When I had initially typed it up, I lacked my notes. Now I have a few, mainly a list of points where I was particularly interested and wanted to later return.
Women and the quest
I had some disagreement with the claim that Cooper makes on page 53, in the midst of discussing the quest and pilgrimage. She dismisses the female quester: "The outside world is masculine space, where few women venture willingly. ... Apart from a few women warriors - Grisandol in the prose Merlin, the eponymous Silence, Yde in Huon of Bordeaux, Ariosto's Bradamante and Spenser's Britomart - women who find themselves in a situation analogous to the hero's quest in romance are most often victims rather than agents, compelled to leave the safety of their own homes and at other people's mercy. The lone woman at large in romance is more likely to be cast adrift in a rudderless boat than to choose to follow the call of adventure" (53). Now, Cooper has undoubtedly read more romance than me. That was a frustrating point of this book, that I didn't have the context to always be able to knowingly agree with the generalizations. Sometimes I granted it to her on faith.
But, and maybe I've read the romances that are exceptional to this, I think the opposition between agent and victim is a false one. Women are often empowered through the quest, and often undertake a line of action that can be considered a quest. I think of the frequent times that women accompany and initiate quests in Le Morte Darthur. If the space they traverse is dangerous, it is not masculine, since they often show themselves to be better at reading the landscape than the males are. Reading women's journeys as quests in fact alleviates the interpretive problems with some romances, since it allows one to recover senses of motive and development that remain lost when the assumed quester remains a man.
For example, The Weddynge of Sir Gawayne and Dame Ragnell only became fruitful for my studies when I realized that the questing figure here is as much Dame Ragnell as King Arthur. Choice isn't a qualification for questing either - neither Dame Ragnell, Arthur, nor Gawain choose the situations they find themselves in. Instead, a quest is about seeking an end that might be unknown, which promises development and worship to the successful pursuant. Ragnell seeks a reversal of the curse that renders her sexuality into a lewdness that then gets displayed in all of her features. To do this, she must find a husband that will grant her her own sexual autonomy, what women in the poem really want. The curse is perhaps a reflection of the common claim that women could not be trusted or virtuous if they were unchaste, and the related claim that no woman can be unchaste in spirit. The hag is the feared reflection of this paranoia, the representative of unrestrained sexuality improperly applied. Gawain is offered the choice of whether she should be ugly during the day or ugly at night. When her own choice is respected, her sexuality is not a cause for lewdness at all, and she is no longer subject to the misogynistic claims that her sexuality is both inevitable and dangerous. Because she is trusted with the decision by her husband, she is truthful, and her beauty shows for Gawain and for everyone at court. The quest logic forms an instantiation in this case of a querelle des femmes debate that relates indirectly to Christine de Pisan and directly to Chaucer, particularly his Wife of Bath, who tells a similar tale after a lengthy prologue that refutes many misogynistic claims. Where the Wife of Bath walks the line of sincerity and parody (though a flawed character could be right in sentiment and wrong in action), Weddynge strikes me as supporting the women's side of the debate.
That's an easy example, because the question is built right into the poem. I think that the woman's quest is often obscured because it is conflated with magic. Quests often get defined by the tools that are used in them, sword and shield and lance and horse and helm and armor and the rest. Magic also forms an important tool, though one that too easily falls into the background. Magic often gets treated as a suspected art, which is used to support or hinder a knight's quests, often without motivation outside of mischief. Think of Morgan le Fay in Malory, showing up to entrap Lancelot randomly. Lyonet is not remembered for her sagacity in guiding Gareth towards the proper way to be a knight, but for the weird magic she pulls that preserves her sister's and his chastity. When women are involved in a quest, they are often wielders of magic. If we interpret their concerns as the material for a quest though, I think that magic and enchantment combine with a more general skill, that of knowledge and sagacity in general. Reading, even reading a situation, is after all a form of magic - grammar, glamour, and grimoire all having the same root.
So, summarily, I agree with most of Cooper's arguments in the book, but she touched a sore point here. I think that women are more agents than victims in many cases, and quite often a combination of both that really renders them worthy of neither name. In some cases, I would even say that the woman quester is the one that earns the most success and renown. (Perhaps Ragnell had to die so that Gawain would remain the most renowned unattached knight.)
Saint's Life and Romance
I liked her tendency on pages like 124, in the chapter on sea voyages, of comparing legendaries and hagiographies to the romance. I don't really have anything deeper to say here, except that I think the common points between the two are far more common than is typically allowed, particularly in the motifs they tend to trade. They might be somewhat restricted in the different context, but I feel like saints' lives are set aside because we want to mark a distinction between the miraculous and the fictional that may not have been a firm boundary back then.
