Toward a Pater-ian Reading of “The Remarkable Rocket”

I would like, in the brief space consented me, to put forth a reading of “The Remarkable Rocket” based upon what was suggested to us earlier in the course about the affinity between Wilde’s ideas and those of the 19^th century critic Walter Pater.

It will help to recall Pater’s peculiar theory of aesthetic experience, informed by his perhaps somewhat idiosyncratic empiricist commitments. For Pater, works of art produce powerful and unique sensations of pleasure in the beholder, as though the artwork itself contained in each and every atom some quotient of pleasure that was, as it were, shot in the direction of the beholder who, transfigured, receives that dose of pleasure as sense-data through his or her perceptual apparatus. Since, as Pater thought, this is, as a matter of fact, how art works its magic on us, it is natural enough to think, as he did, that art should strive to become, as he puts it, “a matter of pure perception.” One can see how, misunderstanding this idea and reducing it to mere hedonism, contemporary detractors of Pater’s found in him the sensibility of a wayward aesthete. Setting aside for a moment the validity of his ideas, however, I will try to offer a breathless overview of Wilde’s story “The Remarkable Rocket” around these roughly Pater-inspired lines.

It is amply clear in Wilde’s story that one of the persistent themes in it is, to put it as simply as possible, the way that things can be like other things, and, as would follow, the way that seemingly different things can elicit and provoke similar reactions and effects, at least, similar enough so as to warrant comparison in the first place, often for the sake of establishing distinction.

The examples are various and are scattered throughout the story –  “you are more beautiful than your picture,” “it’s quite clear that they love each other (…) as clear as crystal,” “(fireworks) are like the Aurora Borealis,” “the King’s garden is not the world,” “(romance) is like the moon,” “he actually burst into real tears, which flowed down his stick like rain-drops,” “the moon rose like a wonderful silver shield,” among others. Some of you may not be impressed by this selection of examples; after all, all literary writing is littered with similes and metaphorical language of all sorts. In this story, however, it seems clear to me they play not just a decorative or illustrative role but participate in the story’s chief concern.

To employ a metaphor is always to make up and break down a distinction (philosophers of language, in particular, have argued a great deal over what this distinction amounts to). It is, to put it crudely, both to put two things near one another, often surprising things, and to underscore the extent to which they are and will remain separate. Nonetheless, to see things as close enough, or to see them as warranting being brought closer, requires a kind of sympathetic eye to reality and to those things that are revealed to be less distant to others than they may at first seem.

Sympathy, needless to say, is an important part of Wilde’s story. Some of the characters seem to be lacking it; the one who most explicitly claims to possess it in spades, the titular Rocket, says of himself, “I have imagination, for I never think of things as they really are; I always think of them as being quite different.” This sort of thinking leads to a number of situations that are, for the reader, a source of some humor, such as when Rocket mishears and misinterprets pejorative words at his expense to bear a rather more flattering message.

Of course, thinking of things as being different than what they really are might make one a greater purveyor and appreciator of metaphors, though also a dangerous and potentially alienated individual, depending on the community in which one’s purveying and appreciating takes place. If we think of metaphors along Pater’s lines, being a more “sympathetic” viewer of the world encourages one (and, presumably, those around one) to think of things as being different than what they are, thusly encouraging metaphorical thinking, which, in turn, if one thinks of metaphors as small works of art – and some do – exposes one and others to greater pleasurable pulsations shot from these mini-artworks.

What happens to poor Rocket, after all? Well, for one, his emotion – that is, his crying – rids him of his proper function. Rocket’s use-value, so to speak, is lost. Surely a Paterian reader would look upon this approvingly, for what is the stripping of art to pure perception but the shedding of its ancillary functions, uses, and values?

The Rocket’s persistence in the face of everyone else’s having given upon him and no longer finding him valuable or useful could well be read as emblematic of an aestheticist’s stubborn refusal to accept irrelevance in a world whose fickle trafficking seems to refuse it a place within its folds. Perhaps Wilde is poking a bit of fun, via Rocket, at this stubbornness; after all, Rocket is a bit of a hypocrite, quite a bit of a narcissist, and abides by no one’s rules but his own. As Rocket puts it, “I often have long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that I don’t understand a single word of what I am saying.” Those who have had negative thoughts regarding the insularity of certain forms of avant-garde exploration will no doubt chuckle with satisfaction at Rocket’s disingenuousness. Clearly he refuses all societal cues; “a person of my position is never useful,” he says, adding that he has “no sympathy for industry” and that he is of the opinion that “hard word is simply the refuge of people who have nothing whatever to do.” A true aestheticist inevitably holds attitudes antagonistic to the rest of society and those of which the society is composed. Yet, Wilde seems to suggest, the aestheticist, in the form of Rocket, also cannot do without society altogether, as evidenced by Rocket’s professed need for it.

What the aestheticist risks is total, tragic misunderstanding – Rocket thinks he is being used for what he is, a rocket, while he is actually being mistaken for an utterly banal stick, as good as any other, of secondary importance to the fire to which it contributes. In the face of it, however, Rocket is undeterred. “I shall go on like this for ever. What a success I am!” He flies into the air, finally having become the true Rocket he is. He feels “a curious tingling sensation all over him” (I, for one, find it hard not to think of Pater’s empiricist aesthetics here) and proclaims that he “shall set the whole world on fire.”

