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[lonesome-writes]

The Humanity of Creation in Never Let Me Go

‘Your art will display your souls’ - Madame

Never Let Me Go presents a question: What is “human”?

The answer: nobody really knows – but we feel passionately when we don’t want something to be.

What Never Let Me Go suggests, however, is that the answer to that unanswerable question is perhaps to be found in the miracle of human creativity – in art, music, poetry, etc. Here, the creativity presented through the characters is symbolic of their humanity, despite their social separation into something lesser.

Hailsham, the school where Kathy H, Tommy and Ruth were raised (reared, as the tutors put it), gives the clones a chance to prove their humanity by drawing upon the intimate and complex connections between creativity [and] identity and allowing the students an opportunity to express themselves. The purpose of the school doing this was, in the words of Miss Emily, ‘to prove [the clones] had souls’, to prove their humanity through the production of works of art.

Since art is a matter of expression and therefore demands the presence of a complex system of emotions (and a nuanced understanding of them, not governed purely by instinct), this would seem to indicate at least some part of that elusive ‘soul’ that they’re searching for.

It’s worth noting that creativity and imagination is an effectively random process, which cannot be controlled by outside influence. This is a freedom that the children of Hailsham may not have experienced in any other aspect of life, and the importance placed on their creativity seems to sharpen the impact of their fates as ‘donors’.

The uncanny valley is the realm of appearance where a person can seem human but still generate a sense of unease. This effect is seen in humanoid robots, wax figures and AI generated faces, but has also been seen to happen within humanity. There’s some speculation around whether neurodiverse people can trigger the uncanny valley effect in neurotypical people, even when displaying no physical differences.

We must have some idea of what makes somebody human in order to know what makes someone not quite human, but we might not all have the same idea. Madame, for example, experiences an instinctive fear of the clone children, which seems to fall into the ‘uncanny valley’ response.

And yet, Madame manages around – and even prizes – their art. This suggests that, despite her revulsion towards their physical presence, she feels a connection to the creative aspects of their minds. Art, once again, becomes proof of their humanity.

There’s a kind of desperate sadness in the latter part of the book. Despite everything, despite all the proof that the children are as real as ‘any ordinary human being’, the fear wins out.

Fear is a great motivator for withdrawal: into old patterns of thinking, into old ignorance, into old prejudices. People don’t like to think about things that make them uncomfortable, even when those things are right.

The Gallery doesn’t exist. What had been Madame and Miss Emily’s collection has been cut down, and those pieces that are still there are not publicly viewable.

The Gallery doesn’t exist, and neither does the hope it created. The chance that maybe – just maybe – you could prove that someone has a soul, even when nobody wants them to.

image created by me

[lonesome-writes]

The Clothes of Freedom in The Underground Railroad

Colson Whitehead weaves the importance of colour and fabric into The Underground Railroad as a way to symbolise the freedom of the characters that we follow through the narrative, particularly Cora.

The quality of cloth varied depending on one’s social standing, with the middle and upper class wearing close-fitting, spotless, smooth-textured garments made from silk, chintz and fine wool. The clothing of the lower social classes were cut from plain cotton, coarse linen or blends of fibres, which resulted in garments of much lower quality which would have been noticeable.

This translates to slave clothing, which was prescribed as being made with the lowest possible quality materials. It was even written in law in certain states, and coarse, low-quality cloth would be sold under the specific label of being for slave clothes. Many escaped slaves were described as being dressed in clothes of this uncomfortable fabric, which often fit oddly.

There is documentation that the colour blue is associated with spiritual protection in some African-American folklore. This is notable as blue is the colour of the dress given to Cora upon her arrival in the ‘enlightened state’ of South Carolina, which is not only significant as being her first taste of freedom, but also a symbol of her successful escape.

When Cora is later moved to work at a living museum, and forced once again to wear the harsh cloth that was worn on the plantation, it’s a harsh reminder of her status as a person. It’s particularly notable that at this time Cora is going by a false name and has largely reinvented her identity. This symbolises a step away from freedom for Cora, and echoes the fact that we know that they are being hunted by Ridgeway, whilst they are left unaware.

According to social research, people seem to strive to emulate the appearance of their social superiors. This is most easily done through clothing, as one cannot change the colour of one’s skin, nor one’s other features (without expensive procedures, many of which did not exist at the time this book is set).

Cora uses the money she earns as ‘Bessie’ – working for the Anderson’s – to buy a new blue dress – the prettiest one at the emporium, as she says – and this symbolises the peak of her freedom. She’s in a good line of work that she not only finds fulfilling but genuinely enjoys, and she enjoys the freedom of earning money and being able to put it where she wants to.

