The Brothers Grimm were, for a long time, the trusted fairy tale source. From tales like "Rumpelstiltskin" to "The Wolf and the Fox," their stories have graced the imaginations of children for generations. But, there was one tale they did not get to write: Metamorphosis.
In this tale, we follow the harrowing story of a man, transformed by who-knows-what into some sort of insect. His own family banishes him to his room, while all he wants is to get back to work and continue to support them. His only human contact comes twice a day in the form of his sister, who cares for him despite her revulsion. Our man takes to hiding away beneath a couch to spare her even the sight of his body. What a compelling story!
But, let's look at this objectively. Before we frame this as some sort of reverse monster movie, where humans terrorize this innocent man-sect, think about it from Gregor's family's perspective. When they first look into his room, all they see is this thing. Where's Gregor? They heard him earlier. He had been in there just last night. What did this thing do to him? Did it eat him? Or otherwise kill him, and hide the body? Why in the world would they assume this giant bug is Gregor? Even once they decide it must be him, with little to go by (and they don't really even question it, they pretty much just throw up their hands and say, "Now what are we going to do?"), is it that odd that they don't want to be faced with his fairly freaky body? He is a monstrous vermin, after all.
No, this story isn't about our poor, pitiable man-sect struggling for recognition and fighting his oppressive family. Rather, stories about transformation or anthropomorphism take this fresh opportunity away from humans to investigate them closely. Trickster tales like Reynard the Fox allowed people to look at how those in power performed, with the excuse that they were only reading of funny animals. "Little Red Riding Hood" and other such stories allowed people to contemplate horrific acts of murder and the like, without being confronted with grisly details. Transformations show what people look like as they lose humanity; and what humanity looks like around them.
The problem is, Gregor isn't becoming more and more buglike. Instead, he's just getting more and more adolescent. He stays in his room away from people. He spends his spare time scuttling around on the walls and ceilings for his amusement. He loses his furniture, but it allows him more space to do as he pleases. He isn't losing his humanity, but his sense of adulthood. In some sense, Kafka depicts the cruel life before of working and whittling away on his private projects against this sense of lighthearted fun he has as a bug. Would it be wrong to interpret that as saying the weird adult world is in some way a travesty?
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
The Gang Goes to Bedlam
1926: The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway, is published
1923: Das Ich und das Es (The Ego and the Id), by Sigmund Freud, elaborates on ideas proposed in a 1920 work, Jenseits des Lustprinzips (Beyond the Pleasure Principle), about the original three amigos: the id, ego, and super-ego
In The Sun Also Rises, it doesn't seem like a stretch to say that the people in the story have problems. They give themselves all sorts of nonsense to squabble over. They give themselves a detachment from real feelings with irony. Jake specifically masks feelings of inadequacy over his injury with hyper-masculinity, becoming ill at the very sight of the gay men that Brett enters the dance hall with in Chapter III (p. 28, to be precise). In fact, the problems the characters face seem almost to riff on the ideas put forth by Freud in that time frame about the way the human psyche works.
With his theory of the id, ego, and super-ego, Freud supposes that humans have three forces at work within their mind. The id brings forth instinctual and unconscious desires and tendencies; it seeks to make us do whatever will make us happy, more or less. The super-ego acts in opposition; it internally criticizes and moralizes what we do, like a conscience. The ego stands between, mediating between the two and giving us whatever action it deems best to perform.
In fact, these descriptions sound eerily similar to specific characters. Mike, when he gets drunk, spouts out whatever comes to his head. He rants off at Cohn (in a manner his friends decide was too far, though right-minded) for following Brett around like a lost puppy and for never getting drunk (146-7). He yells for someone to tell Romero that "bulls have no balls" (180). Whenever he gets drunk, he goes too far, does something ridiculous, doesn't keep himself in check properly, behaves badly. In him, the id dominates, at least when there's enough alcohol in the system.
Cohn, on the other hand, does more or less the opposite. He takes everything too seriously. He takes Brett's supposed morality too seriously: "I don't believe she would marry anybody she didn't love" (46). In fact, Jake retorts she's done it twice; it doesn't make sense to talk virtuously about how she doesn't live virtuously. He gets offended when Jake jokingly tells him to "go to hell" (47). The phrase is tossed around casually the entire conversation by Jake, and elsewhere too, but in this one instance Cohn breaks and snaps at Jake over seemingly nothing. Cohn doesn't mesh with the group, because he doesn't riff with them; he doesn't get drunk like they do, he doesn't joke like they do, he keeps himself too far in check. In him, the super-ego dominates.
With these two extremes set, it's very difficult to find someone between them to contrast them both to. Brett seems just a little too eager to get drunk, to party, to sleep around; her super-ego doesn't have quite enough power, though she is clearly not as far gone as Mike. Jake seems better, especially in the Basque country with Bill, where he can properly indulge his id and riff with him. But, introduce Brett to the occasion, and he falls silent. He doesn't really participate in group conversations. In fact, he is too reserved; just like he says he'd "be as big an ass as Cohn" if given the proper chance with Brett, his super-ego overpowers around Brett (185). Bill is better; everybody likes him, a good indication he behaves himself well and interestingly. Of course, he too leans towards his id; he'll have unprovoked outbursts like Mike, and the id is the source of what makes him funny in the first place, but he generally has control over himself (as evidenced by the "bromance" scene fishing with Jake).