Women and Enchantment
Whoops, guess I returned here again after getting a lot of my fire out at first. The page I noted (160) discusses perceptions of witchcraft before shifting to a history of Morgan. I wonder why here Cooper is perfectly willing to delve into heroines and their history, but elsewhere is reluctant to conflate such heroines with the quest as an archetypal narrative function. But when I do write on enchantment, I want to return here. Best point: "Witchcraft in the Middle Ages was taken to be an act, not a state, and it was an act that was at least as likely to be performed by men as by women" (160).
Rapacious Sexuality and Antifeminism
Okay, so my notes really did follow a common trajectory. I just liked the example given by Tom a Lincoln of disruptive sexuality on 391. I also liked the example of suspicion given a little later on 398, from The Knight of Curtesy and the Fair Lady of Faguell, except this time the husband's jealousy is unfounded, and ends when he makes his wife die after she eats her best friend's heart. And on that note...
One More Note: C.S. Lewis
Wow, the guy really doesn't get any favor in this book. Mainly it is his depiction of love that is at dispute, one that assumes that an affair must happen extramaritally for there to be a relationship of love. In other words, C.S. Lewis assumes that Andreas Capellanus is the normative influence int he medieval period, when that might not be the case.
Showing posts with label gender. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gender. Show all posts
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Thomas Campion
1567-1620. He was one of those jacks-of-all-trades, law student, ;physician, composer, and writer. He preferred Latin for poetic form. He has a sweet lyrical quality, even though his topic material is sometimes controversial - e.g., rape.
"My sweetest Lesbia"
Sextet of three couplets, iambic pentameter. The speaker urges the lover to "live and love" even though that might not be wise. A carpe diem sort of poem. Second stanza claims that those that war are the true fools, not those that love. Third stanza repeats the theme of death - people should celebrate after the speaker dies. Last two lines are confusing - does Lesbia die with him, or merely usher him into death?
"I care not for these ladies"
Balladic repetition - 10 lines per stanza, last four repeat. Resists noblewomen who demand so much wealth, turning instead to simple "kind Amaryllis, / The wanton country maid." Pun intended there. Trade of goods in second stanza - the speaker wants to receive goods, not have to give "golden showers." (Har.) Idyllic about Amaryllis. The last four lines repeat a story of seizure, refusal, and then relenting once "we come where comfort is." It's disturbing, as it suggests that he partly wants Amaryllis because she is easy to both love and to simply take.
"When to her lute Corinna sings"
Two sextets, couplet rhyme. Iambic tetrameter. Beautiful overflow at the end of the first stanza, "Ev'n with her sighs the strings do break," "Ev'n" evoking the overflow into mourning. Sympathetic reactions between player, music, and finally the listener, who is also the speaker, and perhaps seeking to impart a similar reaction by retelling it.
"Now winter nights enlarge"
ababcdcdefef, iambic trimeter with a pentameter skip at the penultimate lines of two 12-line stanzas. Unlike many poems that lament winter, this features the turning inward into pockets of warmth and human society. Talk, dally, dance, riddle, lyricize - "Though Love and all his pleasures are but toys, / They shorten tedious nights."
"There is a garden in her face"
ababcc, iambic tetrameter. Along with lyricizing the addressee's face, the poet also has the refrain, "Till 'Cherry ripe!' themselves do cry." Who are "themselves," the suitors judging the "fruit" to be done, or the maid herself, ready to become a woman? The ambiguity plays with the voice of the poet too - does he want to declare her ready? Does the London street vendor cry, ushered from her or their lips, empower her, sell her, or do something else entirely?
"Fain would I wed"
Fourteener - fourteen syllables, seven beats. In a young woman's voice. She longs to move, and seeks men to love and satisfy her, but she never is able to love for long. She will turn to a convent eventually, but wryly implies that first she will become a mother, just like her mother before her. Part cyclical, part unrestrained, the voice of the woman is not at all subdued as one might assume from his other prose. Not that this assumption is correct - one might imagine that this is now Campion's Amaryllis, given the additional dimension of choice. She, too, wants sex, but she changes her mind frequently about who tolove.
"My sweetest Lesbia"
Sextet of three couplets, iambic pentameter. The speaker urges the lover to "live and love" even though that might not be wise. A carpe diem sort of poem. Second stanza claims that those that war are the true fools, not those that love. Third stanza repeats the theme of death - people should celebrate after the speaker dies. Last two lines are confusing - does Lesbia die with him, or merely usher him into death?
