Tag: eve sedgwick

Have We Already Fallen?

“I had lately learned that another way of writing ‘FALL IN LOVE’ was ‘WALK THE PLANK.’ I was tired of balancing blind-fold on a slender beam, one slip and into the unplumbed sea” (26).

“Lately learned” implies prior ignorance. It is so interesting that a feeling, a sense of happiness, a supposed ‘euphoric’ feeling can be so scary. The unstated connection made between the narrators heart and an “unplumbed sea” demonstrates the depth of the universal language of love.

I see freight in the words plank, balancing, blind-fold, slip and even sea; but why are these words associated with the oh so beautiful LOVE? Well, this fear was just learned. ‘Ignorance is bliss,’ or, was.

Why is love a “slender plank?” Is it the fear of the unknown? Fear of getting hurt? Fear of shame? Or fear of slipping off the slender plank and into the unplumbed sea? The Author suggests that his/her new learning of the dangers of love is strictly a game of ‘survival of the fittest.’ If we have already ‘fallen’ in love… then how are we still on the plank? There’s a connection there. The only difference is that it is an emotional fall, not a physical fall.

“Balancing blind-fold on a slender beam” would instill fear in us, it would give us an almost animalistic instinct to fight, to prevail and to survive. Who did The Narrator ‘learn’ that you need to ‘survive’ love from? Is he/she crazy? Or did we teach ourselves? Are we dying to survive something that would never kill us in the first place?

In Sedgwick’s Tendencies, she states that,

“The survival of each one is a miracle. Everyone who survived has stories about how it was done” (1).

Maybe this is the “newly learned” case in Winterson’s Written on the Body? Should we fear love? or love the fear? I am going to go out on a limb and say that it is the fear of the unknown within the unplumbed sea that makes us fear surviving, but LOVE survival.

 

 

Biblical Beginnings

“Louise, in this single bed, between these garish sheets, I will find a map as likely as any treasure hunt.  I will explore you and mine you and you will redraw me according to your will.  We shall cross one another’s boundaries and make ourselves one nation.  Scoop me in your hands for I am good soil.  Eat of me and let me be sweet” (20).

The narrator describes Louise as lying in a single bed, implying that she is sleeping alone, right off the bat.  As the passage continues on, a prevalent use of geographical words arises: map, treasure hunt, explore, mine, cross, boundaries, one nation. The metaphor is clearly that the two souls will become one due to the crossing of boundaries and exploration that is to take place, however, this union has not yet been made.

The sentence in this passage that really sticks out to me is: “Eat of me and let me be sweet.”  Suddenly, mid-paragraph, the topic of discussion is abruptly directed away from geography and towards eating and sweetness: pleasure of the mouth.  This immediately elicited thoughts of the Garden of Eden and the forbidden fruit.  In Genesis 2-3, the fruit, so savory and tempting, has been forbidden with the threat that if eaten, Adam and Eve will die. Of course, they eat it, thus marking the beginning of the dichotomy between good and evil.

Genesis 2:24 reads “That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh.”  The verse ties in with the narrator’s quote: “We shall cross one another’s boundaries and make ourselves one nation.”  This is extraordinarily significant, particularly in terms of sexuality and idealism.  Adam and Eve are said to be the first people to ever walk the Earth, and more importantly, the first couple: the bodies from which we were all born. Adam was attracted to Eve and vice-versa; a heterosexual precedent set for all of mankind to follow. This is where identity comes into play. Certain sects of Christianity denounce homosexuality and queerness in general, because it is claimed to be an “abomination,” but perhaps also because of this heterosexual biblical beginning of mortal life.  Perhaps those who are queer are identified as “strange,” because it is not how society commenced.

In her novel, Tendencies, Eve Sedgwick writes about the Christian holiday season and the “family” expectation that goes along with it, saying that the word, “family,” implies several characteristics that must be consistent throughout. An iconic religious example of a family is Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. Heterosexual parents, and of course, there was no premarital sex. The societal expectations of people are rooted in the bible, and have not been adapted to the changing times.

 

 

Dryads

There are plenty of legends about women turning into trees but are there any about trees turning into women? Is it odd to say that your lover reminds you of a tree? Well she does, it’s the way her hair fills with wind and sweeps out around her head. Very often I expect her to rustle. She doesn’t rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch. Would I had a hedge of such saplings naked and unadorned.

In this passage, the narrator compares Louise to a tree. The narrator compares Louise’s flesh to the shade of tree bark and says her hair fills with wind the way leaves rustle in the fall. This passage is unusual because the narrator is unsure of the commonality of this comparison. “Is it odd to say that your lover reminds you of a tree?” is the narrator’s central question in this passage and the reader’s immediate reaction is to say yes. At least, that was my first reaction. Comparing women to anything always hints of objectification to me, even when the comparison is to something beautiful, like in nature. On second reading, however, this question is not so outlandish because trees are quite common to women- both provide life and beauty to humans. I believe this passage is not just about the similarities one can draw between the beauty of a woman and the beauty of a tree but also about the abilities both have to provide life and the narrators newfound understanding of this. The narrator is asking us to reexamine identity and our bodies as they relate to nature. The narrator wishes to have a tree as “naked and unadorned” as Louise, signifying that the narrator is more interested in trees turning into women than women turning into trees, as questioned in the beginning of the paragraph. In Queer and Now, Sedgwick talks about how queer youth develop attachments to cultural objects as a mean of finding queer representation where there is none while the narrator only develops attachments to objects in nature when viewed as a representation of women. The narrator’s life focuses on lovers where they do not exist while queer youth focus on LGBTQ representation where there is none.

The narrator is going against the norm by asking this question, as it is more common for women to turn into trees in legends, such as the tales of dryads (tree nymphs) who turned into trees to resist the advances of male gods such as Zeus. The narrator seems to be comparing Louise to a dryad and therefore zirself to Zeus. Given that Zeus was always chasing after women and goddesses and our narrator seems to move equally fast from lover to lover, this comparison to Greek mythology might not be too far off.