In Reality

A few days ago I felt curious about Marina Oswald so I searched her online, and I through an article I found a link to an interview with her daughter Rachel from 1995. She appears as a baby in Libra, born shortly before the assassination and mostly a minor detail within the novel's many pages. But outside of fiction, she's an adult that appears to have stayed away from the media since the interview in the 90s. Back then she was 29 and working as waitress to pay for college. Rachel recalls her life growing up as the daughter of a presidential assassin; it was pretty normal, aside from her mailbox being shot at and people taunting her about her biological father while she was cheerleading at football games. At one point in the interview, she describes her angry reaction at seeing a fictionalized version of herself in a TV movie set in 1978.
"The writers portray me as this traumatized, victimized kid—there’s a scene of me having a birthday party that no one comes to—just me in my birthday hat all by myself. That never happened. In the final scene they have my sister and me walking hand in hand to the Kennedy Memorial, singing ‘We Shall Overcome.’ That never happened either. I’ve never even been to the Kennedy Memorial. The writers never talked to me or my sister about our lives. I guess they decided we must be a certain way and then wrote it. That kind of stuff makes you feel violated."
While Rachel in the novel doesn't have any kind of characterization (as she is just a baby), reading her statement in this interview made me wonder about how strange it would be to have your life and characterization dictated by someone that doesn't even know you. Especially in such a bizarre manner as the TV movie described above does. Libra is a much better piece of fiction, it has some interesting ways of blending two different plots and showing the thought processes of different characters. But what if other people in Libra were still alive and somehow knew about their presence in the novel? What would their reactions be? As a work of fiction, the depictions in Libra aren't real but include some elements of reality, and the disclaimer at the end iterates that DeLillo isn't intending to pass off his book as "factual." So anyone aware of this stuff should realize that Libra is not trying to be non-fiction and technically isn't "violating" anyone's private lives. Yet I think I can say that it must be really weird to be in a position like Rachel's--it's like she's the daughter of a celebrity but not really. She and her sister have nothing to do with the assassination, yet they are forever linked to it because of who their father was.

Although many conspiracy theorists and historians have put a lot of attention into Lee, Rachel appears to have little interest in her father. This is plausible since he died when she was around a month old and she grew up with a stepfather, but is interesting to note because of the focus on Lee in Libra. Throughout the interview she refers to her biological father as Lee and in a different article dated from 1988 she says "Lee I think of not really as my father. Just, really, this man."

http://www.texasmonthly.com/politics/lee-harveys-legacy/
http://articles.philly.com/1988-11-20/news/26248082_1_lee-harvey-oswald-assassination-marina-and-lee

Libra Impressions

Like the events it's based on, Libra is more than it seems. A number of the characters in it so far are real people while others are made up, so without preexisting knowledge of people associated with the Kennedy assassination and conspiracies (aside from Kennedy and Oswald) it's hard to tell if someone is real or not. The fictional CIA people like Everett, Parmenter, and Mackey are really involved in their plan but not much else information is given about them. To me, Lee has been the most interesting character to follow so far since he's seemed like the most relatable. He comes across to me as someone who wants to escape the reality he's currently living in, and his chosen outlet for doing so is through the Marxist ideologies he learns out of the old books in the library. He imagines joining a communist cell and engaging in "night missions that required intelligence and stealth," something that sounds more exciting than going to school and living with his mom (37). He finds "the drabness of his surroundings, his own shabby clothes were explained and transformed by these books" (41). The reverence Lee holds towards the books and their ideas suggests that he thinks joining a communist cell would be the solution to his problems.
Another reason Lee's plot line is interesting to read is because there's the knowledge of what he'll do later. It gives his narrative a sinister overtone, and this overtone wouldn't be present if he hadn't assassinated the president. His fantasizing about being important and being part of history sounds concerning, but if he hadn't shot the president later his activities might be looked upon differently.

Kindred Observations

Unlike the other books we've read, Kindred is in first-person and the reader isn't given information that the characters within it won't know about. However there is an exception to this in that the book begins with a prologue scene that takes place later on in the story. This prologue sets up the book's premise and introduces two of the main characters without explaining the reasons behind everything that's happening, but also lets the reader know a few events that will take place at some point. So as the book progresses, we know that Kevin will eventually return home and that Dana will lose a limb, but we don't know how everything will get to that point. The intrigue of the reading comes from not finding out what the ending is but finding out how things will get to the ending (or almost to the end.) 