What repulses Cohn even more than his super-ego from the gang, though is when his id pokes out. This is what causes him to come after Jake for "pimping" Brett out to Romero, and to punch everybody out. His id isn't like that of Mike or Bill; he doesn't joke around or try to have a good time when his base desires come out. He goes straight for what he wants. In a way, it's almost narcissistic, that he focuses on what will fulfill his needs over helping out everyone else in the process. No matter what he does, he doesn't fit in with the group; they probably weren't meant to be.
Whether or not Hemingway was influenced by Freud's work any, his characters prove to be a very natural case-study for what Freud was proposing. Whether or not Freud's ideas have merit, they produced interesting and compelling characters in The Sun Also Rises. Perhaps some enterprising author should follow suit, and base a story around nihilism, or existentialism.
1923: Das Ich und das Es (The Ego and the Id), by Sigmund Freud, elaborates on ideas proposed in a 1920 work, Jenseits des Lustprinzips (Beyond the Pleasure Principle), about the original three amigos: the id, ego, and super-ego
In The Sun Also Rises, it doesn't seem like a stretch to say that the people in the story have problems. They give themselves all sorts of nonsense to squabble over. They give themselves a detachment from real feelings with irony. Jake specifically masks feelings of inadequacy over his injury with hyper-masculinity, becoming ill at the very sight of the gay men that Brett enters the dance hall with in Chapter III (p. 28, to be precise). In fact, the problems the characters face seem almost to riff on the ideas put forth by Freud in that time frame about the way the human psyche works.
With his theory of the id, ego, and super-ego, Freud supposes that humans have three forces at work within their mind. The id brings forth instinctual and unconscious desires and tendencies; it seeks to make us do whatever will make us happy, more or less. The super-ego acts in opposition; it internally criticizes and moralizes what we do, like a conscience. The ego stands between, mediating between the two and giving us whatever action it deems best to perform.
In fact, these descriptions sound eerily similar to specific characters. Mike, when he gets drunk, spouts out whatever comes to his head. He rants off at Cohn (in a manner his friends decide was too far, though right-minded) for following Brett around like a lost puppy and for never getting drunk (146-7). He yells for someone to tell Romero that "bulls have no balls" (180). Whenever he gets drunk, he goes too far, does something ridiculous, doesn't keep himself in check properly, behaves badly. In him, the id dominates, at least when there's enough alcohol in the system.
Cohn, on the other hand, does more or less the opposite. He takes everything too seriously. He takes Brett's supposed morality too seriously: "I don't believe she would marry anybody she didn't love" (46). In fact, Jake retorts she's done it twice; it doesn't make sense to talk virtuously about how she doesn't live virtuously. He gets offended when Jake jokingly tells him to "go to hell" (47). The phrase is tossed around casually the entire conversation by Jake, and elsewhere too, but in this one instance Cohn breaks and snaps at Jake over seemingly nothing. Cohn doesn't mesh with the group, because he doesn't riff with them; he doesn't get drunk like they do, he doesn't joke like they do, he keeps himself too far in check. In him, the super-ego dominates.
With these two extremes set, it's very difficult to find someone between them to contrast them both to. Brett seems just a little too eager to get drunk, to party, to sleep around; her super-ego doesn't have quite enough power, though she is clearly not as far gone as Mike. Jake seems better, especially in the Basque country with Bill, where he can properly indulge his id and riff with him. But, introduce Brett to the occasion, and he falls silent. He doesn't really participate in group conversations. In fact, he is too reserved; just like he says he'd "be as big an ass as Cohn" if given the proper chance with Brett, his super-ego overpowers around Brett (185). Bill is better; everybody likes him, a good indication he behaves himself well and interestingly. Of course, he too leans towards his id; he'll have unprovoked outbursts like Mike, and the id is the source of what makes him funny in the first place, but he generally has control over himself (as evidenced by the "bromance" scene fishing with Jake).
What repulses Cohn even more than his super-ego from the gang, though is when his id pokes out. This is what causes him to come after Jake for "pimping" Brett out to Romero, and to punch everybody out. His id isn't like that of Mike or Bill; he doesn't joke around or try to have a good time when his base desires come out. He goes straight for what he wants. In a way, it's almost narcissistic, that he focuses on what will fulfill his needs over helping out everyone else in the process. No matter what he does, he doesn't fit in with the group; they probably weren't meant to be.
Whether or not Hemingway was influenced by Freud's work any, his characters prove to be a very natural case-study for what Freud was proposing. Whether or not Freud's ideas have merit, they produced interesting and compelling characters in The Sun Also Rises. Perhaps some enterprising author should follow suit, and base a story around nihilism, or existentialism.
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