Two very different pieces of literature, two very different aims. Or are they really so different? Shaffer's obvious aim is to question our treatment of the "insane" as well as question that same classification. Atwood, on the other hand, attempts to question our feelings of superiority, particularly in regards to the forever ongoing male versus female debate. Those issues are an example of how literature can take a stance and change our perspective.
Alan Strang is classified as a lunatic in the play. He stabbed the eyes out of six horses because they "saw" him. At least, that is the basic storyline. If we define sanity as having a clear purpose and moral sense, then Alan Strang is most definitely sane. He has purpose in taking the horses out at night, and was in a fit of rage and passion when he hurt the horses, something we are all liable to do. As for as moral, Alan demonstrates an ability to tell right from wrong. He is aware taking the horses out is wrong, and so keeps it secret. Alan also demonstrates an ethical sense, when being embarrassed by the pornography show and knowing it was wrong that his father was there as well. There is no guilt in his actions. On the other hand, the supposed sane psychologist is struggling with guilt and remorse for what he has done. Dysart is the one with odd dreams, that can no longer distinguish good from evil, right from wrong. Shaffer does this to these characters as an enticement, a lure to show us that how we perceive the world is not always correct.
Atwood turns the tables as well. In Gilead, a supposedly male-dominated society, the women hold the real power. Sure, the men go to work everyday, but it is unimportant in the survival of the state, while the women are required to keep it going. The president's assassination allowed for a male takeover, but it didn't matter, it was the women behind these men that really received power. This is especially apparent in the strip club. Men are portrayed as slaves to their desires, inhuman beings that are dominated by the need to have sex. Women are not controlled by this, and so have the ability to run the country. The women have the power, especially the handmaids, to control the outcome of the state. Gilead will fall without the women, women that had become second class citizens.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
New Society, Same Questions
In Equus, Peter Shaffer explored how we determine what passion is through the relationship between a passionate patient and passionless psychologist. In The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood also looks at passion, but focuses on where passion resides in a household. Does it reside in the man, the head of household? Or the wife? Or perhaps his "handmaid", a women assigned to him to make a child? Is there really passion at all? Enter the story of Offred (the handmaid's names are "of" combined with their commander's name, hence "fred") a woman of 33 years who watched the fall of the U.S. and now resides in Gilead with the specific duty of creating children. When first meeting her, she is as passionless as Dysart, as empty and cold as if all life had been sucked out of her. But she remembers times before. She remembers her husband, Luke, and five year old daughter, before they were taken away from her. She remembers college days with her best friend Moira. She remembers the fall of the state, and the failed escape plan. She remembers the days of training to be a handmaid, with the cruel aunts and the former "school." In these things she finds passion, and finds the strength to go on, that she may someday again be with her husband and daughter.
Martin Dysart too remembers, but not to the extent of Offred. While her passion gives her strength, his former passion for the Greek gods has given way to nothingness. He hates himself, and what he must do to "cure" children. His memory does not give him hope, but rather despair. This creates two very different endings for the two characters. Offred takes a chance and begins to privately see both Nick, the chauffer for the commander, and the commander himself. Both are opportunities to understand the complex society that followed the fall of the U.S. Offred learns of secret strip clubs, and a secret underground organization dedicated to freeing the handmaids and others from the clutches of Gilead. Through these learnings, she is able to plan an eventual escape. Dysart does none of this. So confused in his memory of children, so consumed by guilt, it is obvious he cannot go on with his life in the current matter. When he tries to treat Alan, it is known that it will absolutely and utterly destroy him. The guilt will consume him. There is no chance at a happy ending.
Perhaps though, we assign too much blame to Dysart and not enough to his society. Dysart is forced to cure people of mental "disease" that only may or may not exist. While he may have chosen the field, there is no proof he wanted to hurt people, to take away their very core. He is the result of what society has made him, a sad, lonely man, who hates himself for what he has done. Passion had to be eliminated so he could continue his work. Offred is also a result of her society. She is a woman used for reproduction, and the act of producing a baby is the height of passion. Sure, the "Ceremony" attempts to remove all passion from the act, but it is there, obvious in the way the commander still wants her, obvious in the way his wife Serena hates her. The passion of Nick, a hidden member of the secret Mayday organization, eventually saves her. Offred is a passionate creature because that is what society dictates she be, just as Dysart is passionless because society says he must be. The juxtaposition of these two characters asks the question: just what is society capable of?