In the end, ignored by those who set him ablaze, and picked up by an animal, a Goose, still being mistaken for a stick, Rocket is put to uses he does not recognize in himself and hardly appreciated by those who end up using them. Though it may be a cautionary tale, however, it is hard not to read the ending as, ultimately, the redemptive moment of art gone right, in Pater’s terms, and perhaps Wilde’s terms, too, an art gone right by having created, as Rocket’s last line reads, “a great sensation,” perhaps the only thing that ultimately matters. Rocket may be a fool, but one for whom being a fool requires a kind of perverse courage it is not unthinkable to surmise Wilde admired.

DJM

Ethereal Nostalgia: Colours in Wilde’s Poetry

DF

When comparing what we could unoriginally call Wilde’s two ‘yellow’ poems, it is very easy to sense an aura of ethereal nostalgia that permeates the two short poems, whose length adds to the sense of a short imprint, a fleeting image rendered to the page by a speaker intent on seeking to recapture memories fading into the pale yellow of the past. While it is true that the connotations of ‘yellow’ at this time referred to the spines of the ‘decadent’ French novels, it is hard not to ascribe a sense of malaise or regret contained within the colour yellow in these two poems. Linguistically, La Dame Jaune is communicated to us in the past tense, an immediate rejection of the traditional presence and grounding given to romantic love, an image not aided by the implications of voyeuristic passion contained throughout the poem, as seen in the almost leering tone of ‘I watched her thick locks, like a mass of honey’. Therefore, it could be argued that the haze of yellow that constantly envelops the poem is equated with the desire to remember every aspect of her ‘curious amber charms’ and ‘jonquil-coloured gown’- here it could be noted that the shade of yellow used continually varies, with each addition serving to jumble the senses of the poem and create a poem heavily reliant on atmosphere and setting to convey the ethereal nature of the scene. Perhaps is could even be argued that in Wilde’s attempts to capture a singular moment in time, he uses colour to bring a uniformity to the sense of memories, a way of preserving this ‘dame jaune’ who seems continually unaware of his presence. Crucially in this poem, all action is initiated by the speaker, who seems to intrude on the peace of the scene, leading to the tonal impermanence of ‘shook’ and ‘flickered’ later on in the poem.

His same sense of nostalgia is carried out almost in reverse in ‘Symphony in Yellow’, as we see the harsh ‘jade’ colour of the Thames intrude on the yellow peace of the speaker, as the yellow is once again made ethereal and impermanent by the intrusion of a force more dominant. Here, we can contrast the verbal softness of the images of the ‘yellow silken scarf’ and the ‘yellow butterfly’ with the rigidity of the ‘rod of rippled jade,’ suggesting that yellow in Wilde’s mind is associated with singularity and the capturing of isolated moments in time-note that in both poems the speaker is essentially cut off from the outside world, either by his own accord (Symphony) or through being ignored (Dame). Therefore, in my mind, what we can establish from these two poems is that Wilde evokes a sense of impermanence by enveloping or submerging his scenes in colour, to the point where a sudden intrusion breaks up the tonal similarities of the piece and represents a return to the harsh realities of the world.

The Serious and Humorous

In Wilde’s “The Remarkable Rocket” Wilde is able to create humorous interactions between the fireworks that are the show piece display of the royal wedding celebrations. The main firework is the Rocket. Presented as the main attraction, he is obviously narcissistic and vainglorious-ironically in its own ability to empathize with others. He shows this “superior sensitivity” by shedding tears for the foolish reason of potential incidents that are incredibly unlikely to happen and further justifies his own superiority by saying that the other fireworks are too inferior to comprehend his feelings. Wilde chooses to throw in a humorous side bar about a beetle couple that nearly drowns due to his tears. It almost seems that Wilde inserts these humorous bits to emphasize his narcissism, especially highlighting his stubbornness and disdain for others which ultimately leave him alone and his beauty unseen.

In fact, I often found Wilde utilizing epigrams when several animals are critiquing him. The humor in a way accentuates the disconnection between the Rocket and the rest of the world. For example during the Rocket’ s interaction with a passerby frog, the Rocket finds himself unhappy due to the frog’s strong personality shown in his one-sided dialogue. “‘Conversation, indeed!’ said the Rocket. ‘You have talked the whole time yourself. That is not conversation.’ ‘Somebody must listen,’ answered the Frog, ‘and I like to do all the talking myself. It saves time, and prevents arguments.'” Wilde uses humor to depict the serious self-destruction of the rocket whose ultimate fate is to push everyone away with his personality and waste the beauty of his explosion in the climax where the “Remarkable Rocket” manages only to frighten a goose who thinks it is raining sticks. The paradox of this manner of writing seems to make it more memorable. I think this also makes it easier for an audience member to associate these situations with his/her life when they are light-hearted and comedic, therefore realizing its purpose in the effect it has on the reader.

-HJ

Threads and Tension in Oscar Wilde’s “Hélas!”

(Written by a Stanford student–MP.)

The first thing that one notices about Oscar Wilde’s poem “Hélas!” is, quite naturally, the title. “Hélas” is a French exclamation that equates to the English “alas!” It seems to have been not uncommon for Wilde to give French titles to his poems; others include “Impression: Le Réveillon” and “La Dame Jaune.” “Hélas” in particular, an expression of some discontent, indicates that the poem will discuss some kind of unhappiness. The speaker makes another French reference when the speaker mentions “virelay,” a medieval French verse and song form usually consisting of stanzas with two rhymes each in which the last line of one stanza rhymes with the first line of the next. This allusion is thus also a reference to the past, a kind of reference that is made several times in the poem, in such phrases as “[m]ine ancient wisdom” and in the mention of a lute, an instrument fairly popular through the 1700s, after which it largely fell out of use. This preoccupation with the past, especially the ancient past and the medieval past, suggests perhaps that the speaker has an unwillingness to look to the present.