It’s telling that when she is forced to leave this line of work, she is also forced to abandon the soft and pretty clothes that signify her freedom. The work she is given in the living museum is not only a literal loss of freedom – as she is constantly observed by white people, in a way that reminds her of the plantation, and in a way that she was able to escape from during her previous work – but also a sign of the increasing danger present within the story, as it is not long after this that the eugenics program is brought to her attention, and Ridgeway’s men come to town.

The narrative ends with Cora holding a blanket over her. It’s coarse and scratchy but she doesn’t mind. This is a kind of subversion, as Cora has escaped her captors once again and been rescued – she has her freedom again – but it also suggests that there are many hardships still to come.

Soft, blue cotton is still a dream for the future.

image created by me

[lonesome-writes]

Musical Identity and Gender Expression in Trumpet

Music is, as the eyes are said to be, a window into a person’s soul.

In Jackie Kay’s Trumpet, the music of Jazz is symbolic of Joss Moody’s identity as a trans man and the ostracization he faces after his death.

In contrast to harmonious, complex, exclusive culture, jazz was denounced as discordant, uncivilized, overly accessible, and subversive to reason and order. This is reflective of the experience of LGBTQ+ individuals in the 1950’s, as the idea of homosexuality was seen as a disruption or corruption of traditional values, and disturbing to the genteel middle class. Jazz, therefore, is symbolic of deviation and non-conformity to traditional expectations, representing the experience of a transgender person in an unaccepting world.

There is a lack of contemporary academic research into the lives of transgender people in the 20th century, both because homosexuality was the focus of those outside of LGBT circles and because the very concept of – and certainly the words for – being transgender, did not exist until the 50s and 60s.

Social ostracization can result from a failure to ‘do gender right’. The rigid constraints of this expectation are comparable to the expectations of classical musicians, and the freedom offered by jazz, especially to those playing such instruments as the trumpet, which is often improvised, is a welcome escape from these rules. Joss Moody cannot escape from the rigid expectations of gender, but can find freedom elsewhere.

Joss Moody, regarding his gender, was not able to be his authentic self in death, but the music he played and his legacy in that lived on. This is perhaps encapsulated in the title of the book itself. Trumpet is about a musician, as well as a trans person.

Millie’s descriptions of Joss’ dancing and his silent appreciation of music also serve to symbolise his relationship with gender. The dance is a performance, an outward expression of self – as is his identity as a man. This is interesting when considering LGBTQ history, as discos were some of the early places where non-cis and non-straight people could gather and enjoy themselves, without too much fear of being scorned for their identity.

‘When the sax starts Joss closes his eyes and keeps them closed for the longest time’. This silent, all-consuming experience of music is representative of Moody’s internal relationship with his gender. In the moments when he can simply sit and listen, he ‘belongs to the music’.

This wholeness is likely to be something which is difficult for him to find in other parts of his life, as he is unable to be honest about his identity with anybody. Additionally, this experience with the music foreshadows the fact that Millie is able to accept Joss. Initially, she struggles to accept his total absorption in the music, feeling as though she has ‘lost him’, but eventually – almost without noticing it – she finds herself ‘inside the music’ alongside him.

Jazz is naturally disagreeable to traditional, conservative ideas. Firstly, it’s not white music. Secondly, it never stays in one place, each performance varies, each player adds their own flair. The essence of jazz is the process of change itself. This mirrors Moody’s identity, which is also disagreeable to conservative ideas, as well as the changing and moving nature of gender identity as a concept and of the wider cultural perception of that identity. In this way Joss Moody’s devotion to and experience of music is symbolic of – not only his journey as a trans person – but his relationships with others. The free, instinctive nature of Jazz gives Moody an air of hope, and continues to uplift his family when he’s gone, with a band being formed in his honour, to celebrate his life as a musician.

So, when all is said and done, Moody was a man that played jazz, nothing more and nothing less.

image credit: Juan-Carlos Hernandez, Hands of a Trumpeter, Juan Carlos Hernandez Jazz Photographer, 2012.

[lonesome-writes]

The Shadow of Uncertainty: a Study of Light in T.S.Eliot’s poems

The Shadow of Uncertainty: Light and Colour in Selected Poems by T.S.Eliot

In theatre, the colours and lighting – often the colours of the lighting – can greatly impact the mood of a play. T.S.Eliot’s poetry makes use of light in a similar way, to bring out the feelings and ideas that he wishes to emphasise, and to influence the emotions and experience of the reader.

In ‘Preludes’ the descriptions of light serve to symbolise an uncertainty. There’s a nervous ambiguity to the descriptions which increases the sense of unease, as it becomes difficult to decipher the intended meaning of the poem. The ‘lighting of the lamps’ for example, a line which floats just after the first section, can be read as hopeful (of the light driving the night away) or dismal – as the light now illuminates all the grime and disrepair that Eliot describes in the first section.