Also unlike the previous books, Kindred takes a more personal and emotional approach to telling a story and conveying themes. The scariness and brutality of plantation life is conveyed not through the irony of a narrator but through the experiences of its characters. We see how Dana lives on the Weylin plantation and works alongside Sarah in the kitchen, and we get to know what her thoughts are about the things she sees and the things that happen to her. Dana feels like she's going to be sick when she sees Alices' father being whipped and thinks about how she'd seen people hurt in fictional media but had never "lain nearby and smelled their sweat or heard them pleading and praying" (36). When Dana is caught with a book after trying to teach Nigel, she describes her fear; "I felt myself trembling, and I tried to be still" (106). After being whipped we see Dana as she tries to recover at home, taking a bath that becomes pink from her messy wounds. Giving a description like this gives an idea of the reality of hurt and suffering that getting whipped causes, and helps to show how dangerous slave life is. Showing what's happening through a character's experiences is what makes Kindred's narrative have an impact on the reader. 

Tralfamadorian Philosophy

I first read this book back in subbie year and I'm a little surprised at how much of what happens in it I have forgotten. Billy being lost behind enemy lines with Ronald Weary, Billy talking to the newspapers and upsetting his daughter, even Billy being placed in an alien zoo--all these things I just haven't thought about until reading through the book again and refreshing my memory. This doesn't mean I've completely forgotten everyone--Before reading again I could recall the nonlinear nature of the novel and a general sense of it being an entertaining read, but I think what has stuck with me most are the descriptions of the Tralfamadorians' way of seeing the world.
The Tralfamadorians are able to see past, present, and future all at once. They "can see where each star has been and where it is going, so that the heavens are filled with rarefied, luminous spaghetti" (110). I found this idea fascinating because I've always been interested in imagining ways the world could be perceived differently than how we already see it. Since their perception of time isn't limited, the Tralfamadorians know how the universe is destroyed--one of their own accidentally blows it up by pressing a button. The interesting part is that they don't mind. Billy asks if they can prevent the universe's destruction this from happening, to which the aliens respond, "He has always pressed it, and he always will. We always let him and we always will let him. The moment is structured that way" (149). Of war, they add, "There isn't anything we can do about them, so we simply don't look at them. We spend eternity looking at pleasant moments--like today at the zoo" (150). Given their omnipresent perception, the Tralfamadorians don't question what will happen in the future and take a nonchalant view towards the end of all life. They are able to focus on the good times without fear of what they know will happen later.
These ideas have stuck with me because I found them interesting and unordinary, but what do they mean in the context of a novel that's based on the author's war experiences? Maybe the Tralfamadorians' ideals allude to the way one might cope with trauma. When something traumatic happens the mind may just blot it out from memory, like how the aliens ignore unpleasant moments. Accepting that a traumatic event can't be changed is also a part of coping. Alternatively, the Tralfamadorian's outlook on the world could represent the way people view history. When we read about historical events, we understand that we're reading about the past and that we are unable to change it. Additionally, many things we read about we didn't experience firsthand ourselves. From a position where everything has already happened (and where we weren't a part of what happene), we can look at events in the disassociated way that the Tralfamadorians do. I think part of the Tralfamadorians might be Vonnegut incorporating the views of people that didn't experience the war or the firebombing of Dresden into his novel.

Writing Quirks

Obviously, there are many unique things about Mumbo Jumbo and one of those unique things is the way the text is written. What I mean by this is how parentheses aren't used to indicate when a character is speaking and that the numeral "1" is almost always used instead of its written counterpart "one." Also of note is how some characters are usually referred to by the narrator by their full name, including their nickname, if they have any. I'm not sure of what the purpose for these writing quirks is (technically no can be?), but I have a few fragmented ideas. 

The lack of speech parentheses is probably the most notable aspect of the things I’ve described, since it makes reading dialogue initially a little confusing. However, by just distinguishing who is speaking by sprinkling in phrases like “Black Herman said,” it seems like parentheses aren’t even necessary. The message still gets across and all the information you need to know a character is speaking is already present.Another thing I’ve noticed is how throughout the whole novel "1" appears in the text and for some reason it always jumps out at me when I see it. I guess it’s because I don’t see “1” used as often in other novels and I would expect a sentence like "1 woman is dressed in an exotic high-gypsy" to be spelled like ”one woman” instead (30).Hinckle Von Vampton being referred to by full name almost every time he appears in the text is another thing I kept noticing while reading. Within dialogue he’s called “Mr. Von Vampton or just “Hinckle” pretty much any time else his first and last name are given, although this isn’t always the case. “Of course you know the managing editor, don’t you, the executive pauses, turning to Hinckle” is an exception but he isn’t referred to in the same way in the following paragraph; “The phone rings. Hinckle Von Vampton and Hubert “Safecracker” Gould rush into the office. Hinckle Von Vampton picks up the phone and the fixed, tight-lipped expression on his face widens into a grin” (73, 74). I think he easily could have been called Hinckle here but instead his full name is repeated again in the following sentence. This keeps happening throughout the novel and I think Hubert “Safecracker” Gould is treated similarly; he isn’t always referred to by his full title but usually has his nickname included.