Martin Dysart too remembers, but not to the extent of Offred. While her passion gives her strength, his former passion for the Greek gods has given way to nothingness. He hates himself, and what he must do to "cure" children. His memory does not give him hope, but rather despair. This creates two very different endings for the two characters. Offred takes a chance and begins to privately see both Nick, the chauffer for the commander, and the commander himself. Both are opportunities to understand the complex society that followed the fall of the U.S. Offred learns of secret strip clubs, and a secret underground organization dedicated to freeing the handmaids and others from the clutches of Gilead. Through these learnings, she is able to plan an eventual escape. Dysart does none of this. So confused in his memory of children, so consumed by guilt, it is obvious he cannot go on with his life in the current matter. When he tries to treat Alan, it is known that it will absolutely and utterly destroy him. The guilt will consume him. There is no chance at a happy ending.
Perhaps though, we assign too much blame to Dysart and not enough to his society. Dysart is forced to cure people of mental "disease" that only may or may not exist. While he may have chosen the field, there is no proof he wanted to hurt people, to take away their very core. He is the result of what society has made him, a sad, lonely man, who hates himself for what he has done. Passion had to be eliminated so he could continue his work. Offred is also a result of her society. She is a woman used for reproduction, and the act of producing a baby is the height of passion. Sure, the "Ceremony" attempts to remove all passion from the act, but it is there, obvious in the way the commander still wants her, obvious in the way his wife Serena hates her. The passion of Nick, a hidden member of the secret Mayday organization, eventually saves her. Offred is a passionate creature because that is what society dictates she be, just as Dysart is passionless because society says he must be. The juxtaposition of these two characters asks the question: just what is society capable of?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
And How Do You Feel About That?
The question probably evokes a lot of images. One is probably a view of an older man in glasses in a leather chair, saying things such as "Oh, I see," and "How does that make you feel?" to a person reclining on the couch next to them. Martin Dysart is that exact stereotype. Or at least he is when we meet him. Sort of. Maybe not. Martin Dysart, when introduced, says he's going through "professional menopause," a stage that all doctors go through at some point in their career. He isn't sure of what he's doing, that this life is really for him. Some call it a midlife crisis, others a call to a higher reality. Whatever it is, Martin Dysart is not the suave psychologist sitting in the chair, but rather a man, who has troubles of his own, before Alan Strang is introduced.
Martin Dysart is, in a way, a depressed psychologist. Problem? A little bit. A doctor not completely sure of himself probably has no business treating kids. Especially kids like Alan Strang, who are not completely deranged, but rather in control, brilliant in their own way, and manipulative and perceptive. Sometimes during treatment, it becomes impossible to tell who is doctor, and who is patient. Alan Strang may seem like just another patient to everyone else, but to Dysart he is a key in finding meaning in life. Because Strang, unlike Dysart, has an undeniable and passionate drive, so different from the meaningless life that Dysart feels he leads. As Dysart himself says, while he dreams of Centaurs roaming Greek fields, Alan is out there, trying to become one. It isn't illusion or legend or myth to him, but a way to find purpose in life.
And then there's the dream. Standing at the sacrificial Greek Altar, spilling the guts of hundreds of children as some sort of high priest. He is high priest for his skill with the knife, that the cut is quick and clean. The entire thing is a metaphor for his life, and what he feels that he is doing to the children he "treats". True, he makes them functioning members of society. Yes, they are now able to go through life without trouble or being "different". But at what price? These kids that he treat may now be "Normal" (or at least sacrificed to the God of normalcy, as he puts it) but in the process has he destroyed them? Are they now as lifeless and meaningless as the dead bodies of his dream, no longer serving any purpose but to go through the motions? He gets his answer through Alan Strang. In the end, we know he will treat Alan, will make him "normal" by everyone else's standards. We also know that it will end his career. This boy, that seemed to just be another basket case psychotic, is looked at as a human being, to be admired and envied for the spirit within him. It may be the end of a career, but Dysart may finally begin to really live his life.
Martin Dysart is, in a way, a depressed psychologist. Problem? A little bit. A doctor not completely sure of himself probably has no business treating kids. Especially kids like Alan Strang, who are not completely deranged, but rather in control, brilliant in their own way, and manipulative and perceptive. Sometimes during treatment, it becomes impossible to tell who is doctor, and who is patient. Alan Strang may seem like just another patient to everyone else, but to Dysart he is a key in finding meaning in life. Because Strang, unlike Dysart, has an undeniable and passionate drive, so different from the meaningless life that Dysart feels he leads. As Dysart himself says, while he dreams of Centaurs roaming Greek fields, Alan is out there, trying to become one. It isn't illusion or legend or myth to him, but a way to find purpose in life.