Another thread that runs through the poem is that of music, most notably present in the speaker’s current situation as opposed to that of “ancient wisdom, and austere control.” The speaker describes the soul having become a “stringed lute on which all winds can play.” Later, the reference to life as a “twice-written scroll,” scribbled over with “songs for pipe and virelay” is a musical one, since “pipe” can refer to a musical instrument and virelays could be in song form. Finally, the speaker describes once having been able to strike “one clear chord” from life’s dissonance, a gesture that is musical insofar as being sound-based, but with less musical movement than is associated with lute- or pipe-playing.

These three threads, those of French terminology, the past, and music, are in some tension with each other. Especially given Wilde’s other writings and his lifelong interest in and appreciation of the French culture of his day, the use of French words and the musical references indicate a connection to the Decadent movement, which flourished in France and celebrated music and art in general. However, the motif of the past, and especially the speaker’s unwillingness to focus on the present, as is suggested by this motif, is less of a Decadent nature. A large part of the Decadent movement was the idea that we only have so much time to live, and so we must always be present in every moment, even simply for its own sake. This tension can be reconciled, perhaps, by the fact that the speaker is bemoaning the loss of a past when the speaker had more control and more clarity. Though the musical and French references indicate a Decadent nature, they might do so unwillingly. The speaker may have become part of the Decadent culture, but in such a way that the speaker is aware of a loss that this acculturation has brought in terms of “wisdom,” “control,” and the “soul’s inheritance.” These references to the past are thus the product of a desire to escape the search for every moment’s significance, despite the speaker’s apparent difficulty escaping other characteristics of Decadence.

–M.P.

Oscar Wilde’s Vision of Purity

(Written by a Stanford student–MCR.)

The image of purity in Oscar Wilde is always juxtaposed to that of death, innocence versus corruption, and love as opposed to vice. While observing the character of Virginia in Wilde’s The Canterville Ghost, I was immediately reminded of the narrator’s Love in The Harlot’s House. Although it is impossible to determine whether or not this Love is actually pure, for argument’s sake I would like to assert the woman as such. In this blog post, I propose we draw parallel qualities between the narrator’s Love, and Virginia Otis.

When the reader is first introduced to the young Virginia, she is described as being “lithe and lovely as a fawn, and with a fine freedom in her large blue eyes.” (185) In chapter 5 of The Canterville Ghost, Wilde encroaches upon his comedic style and returns to a more serious tone. It is in this chapter that we are introduced to Virginia as a pure, virginal light. The ghost says to Virginia “You can help me. You can open for me the portals of Death’s house, for Love is always with you, and Love is stronger that Death is.” (198) The ghost goes on to explain the family prophecy which states that “When a golden girl can win/Prayer from out the lips of sin,/When the barren almond bears,/And a little child gives away its tears,/Then shall all the house be still/And peace come to the Canterville.” (ibid) Only she a small girl of 15 can help the ghost transition from a world of horror and eternal haunting to that of peace and a free soul.

Similarly, the narrator’s Love in The Harlot’s House makes a transition “she left [his] side, and entered in: Love passed into the house of lust.” (897) When she enters “suddenly the tune [goes] false.” (867) Maybe the Love is some sort of saving grace, although unclear, we understand that Love and Death do not mix. Love is too pure, and for Wilde often portrayed as a female child. As much as Virginia is Love in The Canterville Ghost, it is “the dawn, with silver-sandaled feet, [who] crept like a frightened girl.” (867) that breaks the inebriating spell of the dancers in The Harlot’s House. Only Virginia, or the narrator’s Love can positively influence those around them to a point of affecting some kind of optimistic change. Without Virginia, the ghost’s true “voice” would not be heard, and the sickening waltz of the harlot’s would degenerate forever. -MCR

Eudaimonia in “The Remarkable Rocket”

(Written by a Stanford student–Alcibiades.)

Eudaimonia translates to happiness from the Greek. The Aristotelian concept of euidaimonia is fundamentally concerned with seeking the “good life” or the highest pleasure. In his Ethics, Aristotle suggests happiness is achieved through the habituation of the soul; one must practice virtues—courage, temperance, wisdom—in order to reach the highest state of being.

In “The Remarkable Rocket,” Wilde subverts the traditional definitions of common virtues for their exact opposites. After the Rocket’s genealogical speech is interrupted, he criticizes the Cracker for laughing. The Rocket suggests instead that the Cracker should be less concerned with his own happiness, and more so with the others happiness of others—specifically that of the Rocket. The Rocket states, “I am always thinking about myself, and I expect everybody else to do the same” (296).This is “sympathy,” and he possesses this “beautiful virtue” in a “high degree” (296). A true definition of sympathy is far from this one. Next, the Rocket dismisses the value of common sense, arguing that those who possess it lack imagination. The Rocket says, “I never think of things as they really are; I always think of them as being quite different” (297). This definition is more akin to delusion than imagination.

