Sophie Marshall
A.P. Literature and Composition
Mrs. Rutan
20 December 2015
A.P. Literature and Composition
Mrs. Rutan
20 December 2015
Overcoming the Veil
Imagine slowly strutting down an isle splotched by ruby rose petals. It’s your wedding day, and the intricate, soothing orchestra is playing that cliche wedding tune that you adore so dearly. Since you were a tiny, naive girl, you’ve been planning your wedding day -- from the gown to the floral arrangements. Suddenly, you find yourself at the altar with your stomach bubbling over with butterflies and joyfulness. You’re finally going to be married. You glance up at your groom; his face is blurry due to the thick, mesh veil floating across your porcelain face. However, you’re not worried -- only calm -- because you know it’s him. You know he’s the one. Tenderly, he lifts the veil from your face, and your happiness is abruptly snatched away. That man is not the man you believed you were marrying. Who is he? Using your melodic voice, you desperately try to find someone who sees what you see -- you frantically attempt to escape the horrific spouse you are soon to have and to hold. But, you can’t. You have doomed yourself. In a flash, your body jolts upward from your monstrous bed only to realize that it was all a dream. It was all in your head; bathed in sweat, you gently press your head against your pillow hoping to drift off to an oasis.
In Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale and Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, both of these great works have themes that revolutionize the public’s view on the dynamics of relationships, desires, sanity, religion, and possession; however, sometimes when there are a multitude of messages enveloped in a piece of writing, a reader may glaze over some of the underlying themes that can be viewed to be just as crucial as the obvious messages latticed into the pages. In this case, that is true. One of the most imperative warnings or arguments that both authors portray through their writings is that an individual should never invent redeeming qualities for people who are nothing short of horrid. Just like the bride, the whimsical life they procure for themselves through the veil they drape on those wanton humans, will only destroy them further when the veil is suddenly lifted.
Mirages; Gorgeous or Ghastly?
Throughout The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood thinks outside the box in order to write her novel in a peculiar way; she uses multiple flashbacks and the main character’s inner thoughts in order to hint at vital components of the story line. Although the flashbacks can be hard to follow -- maybe even downright confusing to an audience who is stuck on one way of writing -- there are some flashbacks that outshine others. One of these short flashbacks entails the main character -- Offred -- recollecting an interview that she had watched many years ago. The interview was focused on a woman who had been married to a man -- most likely Hitler -- whom through society’s opinion marked as being “a monster” (Atwood, 145). Justifiably so. Nonetheless, she repeatedly argued that, “he was not a monster” (Atwood, 145). While observing this intriguing interview, many thoughts wandered into Offred’s mind; one of these thoughts was, “he probably had some endearing trait...how easy it is to invent a humanity, for anyone at all” (Atwood, 146). And she was right.
In Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale and Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, both of these great works have themes that revolutionize the public’s view on the dynamics of relationships, desires, sanity, religion, and possession; however, sometimes when there are a multitude of messages enveloped in a piece of writing, a reader may glaze over some of the underlying themes that can be viewed to be just as crucial as the obvious messages latticed into the pages. In this case, that is true. One of the most imperative warnings or arguments that both authors portray through their writings is that an individual should never invent redeeming qualities for people who are nothing short of horrid. Just like the bride, the whimsical life they procure for themselves through the veil they drape on those wanton humans, will only destroy them further when the veil is suddenly lifted.
Mirages; Gorgeous or Ghastly?
Throughout The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood thinks outside the box in order to write her novel in a peculiar way; she uses multiple flashbacks and the main character’s inner thoughts in order to hint at vital components of the story line. Although the flashbacks can be hard to follow -- maybe even downright confusing to an audience who is stuck on one way of writing -- there are some flashbacks that outshine others. One of these short flashbacks entails the main character -- Offred -- recollecting an interview that she had watched many years ago. The interview was focused on a woman who had been married to a man -- most likely Hitler -- whom through society’s opinion marked as being “a monster” (Atwood, 145). Justifiably so. Nonetheless, she repeatedly argued that, “he was not a monster” (Atwood, 145). While observing this intriguing interview, many thoughts wandered into Offred’s mind; one of these thoughts was, “he probably had some endearing trait...how easy it is to invent a humanity, for anyone at all” (Atwood, 146). And she was right.
It’s a dangerous thing to create an illusion for yourself in which a macabre person is clouded by a haze of excellence.
It’s obvious why someone may do it; that weak, insane woman married to Hitler believed the mirage she saw, “because otherwise how could she have kept on living?” (Atwood, 146). Nevertheless, it was no use; “several days after [the] interview...she killed herself” (Atwood, 146). Thus, Atwood’s point was proved. A person may see only what they wish to see, but once a person's true colors fly, all hell will break loose. In all, it would’ve been much less torturous to accept the evil in some people, and walk away; don’t conjure up a soul for them. Maybe then, that woman would’ve still been alive -- never to be haunted by her past mistakes.