‘Rhapsody on a Windy Night’ furthers the idea that light can be symbolic of danger. As a woman looks out at the speaker from a doorway, the light from the door ‘opens like a grin’. This paints a chilling image of a nature that borders on the grotesque. This passage is also evidence of Eliot’s disillusionment and depression, as his descriptions of everything around him seem always focused on the grimy, the broken and the unkempt. He notes the sand on the woman’s dress and how its corner is torn.

The descriptions of light and colour in ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ are varied in tone, with some continuing in Eliot’s normal way of suggesting grime and pollution – notably the ‘yellow fog’ or ‘yellow smoke’ which is described as rubbing and sliding over things as if it were a living being. It’s difficult not to feel slightly unclean whilst reading this. However, by contrast with ‘Preludes’, this poem seems to feature lamplight as – if not a positive thing – at least not an illuminator of all that is out of place.

The revealing nature of light is used in these poems to recreate the discomfort of walking through streets late at night. All of these poems are set in the evening or at night, and all show light as symbolising a kind of uncovering – stripping bare the façade of the streets and showing the speaker (and the audience) all of its ugly flaws.

Light is also used to symbolise isolation and closeness, particularly in ‘Rhapsody on a Windy Night’, which describes a ‘ring’ of light from a lantern as the subject of the poem ascends to bed. This highlights the character, giving the impression that the rest of the world is cast into shadow, as a spotlight would in a theatre production.

T. S. Eliot’s poetry is full of these descriptions of light and colour, and he uses them in a way that greatly affects the mood of each piece and the expectations of the reader. Each setting is painted with these descriptions, lending a sense of atmosphere that would be lost without them.

image credit: Oast House Archive, Street Lamp at Waterloo Place, Geograph.org.uk, 2011.

[lonesome-writes]

The Loneliness of Recorded Memories in Krapp’s Last Tape

Samuel Beckett’s short play, Krapp’s Last Tape, is an essay in aloneness, capturing the isolation and loneliness of a man literally surrounded by his memories. The cold inhumanity of the recording equipment that replays his life serves to amplify the painful inescapability of his aloneness, his only comfort being that of nostalgia.

Krapp’s recordings symbolise a tether; an attachment to moments of his past long gone. The silence, therefore, appears to represent both a loss of memory and a loss of attachment, the absence of life, echoing Krapp’s feelings as he grows old.

Silence is an important tool within performance, and Beckett makes great use of its abilities. Most importantly, the silence at the beginning feels like a very different silence to the silence that ends the play. The beginning feels full of potential, expectation, anticipation. The end is as empty as the tape that runs on in silence. This creates a feeling of intense isolation, hammering home the loneliness of the old Krapp, sitting and staring into empty space as his happy memories wind to an end, his opportunities for new ones spent.

Additionally, research has shown that silence can create a greater level of immersion by isolating the important information in a piece. Beckett uses this to frame the narrative, with silence punctuating moments of importance. This permeating nothingness leaves the words that are said – either by Krapp as himself or as the recording – in sharp relief. This contrast serves to further deepen the presence of the singular voice.

John Hurt’s version of Krapp’s Last Tape shows how powerful the silence is, especially in conveying the character’s pain at the end. As the recording of him says with conviction that he ‘wouldn’t want [his best years] back’, we can see in Krapp’s face that there is some doubt in that statement that wasn’t there before. A tear gathers in Hurt’s eye and he blinks to clear it, the only movement present for the final two minutes of the play.

Nostalgia is something that we can reach out to in times of loneliness. The natural instinct to seek out pleasant memories increases our sense of support and community. Krapp searches his tapes for nostalgia, each moment captured by the machine. There is a tragic irony to this, with Krapp searching for a sense of social support in the two things that can’t possibly provide it: the machine and himself. The fact that he chooses to seek out nostalgia in this way is only further evidence of his dreadful loneliness.

The experience of having less-satisfying relationships is one of the contributing factors of loneliness, and Krapp’s Last Tape clearly shows the difficulty that he’s had with them, particularly the lack of value that he placed on love. The tape he picks out to listen to is noted as being his ‘farewell to love’, with him pausing as he reads it out to provide a gap between ‘to’ and ‘love’. This momentary silence emphasises the word that follows, and seems to foreshadow the long silence at the end of the play that illustrates Krapp’s sadness.

Silence moves through a room in a way no word said, or note played, can. The deep and desperate sorrow of an aging man, whose life has been spent in the service of a recording machine and who is only now realising what he has lost, is profoundly shown through this quiet. When Krapp says nothing, there’s nobody to speak. When the tape ends, the memory fades, the time has gone; silence remains.

image credit: Brooke Shannon, Nagra 4.2 Portable Sound Recorder, Flickr, 2012.