Wilde establishes this inversion for the sake of irony. Wilde purposely presents something as what it is not, and by doing so, creates an aesthetic alternative removed from reality.  Aristotle argues that the highest function of humanity is rational thought, and the furthest logical extension of this is a life of contemplation. This concept is often criticized because it lacks action. This is strikingly similar to the Rocket’s self-conceived purpose; he states, “A person of my position is never useful. We have certain accomplishments, and that is more than sufficient” (300). Thus, the Rocket occupies the role of the dandy, in contrast to Aristotle’s thinker. The Rocket constructs his life as a work of art, however twisted it may seem, and lives for that art; he does not relinquish his views even at his dying breath. The Rocket actually believes that he has served his ultimate purpose; upon explosion, he remarks, “I knew I should create a great sensation” (301). In the Rocket’s terms, he has achieved happiness. Yet, we see the folly in the Rocket’s point of view; even if he believed that he could go “higher than the stars,” he eventually “went out” (301). Wilde ultimately critiques the Rocket, because the Rocket’s conception of reality is not sustainable.

Alcibiades

Contrasts and the Humor in “the Canterville Ghost”

 

This post was written by Stanford University student- MG

There is a strong sense of contrast between aspects of life and death, English and American culture, and humor and terror in Oscar Wilde’s “the Canterville Ghost”. This heavily satirical short story is laden with references to American consumerism along with English tradition. The contrast becomes apparent when Sir Simon, a symbol of death, loneliness, and English culture, repeatedly tries and fails to understand the Otis family, who serve as symbols of life, gaiety, and American culture. The Otis family in turn (with Virginia as an exception) tries and fails to understand the Canterville ghost. Humorously, the Otis family does not seem to be scared by the idea of a ghost in the house, despite Sir Simon’s most earnest attempts. Rather, Sir Simon seems to be perturbed by the family’s presence himself, when it should really be the other way around. There are no clear sides in the story; Wilde spares no one in his witty merrymaking, though Sir Simon becomes the closest thing to a protagonist as the story progresses.  We as readers see him in a variety of lights; he can be vulnerable, vindictive, grieving, or happy, but he is consistently misunderstood.

While this could cast a serious shadow on the story as a whole, this is definitely not the case. Humor in “the Canterville Ghost” first serves to eliminate some of the dark and scary atmosphere that typically accompanies ghost stories. For example, the persistent bloodstain is treated with detergent briskly and without comment; the twin brothers “scare” the ghost when really that should be his job, and Mr. Otis offers him some lubricant to quiet his clanking chains. Humor is clearly a major tool here, because Wilde also uses it to effectively yet tactfully bring to light some major clashes of the era, namely the one between British and American culture. It was not clear to me whether or not “the Canterville Ghost” carried one universal, specific meaning or lesson, but it at least could help me understand, as the character Virginia said, “what Life is, what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both.”

The Theatrics of the Supernatural in “The Canterville Ghost”

One aspect of “The Canterville Ghost” that I found intriguing was the theatrical element of the ghost’s haunting techniques. There are many instances where it seems like the ghost is putting on a show for whomever happens to be living in the house. For example, when the ghost recounts his many achievements, it often sounds like he is listing off parts he has acted out. He says, “in the character of ‘Dumb Daniel, or the Suicide’s Skeleton,’ a role in which he had on more than one occasion produced a great effect, and which he considered quite equal to his famous part of ‘Martin the Maniac, or the Masked Mystery…” Typically, a ghost is thought to be the spirit of someone who has died and they haunt the living as representations of themselves. However, this ghost seems to have many characters he can play on a whim. It seems like he is an actor more than a vengeful spirit. He even wears costumes. Wilde writes, “[he] spent most of his day in looking over his wardrobe.” Wilde makes this theatrical connection explicit when he writes, “It was, however, extremely difficult ‘make-up,’ if I may use such a theatrical expression in connection with one of the greatest mysteries of the supernatural…” The ghost’s hauntings are always meticulously planned out and dramatic. He assumes many different characters that he has seemed to have perfected over the centuries. Rather than just being himself, which in my opinion would be scary enough, he adopts another guise and makes a show of it. It seems less genuine and less “real.” Why go to the trouble?

One thought the came to my mind was that maybe the ghost is a symbol for tradition, especially in England. Even though it is not necessary, the ghost still puts on a show for those in the house. He even sees it as his duty. Wilde writes, “It was his solemn duty to appear in the corridor once a week… and he did not see how he could honorably escape from his obligations.” Even though it is more troublesome to appear as a different character and by the end the ghost no longer wants to haunt the house at all, he feels that he absolutely must continue. The story is an allegory representing the clash of “modern America” and “traditional England.” The theatrical part of the display seems to represent the futility and uselessness in many traditions, but whether or not they serve a function they must be continued for the sake of tradition. This value seems to be lost on the American new-comers which is why they do not appreciate the ghost’s theatrics. Rather than running and screaming, they pull out their Pinkerton’s. IPN

Wilde’s The Remarkable Rocket: A Fable Full of Analogies but Without Moral?

Oscar Wilde’s The Remarkable Rocket could be described as a fable, namely a fictional short story in which some inanimate objects (fireworks; e.g. Squib, Roman Candle, Catherine Wheel, Bengal Light, Fire-balloon, Rocket, etc.) or creatures (animals of the swamp; e.g. Frog, Dragon-fly, White Duck, etc.) are anthropomorphized, that is to say, they are given some human qualities such as language and speech capacity. It does not seem to me that The Remarkable Rocket belongs to the literary genre referred to as “fairy tale,” insofar as The Remarkable Rocket does not cast fairy-like creatures (Gnome, Ondine, Sylph, Salamander, Giants, and so on). However, the setting (a castle, a princess, a prince, a king, etc.) is definitely reminiscent of some sort of enchanted world wherein wonderment along with a certain type of fantastic seem to be important features. To some extent, The Remarkable Rocket could be compared to Jean de La Fontaine’s Fables or even to a parable.

