The White Clown- Fahrenheit 451

'"You'll be here for the White Clown tonight, and the ladies coming over?" cried Mildred. Montag stopped at the door with his back turned. "Millie?" A silence. "What?" "Millie? Does the White Clown love you?" No answer. "Millie, does-" He licked his lips. "Does your "family" love you, love you very much, love you with all heart and soul, Millie?" He felt her blinking slowly at the back of his neck. "Why'd you ask a silly question like that?" He felt like he wanted to cry, but nothing would happen to his eyes or his mouth. "If you see that dog outside," said Mildred, "give him a kick for me." He hesitated, listening at the door. He opened it and stepped out. The rain had stopped and the sun was setting in the clear sky. The street and the lawn and the porch were empty. He let his breath go in a great sigh. He slammed the door."
In this passage from Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, the main character, Montag, asks his wife a question which reveals the priorities held by Montag, his wife, and the rest of the futuristic society in which they live. To his wife, the "family," or interactive television, is her life. In the book, she wakes up, eats breakfast, and watches television, often with friends. As Montag becomes more knowledgeable (as he, in a sense, awakens), he attempts to share his newfound knowledge with his wife's friends- yet, they demonstrate the fear and sensitivity that other people (except for a few, such as Faber, Clarisse, and Montag) express at the nature of books. In this excerpt from the novel, Montag acquiesces the reality of his wife's shallowness, and her inability to recognize the wealth that books offer, and the dangerous, sadistic world that they live in.

Fashion Meets Literature, Part Two: The Great Gatsby

"The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored ballon. They were booth in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few minutes listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the roan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor."

From the Roaring Twenties- inspired SS12 collections of Ralph Lauren and Tory Burch, to the Woody Allen film Midnight in Paris of this year, to the impending Gatsby film due Christmas Day of next year, to the continuous inspiration that the risquely sheer, revealing drop-waist dresses and the charming little hats of the Gatzbian era gives the runway; the 1920s have been a constant inspiration in fashion and life. My great- grandmother reached the height of her adolescence in the Roaring Twenties, and several diaphanous lace confections, all of a kind, a low-waisted sack of a thing, shockingly sheer, with delicate hand-embroidery and hand- beading with tiny freshwater pearls; all have been left as heirlooms for me.
The pictoral idea behind the flapper, was a woman, enlightened and free from all the constraints applied to her in society (embodied by Kate Chopin's heroines in her novels), open to all sexual freedoms, free to shorten their translucent hems, chop off the hair which had been collecting on their head for the past decade, and wear red lipstick and smoke; all freeing the woman who had been restrained. In this passage, the "two young women," Daisy and Jordan, are symbolically "floating" in Nick Carraway's eyes, carelessly floating throughout the air, their white dresses flapping. Tom, emblematically, slams the window shut, constricting the freedom of Daisy (which foreshadows her later affair with Gatsby.)

Mrs. Sommer's Silk Stockings (Senseless Shopping Spectacle)

"A dollar and ninety-eight cents," she mused aloud. "Well, I'll take this pair." She handed the girl a five-dollar bill and waited for her change and for her parcel. What a very small parcel it was! It seemed lost in the depths of her shabby old shopping-bag.

Mrs. Sommers after that did not move in the direction of the bargain counter. She took the elevator, which carried her to an upper floor into the region of the ladies' waiting-rooms. Here, in a retired corner, she exchanged her cotton stockings for the new silk ones which she had just bought. She was not going through any acute mental process or reasoning with herself, nor was she striving to explain to her satisfaction the motive of her action. She was not thinking at all. She seemed for the time to be taking a rest from that laborious and fatiguing function and to have abandoned herself to some mechanical impulse that directed her actions and freed her of responsibility.

How good was the touch of the raw silk to her flesh! She felt like lying back in the cushioned chair and reveling for a while in the luxury of it. She did for a little while. Then she replaced her shoes, rolled the cotton stockings together and thrust them into her bag. After doing this she crossed straight over to the shoe department and took her seat to be fitted.


She was fastidious. The clerk could not make her out; he could not reconcile her shoes with her stockings, and she was not too easily pleased. She held back her skirts and turned her feet one way and her head another way as she glanced down at the polished, pointed-tipped boots. Her foot and ankle looked very pretty. She could not realize that they belonged to her and were a part of herself. She wanted an excellent and stylish fit, she told the young fellow who served her, and she did not mind the difference of a dollar or two more in the price so long as she got what she desired.


