Satan with the repulsive beast of Revelation, nearly all agree that Satan is the most developed character in the epic. And though not everyone agrees on Milton’s reasons for developing Satan so thoroughly, it is unanimously agreed that such extensive character development allows the reader to identify with Satan much more easily than with any other character in the epic.

John Milton’s Paradise Lost would lose much of its effectiveness if Satan were not the highly developed character that he is. Furthermore, considering Milton’s background as a devout Puritan, it would be a misconception to believe that this poem praises Satan. Yet, for the purposes of this epic, Milton did not have much choice. By making Satan appear attractive, Milton strengthens his argument that evil is dangerous because of how beguiling it can be. After all, rarely does one consciously choose evil over good; the choice is often that of the more attractive option, a dangerous proposition if reason and a classical education do not intervene. Without a doubt, Satan’s position is worthy of some sympathy; his damnation is complete and eternal. His acts are unremittingly villainous, yet it seems like an oversimplification to label him as one due to the human and hero-like qualities he displays. Nevertheless, we must not judge Satan on the same rubric reserved for epic heroes such as Odysseus and Aeneas. Satan, after all, is a supernatural being, not a human. His exact origins and the genesis of his evil are not explained within the poem. For these reasons, it would be an error to humanize him as much as it would be to humanize God. Perhaps is it best that Satan not be described as a hero, but rather, a well-defined supernatural character with traits of heroism.

Works Cited

Broadbent, J. B. Some Graver Subject: An Essay on Paradise Lost. New York: Shocken, 1967.

Crosman, Robert. Reading Paradise Lost. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1980.

Damrosch, David, ed. The Longman Anthology of British Literature. vol. 1. New York: Addison Wesley Longman, 1999.

Knott Jr., John R. Milton’s Pastoral Vision: An Approach to Paradise Lost. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1971.

Milton, John. Paradise Lost. ed. Burton Raffel. New York: Bantam, 1999.

Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. The Longman Anthology of British Literature. vol. 2, ed. David Damrosch. New York: Addison Wesley Longman, 1999.

Wheeler, Thomas. Paradise Lost and the Modern Reader. Athens: U of Georgia P, 1974.

Adventures in the Sublime: An Explication of Romantic and Literary Influences in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

Imbued with the notions and concerns of the literary and philosophical preoccupations of the Romantic era, Mary Shelley’s 1817 novel Frankenstein reflects the conventions of the Romantic imagination. But how are these Romantic era influences woven into Frankenstein? How do they manifest themselves? And are all the works that most influenced Frankenstein native to the Romantic era?

The first indication that Frankenstein is a Romantic-era work is that it utilizes storytelling device of the era called the frame narrative. This device uses the framework of one story to tell another story. Essentially, it creates a story within a story. In this case, the frame narrative consists of letters written by Walton to his niece that recount the tale told by Victor Frankenstein. Along with the narrative is an introduction inserted to give the piece validity and describe the creative process. This sort of introduction, along with the frame narrative, was popular with writers during the Romantic era. In the first edition of Frankenstein, Mary’s husband Percy wrote the introduction. For the revised edition published in 1831, Mary Shelley wrote her own introduction to explain the revisions she had made. Percy Shelley’s introduction attempts to lend credibility and relevance to his wife’s work. He states that although the novel is a work of fancy, it is more than a "weaving a