It seems to me that The Remarkable Rocket implements multiple analogies very much based on three distinctive worlds the first of which being the Castle. The second world would be the place where the fireworks have been stored. Finally, the third world would be the swamp where the poor Rocket is left to sink in. Through a rhetorical play of displacement and metonymies, the main characters of the fable find their counterparts in each one of these different worlds. For this blog entry, I will focus solely on the main character that is the Rocket.

The Rocket has a great sense of self-pride that would better be described as arrogance (or overweening pride). The Rocket among his fellow fireworks is somehow similar to the King and his royal court, except that the King is respected whereas the Rocket is rather embarrassing himself when he starts rhapsodizing on his alleged excellence and superiority. In other words, the Rocket would like to be highly considered and respected; unfortunately that is not what the Rocket gets at the end (because of his tears, he will not take off during the Royal firework). As it is the case for the King and his flute he plays so badly, the Rocket knows “only two airs:” the first pertains his extraordinary genealogy, his dubious background, and the idea according to which the Prince and the Russian Princess are to be married in his honor. The second is related to his sensitiveness and his great sense of sympathy.

In the swamp, the Rocket is confronted with his own image. Acting like a distorted image of the Rocket, the Frog behaves pretty much as the former. Indeed, as it is also the case for the King who “always answered questions that were addressed to other people,” the Frog is a great talker who likes hearing himself talk. And this is definitely true for the Rocket too who “spoke with a very slow, distinct voice, as if he was dictating his memoirs.” Very interestingly, the Frog compares the Rocket’s voice (or rather his cough) with the “most musical sound in the world,” that is, in his humble opinion, croaking. It goes without saying that a cough (the Rocket), a croak (the Frog), or even a very badly played flute song (the King) could hardly be brought close to the “most musical sound in the world.” But rather—and here we find some hints on a moral the reader can draw from the tale—these three arrogant and proud characters, produce strictly wind when they are talking (I’m referring to the French idiom: “parler pour faire du vent/parler pour ne rien dire,” which I translate literally by: “to talk to produce wind” which is relatively close to the English idiom: “to talk drivel.”)

Finally, another idiom that seems to fit well the sad destiny of the poor Rocket would be: “pride comes before the fall.” Indeed, in fables and other literary genres alike one usually finds some normative principles at the end. Generally written in the form of a maxim or proverb, and thus pertaining practical wisdom, it seems that such a moral is absent from The Remarkable Rocket, would have Oscar Wilde let the reader entirely free to interpret the tale as s/he likes? -R.C.

Ghost as Art in “The Canterville Ghost”

Interpreted as a personification of art, the ghost in Wilde’s “The Canterville Ghost,” relates to Pater’s idea of “the love of art for its own sake,” and delves into the threats and creators of art.

The ghost’s existence appears to serve little purpose.  He feels it is his duty to haunt Canterville and he takes pride in scaring people to the point of madness.  Yet he has no ultimate goal in scaring people, and not much motivation to harm them; that is simply what he does.  Pater speaks of a “fruit of a quickened, multiplied consciousness,” and it seems that the ghost is able to give his victims a darkened version of this heightened intensity of feeling – he drove Lady Barbara Modish to die of a broken heart and gave Madame de Tremouillac “brain fever.”  The ghost does not have an explicit utility, yet through him, people seem to be deeply disturbed.

The ghost as art serves as a critique for incessant practicality embodied by members of the Otis family.  Mrs. Otis, unaffected by the ghost – unaffected by art – proffers a “bottle of Dr. Dobell’s tincture…[for] indigestion.”  This absurd insult demonstrates how people can completely miss out on the experience of art when they focus too much on utility.  This scene also portrays an attack on creativity.  The ghost, through demonic laughter and plans to transform into a “large black dog,” represents creativity, which is ignored – unseen by those focused on materialistic products.

The ghost had haunted Canterville for centuries, yet it was this family that killed his spirit and made him wish for the Garden of Death.  The obsession with practicality and utility killed art.  It is interesting to note, of course, the ghost was already a dead human, suggesting that perhaps art transcends life – it can be felt, like the fear of those the ghost scares, but it exists outside of normal human existence.  This observation also connects with Wilde’s poem “The Artist,” in which the artist reforms “The Sorrow that endureth for Ever” into “The Pleasure that abideth for a Moment.”  The ghost is condemned to a prolonged and lonely living-dead experience, yet at the same time finds pleasure in his haunting skills.  Ultimately, however, he wishes to escape from both and die completely.  Perhaps art unrecognized can neither give nor retain pleasure.

Finally, this story with the ghost as art indicates that art draws from those who can appreciate it, and that perhaps the relationship between the viewer and the art is the true art.  The ghost uses Virginia’s paints for the fake blood.  She helps him enter the Garden of Death.  He leaves her with fantastic jewels, and helped her see “what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both.”  His death was artful, for it was an interplay between the two characters, each giving and taking.  In the ghost’s hopeless attempt to battle the materialistic and utility-centered focus of the Otis family, he stole paints and left Virginia only with colors for depressing moonlit scenes, not to mention that he also demonstrated materialism in his need for props.  But when he stopped attempting to battle the pettiness, he and Virgina worked more as a team, and she was left with beautiful jewels.