“…a man who like no 1 else captures the complexity of Negro Thought…Mr. Hubert “Safecracker” Gould!!!

The Hostess and Von Vampton take their seats as Hubert “Safecracker” Gould, white gloves, blackface, black tuxedo, walks to the back of the stand and begins to read his epic “Harlem Tom Toms” ”(157). Why is he introduced with his nickname included and not just as “Hubert Gould?” “Safecracker” doesn’t seem like it would be relevant to the audience, but it’s possible there’s no reason for it and I’m just looking too much into it. However, the themes of controlling culture within Mumbo Jumbo could give the things I’ve noticed some potential meaning. Could choosing not to use parentheses be another form of rejecting western ideals of Atonist order? Does the use of "1" instead of "one" suggest that using one over the other makes no difference in meaning?  Is the text poking fun at Atonist order and control by including the nickname of Hubert “Safecracker” Gould almost every time he is mentioned outside of dialogue? These are a few of the ideas I had but I'm sure there are better ones out there...

Reflection

I have heard of postmodernism before taking this class but I've never been aware of what the definition (and the debate around it) was until now. The notion of multiple narratives negating the existence of any "truth" in the world is an idea that I've had in my head for a while but haven't been able to define under any single term. However, after listening to discussions in class I think my thoughts can fit under the definition of postmodernism. I've considered how no day is truly the same, how there is only one 12:57 PM of February 4 in 2016 that will ever occur--I think these ideas can be described as postmodern, maybe? I feel like the ideas that have been explored in class are like my own conceptions of the world being translated into a concrete and coherent form (which sounds kinda pompous but whatever).
 Ragtime is an interesting book on its own but within the context of exploring postmodernism it becomes even more interesting. The language, content, and structure of the novel all come together to produce a commentary on all sorts of things in different manners. The tone of the narrative voice  changes to indicate criticism or lack thereof. The depiction of well-known figures in ways that are contrary to what's expected of them (e.g Houdini feeling aimless) simultaneously comments on the existence of multiple narratives and the verifiability of history. The similar tone of the beginning and the ending reflects that there was change but also no change at the same time. All of this commentary and allusions made for a unique read, in my opinion. And to go out of context a little, I feel like I've only begun noticing within the last 2 years how a book can utilize language to tell more than just a story.

Fluctuation of the Narration

Something obviously unique about Ragtime was apparent in just its first pages; its structure of long paragraphs made up of short sentences and a range of subjects touched upon but never always completely connected. Reading this book's beginning chapters gave me the sense of someone describing every aspect they could remember from a certain time in their past. The way the narration mentions information that's seemingly inconsequential for the establishment of a plot could be explained through the perspective of someone that lived when all these things were happening around them; brief sentences like "Teddy Roosevelt was President" and "Women were stouter then" can be connected by that sort of context. There's a mingling of fact and opinion in the narration which reflects the question that started off the class: what makes history different from fiction? One way to know is if you've lived through an actual historical event, but afterwards the event can never be repeated. It fades into memory and seems to become about as physical as fiction can be. Being aware of this further blurs the narration's status as something either historical or fictional. 

Compared to regular fiction, I think the text of Ragtime makes you think more because it's presented as being historical, and given the historical context anything fictional makes you question its validity. As I read more of the novel, the idea of a person recalling what a certain time was like became less viable to me, maybe because there was too great of a range of things described by the narrator that one person can't know. Parts of Houdini's life, described in anecdotal events, make up part of the text along with insight into the going-ons of a fictional middle class white family. All the different parts of these events can't be known by a single narrator. Also, given the context of postmodernism there doesn't have to be a believable explanation for where the narration is coming from. Fictional information about real-life figures are dispensed throughout Ragtime, and this questions the meaning of "historical" when the historical elements are fictional.