"I care not for these ladies"
Balladic repetition - 10 lines per stanza, last four repeat. Resists noblewomen who demand so much wealth, turning instead to simple "kind Amaryllis, / The wanton country maid." Pun intended there. Trade of goods in second stanza - the speaker wants to receive goods, not have to give "golden showers." (Har.) Idyllic about Amaryllis. The last four lines repeat a story of seizure, refusal, and then relenting once "we come where comfort is." It's disturbing, as it suggests that he partly wants Amaryllis because she is easy to both love and to simply take.
"When to her lute Corinna sings"
Two sextets, couplet rhyme. Iambic tetrameter. Beautiful overflow at the end of the first stanza, "Ev'n with her sighs the strings do break," "Ev'n" evoking the overflow into mourning. Sympathetic reactions between player, music, and finally the listener, who is also the speaker, and perhaps seeking to impart a similar reaction by retelling it.
"Now winter nights enlarge"
ababcdcdefef, iambic trimeter with a pentameter skip at the penultimate lines of two 12-line stanzas. Unlike many poems that lament winter, this features the turning inward into pockets of warmth and human society. Talk, dally, dance, riddle, lyricize - "Though Love and all his pleasures are but toys, / They shorten tedious nights."
"There is a garden in her face"
ababcc, iambic tetrameter. Along with lyricizing the addressee's face, the poet also has the refrain, "Till 'Cherry ripe!' themselves do cry." Who are "themselves," the suitors judging the "fruit" to be done, or the maid herself, ready to become a woman? The ambiguity plays with the voice of the poet too - does he want to declare her ready? Does the London street vendor cry, ushered from her or their lips, empower her, sell her, or do something else entirely?
"Fain would I wed"
Fourteener - fourteen syllables, seven beats. In a young woman's voice. She longs to move, and seeks men to love and satisfy her, but she never is able to love for long. She will turn to a convent eventually, but wryly implies that first she will become a mother, just like her mother before her. Part cyclical, part unrestrained, the voice of the woman is not at all subdued as one might assume from his other prose. Not that this assumption is correct - one might imagine that this is now Campion's Amaryllis, given the additional dimension of choice. She, too, wants sex, but she changes her mind frequently about who tolove.
A Glossing of Arthuriana
Haught, Leah. "Gender and Genre in The Awntyrs off Arthure." Arthuriana 20.1, 2010. 3-19.
The author is currently writing a dissertation on discourses of failure in late medieval Arthurian romance, a topic that intrigues me. The focus of this piece is on the first part of the poem, where Guenevere talks to the ghost of her mother. Gawain is also present. The ghost prophesies Arthur and Guenevere's fall, but the method of transmission (a female voice) gets silenced and subdued all the more easily because of what it is, as each figure chooses to live obliviously. The point is a little unclear - she does not seem to be completely sure what historical point is being inevitably affirmed here - that we see the fall coming but fall into it anyway?
Otherwise, well-written, takes note of the intertextuality linking it. Good fun.
(Also, Helen Cooper's article in the same volume is good, if brief. See p. 90-95-ish, where she explains and analyzes the differences between editions of Malory for the student and scholar. The Norton edition comes out as the most accessible overall, but Vinaver/Field is more comprehensive, and Armstrong's is perhaps more accessible to the introductory student.)
And in 20.2, a couple of interesting book reviews, including one for Sian Echard, Printing the Middle Ages, about the post-medieval trajectory of printed facsimiles of medieval text, and the desire to print these even when the audience seems otherwise obscure.
The author is currently writing a dissertation on discourses of failure in late medieval Arthurian romance, a topic that intrigues me. The focus of this piece is on the first part of the poem, where Guenevere talks to the ghost of her mother. Gawain is also present. The ghost prophesies Arthur and Guenevere's fall, but the method of transmission (a female voice) gets silenced and subdued all the more easily because of what it is, as each figure chooses to live obliviously. The point is a little unclear - she does not seem to be completely sure what historical point is being inevitably affirmed here - that we see the fall coming but fall into it anyway?
Otherwise, well-written, takes note of the intertextuality linking it. Good fun.
(Also, Helen Cooper's article in the same volume is good, if brief. See p. 90-95-ish, where she explains and analyzes the differences between editions of Malory for the student and scholar. The Norton edition comes out as the most accessible overall, but Vinaver/Field is more comprehensive, and Armstrong's is perhaps more accessible to the introductory student.)
And in 20.2, a couple of interesting book reviews, including one for Sian Echard, Printing the Middle Ages, about the post-medieval trajectory of printed facsimiles of medieval text, and the desire to print these even when the audience seems otherwise obscure.
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