The jewels, the artful remains of an art driven to death by those unappreciative of art for the sake of art were “the universal theme of admiration” when put on show at Virginia’s marriage.  This image of the jewels, buried in a paragraph of pettiness and social politics, was in short the story of the ghost and the sad fate of art.      -YG

Art and Agency in “The Canterville Ghost” and “The Artist”

(Written by a Stanford student- AA.)

How is the ghost of Wilde’s “Canterville Ghost” like his Artist in “The Artist,” if they are similar at all? On the surface, it would seem the two come from vastly different contexts: one is the bumbling, tragically humorous main character from a short story, and another is an allegorical figure of an abstract prose poem. Upon closer examination, however, one can see that the themes of art and artist run consistently between the two texts. But while the Artist of Wilde’s prose poem succeeds in completing a transformative artistic act, the Canterville ghost does not do so by his own agency.

Take Wilde’s Artist first. As an allegorical figure, he should represent not just  an individual artist, but every artist – the ideal artist, even. At the beginning of the poem, we see the onset of “desire” into this Artist’s soul to fashion an image of The Pleasure that abideth for a Moment, which he acts on by going forth into the world. Over the course of the very short poem, we see him take “an image he had fashioned,” “set it in a great furnace,” and “give it fire.” Each scenario displays an example of the Artist’s exercise of personal and creative agency. Notice how Wilde even uses active verbs and straightforward sentences in order to create a sense of ease with which the Artist achieved his goals. There is no formal indication that the Artist ever struggled with the artistic process, and in the end, he realizes his goal of fashioning the image he wants. Given the Artist’s allegorical role, Wilde treads the line between the character as descriptive – this is the way an artist creates – and prescriptive – this is the way an artist should create.

Taken in the prescriptive sense, the Canterville ghost fails to reach the standard of artistic agency set by the Artist. We see the ghost, Sir Simon, primarily as a character who struggles in the short story. More than just the day-to-day struggle to frighten the American family living in his home, the ghost actually struggles with the role of an artist itself. Take, for instance, the constant attempts at playacting. The ghost assumes a character, say, “Dumb Daniel, or the Suicide’s Skelton,” in order to achieve a performative goal. His theatrics, however, never have their desired effects. The American family reacts with pragmatism, scorn, or even abuse instead of with fear, disgust, or horror. The emotional objective of his art, in other words, is never realized. As such, he is frustrated as an artist.

On a more fundamental level, he desires – but cannot achieve – a personal transformation into final death. Perhaps no scene more strongly demonstrates the ghost’s lack of agency than the moment in which he asks Virginia for help. He begs the girl, telling her, “You must weep for me for my sins, because I have no tears, and pray for me for my soul, because I have no faith.” Here, he transfers the burden of action to Virginia, and she bears responsibility for realizing his goals, not him. This is a marked contrast from the active, goal-realizing Artist from Wilde’s poem. In fact, the ghost not only asks Virginia to act on his part, but he presents himself as inherently unable to perform what he needs. Only good, moral character of Virginia can achieve what he himself cannot do. In this respect, then, the ghost – for all his artistic desires and objectives – does not fully become an “artist,” as such. For, according to Wilde’s depiction of the paradigmatic artist in his poem, an Artist is one who can, by his own agency, produce an object that matches his initial desire. The ghost does not, and cannot, achieve this.

Hence, juxtaposing the Artist of Wilde’s poem and the ghost of his short story allows us to see a contrast in agency that gives us better insight into Wilde’s concept of what an artist really is.

Youth and Old Age in “The Canterville Ghost”

(Written by a Stanford student–ER.)

In Wilde’s “The Canterville Ghost,” Americans think Europe’s nations being older than America spill over to European people such that they depict themselves as young and Europeans as old. When describing the various family members, Wilde contrasts Lucretia with many American ladies, who “on leaving their native land adopt an appearance of chronic ill-health, under the impression that it is a form of European refinement” (Wilde, 184-5). American women assume Europeans value “ill-health,” as they think Europeans think it a sign of “refinement and so think the hallmark of European femininity is the “chronic ill-health” associated with old age. That the Americans must “adopt an appearance” foregrounds that they otherwise look young but must masquerade as the elderly to adapt to the cultures they think they travel to. In “The Canterville Ghost,” Americans assume Europe values old-women, as if the ideal of European femininity were elderly, female nobles.

While Lucretia just describes women, Mr. Otis echoes the notion that Europe is old in regard to men. In his first discussion with Lord Canterville, Otis says “I have come from a modern country … [with] spry young fellows painting the Old World red, and carrying off your best actors and prima-donnas” (Wilde, 184). Mr. Otis’ description of his country as “modern” extends to his depiction of American men as “spry young fellows,” both of which Otis contrasts with Europe (“the Old World”). If American men are “spry” enough to paint Europe red, then, by contrast, European men are old, lethargic geriatrics. Otis reinforces this idea by emphasizing that American men sleep with Europe’s “best,” which implies most attractive, “actors and prima-donnas,” as if European men are too old, perhaps even impotent, to satisfy their beautiful women. In elevating America as a modern country, Mr. Otis devalues Europe, particularly European masculinity, because he associates it with old-age.