And then there's the dream. Standing at the sacrificial Greek Altar, spilling the guts of hundreds of children as some sort of high priest. He is high priest for his skill with the knife, that the cut is quick and clean. The entire thing is a metaphor for his life, and what he feels that he is doing to the children he "treats". True, he makes them functioning members of society. Yes, they are now able to go through life without trouble or being "different". But at what price? These kids that he treat may now be "Normal" (or at least sacrificed to the God of normalcy, as he puts it) but in the process has he destroyed them? Are they now as lifeless and meaningless as the dead bodies of his dream, no longer serving any purpose but to go through the motions? He gets his answer through Alan Strang. In the end, we know he will treat Alan, will make him "normal" by everyone else's standards. We also know that it will end his career. This boy, that seemed to just be another basket case psychotic, is looked at as a human being, to be admired and envied for the spirit within him. It may be the end of a career, but Dysart may finally begin to really live his life.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
A Strang State of Mind
Yes Strang, not strange. Because despite what people say about him, Alan Strang is not "strange" or "queer" or "odd". He does not "move to the beat of a different drummer" or "in his own little world." Alan Strang is a fictional human being who is probably more sane and certainly more perceptive than the rest of all. Sure, he has his quirks, but don't we all? Alan Strang is simply a boy, creative and intelligent, at times too much so for his own good.
Alan Strang certainly appears crazy, as many of the geniuses, both good and bad, seem to. He is not. Many of the things he does, like singing commercial jingles, is simply to hid feelings, things he does not want to talk about. And don't we all do something to that extent? I know that I certainly try to change the subject when the topic reaches potentially threatening areas. Then there's the screaming in his dreams every night. "Ek! Ek!' It frightens his nurse and befuddles Martin Dysart, his psychologist. Once again, it is something we all do. I know that I have been known to talk in my sleep, and people that have gone through traumatic experiences must have nightmares that seem so real they can't control themselves. Then we find out that "Ek" is short for Equus, his mythical God of horses that he worships in almost a cult fashion. Finally proof of craziness? Guess again. How many of us have pieces of our lives that we devote an almost fanatical religious part of ourselves to? All of us. Be it marching band, football, or a fad (like vampires), we all are to some extent a member of a "cult." Does this make us crazy? If the candlelight ceremony that he conducts in his basement, complete with chanting, is considered disturbing, than what about the many National Honors Society inductees that must light a candle and recite a chant together to complete membership? National Honors Society is a highly respected organization. Are they all mentally disturbed? No, Alan Strang is not crazy. He is, however, a powerful individual.
In Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hamlet often contemplates how it is that some men can act on impulse and in others the man's hand is restrained. Alan Strang faces no such constraint. He is altogether a more free person than Hamlet, his only goal in life in being as close as possible to the animals he worships. Alan is ruled by passion, by a driving force that makes him think that horses are watching his every move. Piece by piece we begin to understand what made him this way, from an overly religious mother to an unforgiving and not understanding father. Most likely he was always different and picked on, and Dad thought that he should just toughen up. But perhaps it wasn't the parents. Even Peter Shaffer says in his foreword that oftentimes too much blame is assigned to the parent. Maybe Alan was always this way, and this was bound to happen. Sometimes there are people in the world born with too much passion and simply not enough reason to control it. Or maybe opposite that, perhaps society judges too harshly those that put their passion in front of reason. Nothing really is wrong with Alan Strang.
Perhaps the most proving aspect of Alan's complete and total sanity is his perception into Dr. Dysart's personal life. Within days he figures out how to get out information from the nurses and other patients, and demands answers for answers, to a point where at times it becomes unclear as to who is psychologist and who is patient. He asks questions about dreams, Dysart's wife, and accuses him of being a "swiz." Alan is manipulative and dangerous and passionate, but not crazy. Never crazy.
Alan Strang certainly appears crazy, as many of the geniuses, both good and bad, seem to. He is not. Many of the things he does, like singing commercial jingles, is simply to hid feelings, things he does not want to talk about. And don't we all do something to that extent? I know that I certainly try to change the subject when the topic reaches potentially threatening areas. Then there's the screaming in his dreams every night. "Ek! Ek!' It frightens his nurse and befuddles Martin Dysart, his psychologist. Once again, it is something we all do. I know that I have been known to talk in my sleep, and people that have gone through traumatic experiences must have nightmares that seem so real they can't control themselves. Then we find out that "Ek" is short for Equus, his mythical God of horses that he worships in almost a cult fashion. Finally proof of craziness? Guess again. How many of us have pieces of our lives that we devote an almost fanatical religious part of ourselves to? All of us. Be it marching band, football, or a fad (like vampires), we all are to some extent a member of a "cult." Does this make us crazy? If the candlelight ceremony that he conducts in his basement, complete with chanting, is considered disturbing, than what about the many National Honors Society inductees that must light a candle and recite a chant together to complete membership? National Honors Society is a highly respected organization. Are they all mentally disturbed? No, Alan Strang is not crazy. He is, however, a powerful individual.
In Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hamlet often contemplates how it is that some men can act on impulse and in others the man's hand is restrained. Alan Strang faces no such constraint. He is altogether a more free person than Hamlet, his only goal in life in being as close as possible to the animals he worships. Alan is ruled by passion, by a driving force that makes him think that horses are watching his every move. Piece by piece we begin to understand what made him this way, from an overly religious mother to an unforgiving and not understanding father. Most likely he was always different and picked on, and Dad thought that he should just toughen up. But perhaps it wasn't the parents. Even Peter Shaffer says in his foreword that oftentimes too much blame is assigned to the parent. Maybe Alan was always this way, and this was bound to happen. Sometimes there are people in the world born with too much passion and simply not enough reason to control it. Or maybe opposite that, perhaps society judges too harshly those that put their passion in front of reason. Nothing really is wrong with Alan Strang.
Perhaps the most proving aspect of Alan's complete and total sanity is his perception into Dr. Dysart's personal life. Within days he figures out how to get out information from the nurses and other patients, and demands answers for answers, to a point where at times it becomes unclear as to who is psychologist and who is patient. He asks questions about dreams, Dysart's wife, and accuses him of being a "swiz." Alan is manipulative and dangerous and passionate, but not crazy. Never crazy.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Equus- More Existentialism?
Equus is eighty pages long and took me 40 minutes to read. If that was all I said about it, I would be doing it a great injustice. I picked up play for two reasons: I am a Harry Potter fan and I remembered hearing about Daniel Radcliffe performing as Alan Strang in London, and I love horses, so a play that had anything that had to do with horses sounded like a good fit. I had no idea what I was in for. A quiet Saturday afternoon, which I had planned to just spend reading a little and maybe getting bored, became a quick read and now several weeks of deep thought.
This story is unique in that it centers around two characters, with only a handful of minor characters. From a bystander's viewpoint, it may appear that the two characters- Martin Dysart and Alan Strang- are complete opposites. Psychiatrist and psych patient, man and boy, passionless and passionate, yet quickly a reader begins to realize that they are not total opposites, but much rather two halves of a whole. Martin Dysart is a psychiatrist, but one that has lost meaning in his world. Alan Strang is just a boy, but has found a passion so great that people think that he is crazy. And maybe he is. What else can he be, thinking that horses are watching him, that the horses are his masters? These foils make for a most interesting read, with a conflict that is not person against person so much that it is persons against society.
Martin Dysart is searching for meaning. He wants something to worship once again, like he worshipped the Greek deities of old. He wants passion back in his marriage, to hold the wife he has not kissed in six years. It is a meaning that he won't find. He considers turning from psychology, but knows that it won't help. He considers divorce, but his marriage is simply a thing of so little existence that it would be almost pointless. By the end of the play, one realizes that it is not Alan Strang who is disturbed, but rather his psychiatrist that is in need of help.
This story is unique in that it centers around two characters, with only a handful of minor characters. From a bystander's viewpoint, it may appear that the two characters- Martin Dysart and Alan Strang- are complete opposites. Psychiatrist and psych patient, man and boy, passionless and passionate, yet quickly a reader begins to realize that they are not total opposites, but much rather two halves of a whole. Martin Dysart is a psychiatrist, but one that has lost meaning in his world. Alan Strang is just a boy, but has found a passion so great that people think that he is crazy. And maybe he is. What else can he be, thinking that horses are watching him, that the horses are his masters? These foils make for a most interesting read, with a conflict that is not person against person so much that it is persons against society.
Martin Dysart is searching for meaning. He wants something to worship once again, like he worshipped the Greek deities of old. He wants passion back in his marriage, to hold the wife he has not kissed in six years. It is a meaning that he won't find. He considers turning from psychology, but knows that it won't help. He considers divorce, but his marriage is simply a thing of so little existence that it would be almost pointless. By the end of the play, one realizes that it is not Alan Strang who is disturbed, but rather his psychiatrist that is in need of help.
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