The same idea is set forth in Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. Ibsen creates many different angles with several strange, faulted characters, and uses a bundle of bird metaphors to induce a sense of childness on the main character: Nora. Although Nora may be being blackmailed by a devious man for borrowing money from him and forging a signature, her biggest flaw is highlighted on when she is with her husband Torvald. For the entirety of their marriage -- eight long years -- Torvald has referred to Nora as a “little child” (Ibsen, 1152), “songbird...squirrel” (Ibsen 1094), and a “wastrel” (Ibsen, 1094). He undermines her, never takes her seriously, and feels as if she is an object to grasp with no mind of her own. For years, Nora lets this wretched relationship continue, without comprehending that she is merely a doll to him; hence, the title of the play. All in all, Nora believes that she loves Torvald more than anything, and it is translucent to the reader as to why she feels this way; he nourishes her childish desires with his money mound. Then, one day, Torvald discovers the crimes that Nora has committed -- he calls her a “wretch” (Ibsen, 1145), threatens to not “let you [her] bring the children up” (Ibsen, 1146), and basically strips her of her humanity. His redeeming quality of loads of cash is no longer enough, so Nora leaves him.
It’s heartbreaking to know that Nora lost years of her life to a heinous man -- years that she couldn’t get back. Her whole identity was based on this lone mere man -- due to the fact that Torvald “arranged everything [her] according to your [his] taste” (Ibsen, 1149) -- and after his vicious demeanor towards her, she felt hollow, stunned, and detached. Everything she once knew was a lie. In order to survive the whole ordeal, in pristine condition, Nora had to begin a journey to find herself; a journey that would’ve never been needed, if she had initially accepted how terrible Torvald truly was. She was forced to finally learn the life lesson of:
Never make someone better than they truly are; it’ll just come back to bite you in the butt.
Although both Atwood and Ibsen published their works almost 200 years apart, their ideals were quite similar. They both centralized their works on similar themes; nonetheless, one of their most vital arguments was that a human being should never procure vindicated qualities for people who are just drenched in wretchedness. By doing so, an individual will only create more harm for themselves in the long run; they will set their path on becoming a victim of domestic violence.
It’s obvious why someone may do it; that weak, insane woman married to Hitler believed the mirage she saw, “because otherwise how could she have kept on living?” (Atwood, 146). Nevertheless, it was no use; “several days after [the] interview...she killed herself” (Atwood, 146). Thus, Atwood’s point was proved. A person may see only what they wish to see, but once a person's true colors fly, all hell will break loose. In all, it would’ve been much less torturous to accept the evil in some people, and walk away; don’t conjure up a soul for them. Maybe then, that woman would’ve still been alive -- never to be haunted by her past mistakes.
The same idea is set forth in Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. Ibsen creates many different angles with several strange, faulted characters, and uses a bundle of bird metaphors to induce a sense of childness on the main character: Nora. Although Nora may be being blackmailed by a devious man for borrowing money from him and forging a signature, her biggest flaw is highlighted on when she is with her husband Torvald. For the entirety of their marriage -- eight long years -- Torvald has referred to Nora as a “little child” (Ibsen, 1152), “songbird...squirrel” (Ibsen 1094), and a “wastrel” (Ibsen, 1094). He undermines her, never takes her seriously, and feels as if she is an object to grasp with no mind of her own. For years, Nora lets this wretched relationship continue, without comprehending that she is merely a doll to him; hence, the title of the play. All in all, Nora believes that she loves Torvald more than anything, and it is translucent to the reader as to why she feels this way; he nourishes her childish desires with his money mound. Then, one day, Torvald discovers the crimes that Nora has committed -- he calls her a “wretch” (Ibsen, 1145), threatens to not “let you [her] bring the children up” (Ibsen, 1146), and basically strips her of her humanity. His redeeming quality of loads of cash is no longer enough, so Nora leaves him.
It’s heartbreaking to know that Nora lost years of her life to a heinous man -- years that she couldn’t get back. Her whole identity was based on this lone mere man -- due to the fact that Torvald “arranged everything [her] according to your [his] taste” (Ibsen, 1149) -- and after his vicious demeanor towards her, she felt hollow, stunned, and detached. Everything she once knew was a lie. In order to survive the whole ordeal, in pristine condition, Nora had to begin a journey to find herself; a journey that would’ve never been needed, if she had initially accepted how terrible Torvald truly was. She was forced to finally learn the life lesson of:
Never make someone better than they truly are; it’ll just come back to bite you in the butt.
Although both Atwood and Ibsen published their works almost 200 years apart, their ideals were quite similar. They both centralized their works on similar themes; nonetheless, one of their most vital arguments was that a human being should never procure vindicated qualities for people who are just drenched in wretchedness. By doing so, an individual will only create more harm for themselves in the long run; they will set their path on becoming a victim of domestic violence.
Why do they stay?
Dolefully, relationship violence is a common tragedy in today’s society. Victims of the violence tend to compensate for someone’s cruel behavior towards them that traps them in a semblance of denial. In time, when everything comes crashing down on them -- and it inevitably will -- they realize that they have wasted years of their life surrounding by someone who took chunks of their identity, and caused their life to be a lie. Overall, they feel empty, confused, dazed, lost to the point of no return. Their time of confliction only sets a poor example for future generations, and inflicts more frail individuals on society; thus, enabling generations of corruption and impairment. It’s up to each generation to stand strong -- especially the victims of domestic abuse -- and accept that some people are born corrupt. It’s important to listen to your gut, and surround yourself with people who love you, people who nurture you, and people who adore you to the point where you can blossom into your true, independent identity. Those people are difficult to find, yet their infliction on you is remarkably rewarding when you do so; their treatment of you opens your optics up to a place where you are free to be yourself and where there are absolutely no veils.