For Wilde, this old-age creates an atmosphere in which the gothic can more likely arise than a younger country. Throughout the story, the ghost highlights that he has a long lasting family conflict with the Cantervilles by mentioning family members predating the American Revolution. By emphasizing that America is much younger than England, Wilde foregrounds that the conflict, and relationship based on this feud, has less opportunity to exist in America. In other words, it lacks the age to develop this gothic atmosphere. In Virginia’s discussion with the ghost, she claims that American families would pay for ghosts, emphasizing that recruiting a ghost in America is so difficult that families would pay for them (Wilde, 197). The lack of ghosts and the relative age highlights a cultural discrepancy between this story’s picture of America and Europe that sets the stage for a culture clash between the young American pragmatism and the older British gothic. -ER

A Serious Poetic Voice in “The Canterville Ghost”

(Written by a Stanford student–JSW.)

The Canterville Ghost is narrated with the typical Wilde-ian humor, and the discourse on cultural differences between American and British culture and conduct allows for plenty of tongue-in-cheek sarcasm, irony, and embedded criticisms elements which are truly Wilde’s forte.  Yet the prose in The Canterville Ghost is not purely comedic, and I could not have been alone in noticing the very specific point in the story when the overall mood transitioned into something deeper, darker, and more poetic, allowing for Wilde to explore two explicitly contrasting styles within the same narrative.
This specific, almost jarring, moment occurs when Virginia and the Canterville Ghost engage in their first private conversation, one which is more intimate and meaningful than any of the previous spoken fragments in the story.  Whereas the sharply written characters of Mr. and Mrs. Otis, the nurse, and the twins lent themselves to shallower, funnier streams of dialogue, the relative depth and seriousness of Virginia’s character serves as a vehicle in which Wilde can delve into the more meaningful aspect of the story as a whole.  This happens almost immediately as Wilde develops the sympathetic aspect of the Ghost’s plight.  Whereas in the earlier chapters, we are able to laugh at the the Ghost’s stubbornness in maintaining the blood spot, his theatricality in approaching his haunting of the family, and his fear of the mischievous twins, now we cannot help but feel sorry for his pathetic state, to feel pity along with Virginia at the knowledge that this Ghost has not slept for three hundred years, that he does not eat, that his rattling through the house is his “only reason for existing” (!96).  Then, when we realize there is a hope for a possible salvation for the Ghost, that he can be released from the imprisonment of the family mansion into the Garden of Death, we find a further tonal shift from the light and humorous to the deep and poetic.  Wilde as the poet overcomes Wilde as the sardonic dramatist as he describes a heavenly death, a death that is not the Edgar Allen Poe-esque graveyard of skeletons and coffins, but a “soft brown earth” where one may “listen in silence” (198).  Suddenly the existence of the ghost is not so funny after all, but rather a thought-provoking study on the meaning of death.  The Ghost is an obvious symbol for death, and yet we as readers do not take seriously the notion of dying until this moment- beforehand, the humor of the Americans making a life in a deeply British household, and the characterization of the Ghost himself prevented us from truly pondering the predicament this creature is in, the dilemma of the dead being caught amongst the living.  Though the Ghost enjoys taunting the residents of the house, he is obviously unhappy, and Wilde must have set The Canterville Ghost up not only to comment on the American personality, but also more importantly, to explore death, a concept which appears to have endlessly provoked Wilde throughout his career as a writer, as it had for Poe, Baudelaire, and so many of the French decadents.

-JSW

Reality and “The Remarkable Rocket”

(Written by a Stanford student–MP.)

One of the most prominent themes in Oscar Wilde’s “The Remarkable Rocket” concerns the nature of reality. Wilde suggests that reality as it is experienced, outside of some absolute truth, can be determined by both social and personal elements, as seen in social pressures and norms and in personal perceptions.

The story begins by describing the arrival of a Russian Princess to marry the Prince of an unnamed place. There is much rejoicing, as the marriage has been long awaited and the Princess is quite charming. A young page makes two witty, flattering comments in relation to the marriage, and is awarded each time by having his salary doubled. It is noted, however, that the page received no salary in the first place, and so this change “was not of much use to him.” Nonetheless, the favor is considered a “great honour” and is “duly published in the Court Gazette.” This is the first clear example of social pressures defining reality. Because the page has no salary, there is nothing really to be doubled. Nonetheless, as the result of the choice to acknowledge this favor as something important and something real, it becomes a legitimate element of the court’s practical reality. Later in the story, the Frog who the Rocket meets says that “’everybody in good society holds exactly the same opinions.’” If this is indeed true in the Frog’s society, then this is a clear example of social norms defining reality. Whether individuals truly hold the same opinions or not, they feel compelled to express the same ones and so continue a pattern that establishes a certain set of values as the determiners of day-to-day reality. If it is not true, it is nonetheless the case that the Frog’s perceptions of social pressures define at least the Frog’s reality.

There are other, more concrete instances where personal perceptions define reality. This is most obviously the case with the Rocket, who is constantly convinced that others are treating him and perceiving him as he perceives himself, reaffirming the Rocket’s self-descriptions and self-identifications. This can be seen when someone calls him a “’bad rocket’” and he tells himself that the person must have said “’grand rocket,’” and in a similar instance when a child calls him an “’old stick’” and the Rocket chooses to hear “’gold stick.’” In moments such as these, the Rocket’s perceptions reflect how he orients himself in the world, thus dictating his personal reality.