In this passage, the inner conflict (and resolve of the conflict) of Mrs. Sommer is revealed, as she struggles with the choice between practicality (and selflessness) and luxury, something that is (and was, in Chopin's era) common between middle-class women, as Chopin artfully creates this almost comical scene of a middle-class woman with the choice between these two options. Of course, her desire for something greater than she has ever had- the longing to be stylish and fashionable and comfortable- wins out over her resolve, and she goes on this great shopping binge. In this excerpt from the passage, he buys silk stockings (and spends quite a while in the dressing room), and later kidskin gloves, fashion glossies, and an expensive lunch.
I think this work by Chopin is relatable to many of today's women, who on shopping trips to anywhere for milk or toilet paper or whatever, are bombarded by advertisements to "indulge a little- eat Godiva truffles!," and "have a little 'me' time- shave with Venus Gillette Goddess razors!" and, of course, the iconic L'Oreal "Because you're worth it" slogan. The media today, as well as in Chopin's time (though through a different way) bombards middle class women, forcing them to choose between indulgence and practicality.

Of Mice and Men: Lennie's Forgetfulness and Repetition

"Oh, sure, George. I remember that now. " His hands went quickly into his side coat pockets. He said gently, "George.... I ain't got mine. I musta lost it, " He looked down at the ground in despair. "You never had none, you crazy bastard. I got both of 'em here. Think I'd let you carry your own work card?" Lennie grinned with relief. "I.... I thought I put it in my side pocket. " His hand went into the pocket again. George looked sharply at him. "What'd you take outa that pocket?" "Ain't a thing in my pocket, " Lennie said cleverly. "I know there ain't. You got it in your hand. What you got in your hand - hidin' it?" "I ain't got nothin', George, Honest. " "Come on, give it here. " Lennie held his closed hand away from George's direction. "It's only a mouse, George. " "A mouse? A live mouse?" "Uh-uh. Jus' a dead mouse, George. I didn' kill it. ' Honest! I found it. I found it dead. " "Give it here!" said George. "Aw, leave me have it, George. " "Give it here!" Lennie's closed hand slowly obeyed. George took the mouse and threw it across the pool to the other side, among the brush. "What you want of a dead mouse, anyways?" "I could pet it with my thumb while we walked along, " said Lennie. "Well, you ain't petting no mice while you walk with me. You remember where we're goin' now?" Lennie looked startled and then in embarrassment hid his face against his knees. "I forgot again. " "Jesus Christ, " George said resignedly. "Well - look, we're gonna work on a ranch like the one we come from up north." "Up north?" "In Weed. " 


In this paragraph, John Steinbeck emphasizes Lennie's repetitive forgetfulness, as well as his simple desire to have things repeated, a mantra of idealism that he maintains (relating to the rabbits and the farm, both of which Lennie idealizes, along with the other men who are in with them on the deal to "live off the fatta the land.") George, in contrast, is sensible and realistic, and checks Lennie's childlike behavior with a mature response (he takes the mouse away from Lennie.) This paragraph effectively establishes the almost comically absurd relationship between George and Lennie. Although George is annoyed and burdened by Lennie's recurrent childlike mistakes (which are characterized by George's "stories" about the farm and what George could do if he didn't have Lennie to weigh him down, that Lennie has recognized as established into a routine), his love and sense of responsibility for Lennie, as a friend and a type of father figure, are recurrent at the end of the novel; when George, with conflicting emotions shoots Lennie.

Mice and Men- The Eye (Curley's Wife)