What these two determiners of reality come down to is the idea that, ultimately, it seems that there is no single, absolute reality of which we, as participants in our own stories, can be aware. While a few elements of “The Remarkable Rocket” are represented as objectively true, such as the King playing the flute poorly, these are not recognized as the truth in the practical reality of characters’ lives. In the case of the King’s flute playing, everyone praises his performances, not daring to tell him that he plays poorly. As a result, the practical reality is that the King plays flute well, since this is what he thinks and how other people feel compelled to act. This is a combination of both personal perceptions and, because of the King’s authority, social pressures defining reality. However, there are no narrators in our lives to confirm that our hidden perceptions are the truths of which everyone else is aware but does not acknowledge. Thus, even if there are cases of objectively true matters, none of us would know and so they would not comprise the reality of our existence. In this way, there is no one truth or one ultimate reality. Rather, everything is, as in the story, a set of personal and social constructions.

This interpretation of reality can be described as hylo-idealism, the idea that reality is determined by our belief in it. This concept is demonstrated in another of Wilde’s short stories, “The Canterville Ghost,” subtitled “A Hypo-Idealistic Romance.” In “The Canterville Ghost,” this idea is more exaggerated, as the story contains the supernatural element of a ghost. The notion in “The Canterville Ghost” is that the ghost’s powers of causing fright are only as great as the degree to which the person being frightened believes in these powers. Thus, the same fundamental idea, that our perceptions, individual or group, dictate our reality, is represented in both texts. This compelling idea leaves readers questioning how often we ourselves engage in instances of buffoonery such as the Rocket’s constant self-importance, shaping our realities in much the same twisted ways as the characters in these stories.

–M.P.

Impressions du Matin & La Dame Jaune

(Written by a Stanford student–LH.)

[I may as well begin this blog entry with a two little things that occurred to me in relation to the Wilde poems–they have no direct relation to the historical backdrop against which Oscar Wilde composed his verses, but are interesting coincidences/tangents nevertheless. The first is a connection between Wilde’s fascination with the idea of automata, as expressed in The Harlot’s House and perhaps other works; it’s interesting that he also wrote a poem entitled The New Helen and the film Metropolis (by Fritz Lang) features a female android named “Hel” who is seen as the second coming of Helen, the perfect (or perfectly adaptable) woman. Just something that I found somewhat interesting. The second tidbit involves the recurring theme of yellowness that permeates his poetic oeuvre. It’s known that this is due to the yellow spines of the so-called decadent French novels, but it’s oddly appropriate to the context of Chinese censorship law, because in legalese and in the common vernacular as well, pornographic materials (and other things/acts otherwise associated with decadent moral dissolution) are referred to as “yellow items”.]

Two poem-scapes (a term I use, in this case, to refer to the mental image conjured up upon reading the text of the relevant poem) that imprinted themselves especially vividly upon my mind were derived from Impressions du Matin and La Dame Jaune. Curiously, they are those English-language poems that have been given French titles, perhaps indicating a sort of preference, homage, or voluntary association. The themes of the two poems (urban life at street-level and sensuous female beauty) are distinctly Baudelairean; this gives some sort of instinctive explanation as to why Wilde would have incorporated the use of the french language in titling poems that were inspired by those of the eminent French poet.

Though the imagery of both poems are equally rich in nature and dense in content, two more different scenes could not be imagined. Impressions du Matin deals with the public realm of a city street-corner, whereas La Dame Jaune is an intimate glimpse within a lady’s private boudoir. Hence, the moods evoked by each poem drastically diverge.

Impressions du Matin is a skilled rendition of a classic urban scenario: the dark night giving away to dawn, and the hustle-bustle of the urban population bestirring itself, leaving peaceful slumber behind. Wilde uses a synesthetic trope to convey this transition; night is represented by a “nocturne of blue and gold”, emanating composure and gentle repose, whereas the dawn arrives with a “Harmony in grey”, with a “yellow fog” creeping down the river. What I find interesting in this description is that the coming of the day is not announced with unambiguous pleasure, as it is in conventional depictions of such a scene. There is something rather melancholy about the way in which the blanket of night falls away to give way to day, even though this sad interlude soon dissolves to give way to brightness and birdsong. However, the ending of the poem does not altogether release the reader into the comfort of daily routines, for our attention is drawn to the lone figure of a pale, frail, woman, with “lips of flame and heart of stone”, who lingers under a gas-lamp that remains lit past its due hour. This mysterious woman arouses an acute sympathy and curiosity in the reader. Why is her heart so heavy, when the rest of world is breaking into lively chatter? Has she been lingering in the streets for the entire night? And why the flame-red lips–does she walk the moonlit streets to oblige the night-stalker’s desires? Does she nurse a secret hurt? Like the daylight, we long to lean down and “[kiss] her wan hair”, to ease her pain–but of course we cannot, and are merely left with questions and sadness.

La Dame Jaune is exempt altogether from this sort of dew-soaked heavy-heartedness. It is a lush portrait of a sensual scene: a woman is conducting her evening toilette in the privacy of her bedroom, removing her amber trinkets and loosening her golden gown. It does not matter that she is not named, such scenes are eternal and such a lady is quite archetypal. It suffices that she is La Dame Jaune; the reader is likely to be more enchanted by this appellation than if the lady had an earthly name. The unspecified identity of this beautiful vision means that the reader can thrust oneself into the point of view occupied by the speaker of the poem, and admire with equal intimacy the luscious honey of the lady’s hair, lovingly comparing each strand to the “gold thread within a Venice glass”. There is no need to be the voyeur peeking in through the keyhole, at the lady and her lover: it is easy to inhabit the lover himself, caressing the yellow lady with our own eyes.

-LH