"George cut the cards and began turning them over, looking at each one and throwing it down on a pile. He said, "This guy Curley sounds like a son-of-a-bitch to me. I don't like mean little guys." "Seems to me like he's worse lately," said the swamper. "He got married a couple of weeks ago. Wife lives in the boss's house. Seems like Curley is cockier'n ever since he got married." George grunted, "Maybe he's showin' off for his wife." The swamper warmed to the gossip. "You seen that glove on his left hand?" "Yeah. I seen it." "Well, that glove's fulla Vaseline." "Vaseline? What the hell for?" "Well, I tell ya what-Curley says he's keepin' that hand soft for his wife." George studied the cards absorbedly. "That's a dirty thing to tell around," he said. The old man was reassured. He had drawn a derogatory statement from George. He felt safe now, and he spoke more confidently. "Wait'll you see Curley's wife." George cut the cards again and put out a solitaire lay, slowly and deliberately. "Purty?" he asked casually. "Yeah. Purty...but-" George studied the cards. "But what?" "Well-she got the eye." "Yeah? Married two weeks and got the eye? Maybe that's why Curley's pants is full of ants." "I seen her give Slim the eye. Slim's a jerkline skinner. Hell of a nice fella. Slim don't need to wear not high-heeled boots on a grain team. I seen her give Slim the eye. Curley never seen it. An' I seen her give Carlson the eye." George pretended a lack of interest. "Looks like we was gonna have fun." The swamper stood up from his box. "Know what I think?" George did not answer. "Well, I think Curley's married.... a tart." "He ain't the first," said George. "There's plenty done that.'"

Steinbeck creates the dialogue between the three men demonstrates the authenticity and "gritty" verisimilitude that he intends to create a realistic, colorful view for the reader. The swamper's eagerness to share any unheard gossip demonstrates the men's hunger for companionship, relating to the stable buck, Crooks', recurrent loneliness. The sick detail in which the swamper eagerly enlightens George, exemplifies the enthusiastic tone in which the old man expounds (concerning details like the swamper's polluted gossip about Curley's glove). His awed tone describing "the eye" satirizes the flirting of Curley's wife, along with the accentuated shock of the creation of Curley's wife as a "tart."

Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451

"He still did not want outside light. He pulled out his igniter, felt the salamander etched on its silver disc, gave it a flick... Thomas Bulfinch, from Mythology, explains that "...the authority of numerous sage philosophers, at the head of whom are Aristotle and Pliny, affirms this power of the salamander. According to them, the animal not only resists fire, but extinguishes it, and when he sees the flame charges it as an enemy which he well knows how to vanquish." (Source: The Environmental Literacy Council) It is ironic that Bradbury purposefully chose a salamander as a symbol for the (second definition of) fireman. Considering that the firemen of that definition are required to start fires, Montag becomes like a mythical salamander when he summons the courage to rebel.
Two moonstones looked up at him in the light of his small hand-held fire; two pale moonstones buried in a creek of clear water over which the life of the world ran, not touching them. It is, again, ironic how Bradbury uses nature as an extended metaphor here, even though the people in Montag's world are so disconnected from the natural world. Like these citizens, Mildred is cut off from the world, as she sees it from her television parlor, as Bradbury cynically says, a true 'living room.' She is, in fact, a symbol of Montag's world, which he must let go of at the end of the book."Mildred!" Her face was like a snow-covered island upon which rain might fall, but it felt no rain; over which clouds might pass their moving shadows; but she felt no shadow. There was only the singing of the thimble-wasps in her tamped-shut ears...." Thimble-wasps (something like an earplug?) are also a large symbol throughout the book. They are representative of communication and connection between human beings.

Jane Eyre: Guardian Irony

Why could I never please? Why was it useless to try and win any one's favour? Eliza, who was headstrong and selfish, was respected. Georgiana, who had a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a captious and insolent carriage, was universally indulged. Her beauty, her pink cheeks, and golden curls, seemed to give delight to all who looked at her, and to purchase indemnity for every fault.  Georgiana gets away with "every fault," because she is attractive. This reminds me of a study I once read where more attractive women were more likely to be hired in interviews. Depressing, but true. John no one thwarted, much less punished, though he twisted the necks of the pigeons, killed the little pea-chicks, 
set the dogs at the sheep, stripped the hothouse vines of their fruit, and broke the buds off the choicest plants in the conservatory: he called his mother 'old girl', too; sometimes reviled her for her dark skin, similar to his own, (It's interesting how Bronte uses racial allusion here.) bluntly disregarded her wishes; not infrequently tore and spoiled her silk attire, and he was still 'her own darling'. I dared commit no fault, I strove to fulfil every duty, and I was termed naughty and tiresome, sullen and sneaking, note the alliteration! from morning to noon, and from noon til night. Like Nick from The Great Gatsby, I can't help but wonder if things aren't exactly as Jane says- maybe she's exaggerating a little? Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I don't believe her, but her passionate complaints are almost unbelievable- or aren't they?