Trauma Theory

I guess it doesn't get any more straightforward than that. In my American Lit class we're discussing Trauma Theory, but not nearly as in depth as I'd like. Due to pregnancy the professor originally designated to teach the course has been replaced by a different one at (what I believe was) the last minute. I'm not sure if the first professor intended to have more information to incorporate on trauma theory or not, but apparently due to some undersight on the replacement's part we're not getting much exposure to it. I feel like she totally teased us with the concept today and it's frustrating, so I've done some quick searches on my own time.

Sad thing is not a lot of information is available on the Internet unless it pertains to physical trauma or post-traumatic stress disorder. I'd like to look at the history of trauma theory. I know it didn't start to emerge until after World War I, with Modernism, mainly because people needed a new vocabulary to discuss these new experiences. No one had ever witnessed or lived through such horrible events, because so many new weapons and war technology were developed with WWI. The term "basket case" refers to a quadruple amputee, someone who literally had to be carried in a basket, for instance. The concept of "Shell shocked" also came out of the first World War. Trauma was another of the WWI vocabulary words, which kind of came to replace "shell shocked." Soldiers returning from the front lines (why the hell is my roommate listening to "Can't Fight The Moonlight" from Coyote Ugly so loud? It's not such a great song. Honestly.) would have flashbacks, vivid memories they couldn't control, forced to relive the horrific events over and over without any ability to stop it. Now we see this happens quite often after many emotionally or physically difficult situations: bad car accidents, muggings/robberies, physical and sexual assault, and the list goes on.

The only way to stop the flashbacks and the unexpected reliving and reexperiencing is to externalize and get others to bear witness to the trauma. Most trauma theory deals with the Holocaust, such as the examples we had in class today. Working through the traumatic event means telling the story to another individual, usually through spoken or written word. The Painted Bird is an example of this. That book was almost traumatic for me personally as I read it, I can only imagine how it must have been to first live the experiences and then write them down. Jerzy Kosinski did live through the Holocaust, though not everything in The Painted Bird is his personal experience, but rather inspired by retellings of true events that did happen to young children in the Polish countryside during WWII. It's listed as fiction, rather than autobiography. But the novel in a significant way does serve as Kosinski's testimony to the horrors he and others experienced, thereby creating witnesses out of all who read it. My professor at that time mentioned "suffering" a lot. I would really like to look at it in terms of trauma as well. I honestly still remember certain portions of the book and how difficult they were to read, and remain convinced I probably won't ever forget them completely. Not many other books have been so well preserved in my mind. I couldn't read it before bed, or I'd get nightmares.

That in no way is meant to be a warning or caution against reading the book. I actually fully recommend it. But be aware of what you'd be getting yourself into should you decide to try The Painted Bird, and that it will not in any way be a fun or easy read. The language is not complicated, but the subject matter is far from pleasant or easy. I feel also that I should point out none of the story takes place in a concentration camp. You've never read anything like it before. I guarantee.

This has kind of gotten off track, as I'm prone to do. But I wanted to make note of my interest in trauma theory in literature, and also under the umbrella of women's' issues. Sorry to say I don't have any solid links or leads to provide or keep record of yet, but this is something I plan to come back to. Even moreso than Postmodernism. If anyone who reads this comes across any trauma theory links or information, by all means leave a comment, I'd love to see it.

One final thing. My professor talked about the difference between Modernists and Postmodernists. To paraphrase:

"Modernists were so completely shocked by the events of WWI they almost became nihilistic, nothing meant anything because we were all going to die horribly from bombs and stuff... Postmodernists were a little bit out there, kind of funky. Like 'Yeah... nothing means anything, but isn't that kind of cool? I mean, who cares?'"

I had to laugh. And now I'm finished for the evening.

Love, luck and lollipops,

Commenting

It was brought to my attention that I had my comment feature set so that only those with a blog on Blogger.com could post a reply. I've just changed my settings, so feel free to retaliate, agree or what have you in the comments. The change should be universal to all my entries, and not just apply for future posts, so if there is something you've been dying to say and yet unable to go ahead and look through my (rather small) archive.

Let me also state that a full weekend of non-school activities and a three hour drive home on Sunday night (I walked in my door at 11:20 PM) do not help one write a paper worthy of consideration for a passing grade. I'm prone to procrastination, but when I start a paper as soon as I walk in the door, work on it until 1:45 AM (in which time I crank out three solid pages), go to work at 10 AM and then return to said paper -- that's ridiculous even for me. Especially when it's a research paper that requires four outside sources (Wikipedia, the Lazy Man's resource, you are my friend) which I had not bothered to look for. It's really disgraceful for an English major to use Wikipedia as a primary source. But this isn't for an English class, so we'll just ignore the erratic (at best) accuracy of Wikipedia's information. In other words, don't do this to yourself. Venti Starbuck's coffees will take you only so far before you're more interested in picking microscopic fuzz off of your sweater than typing a comprehensible sentence.

And if you do anticipate a situation like this in your future, at least try to pick a simpler paper topic than Fullmetal Alchemist (in all of its 51 episode, plus two hour feature length movie glory) and self-sacrifice in Asian cultures. Go with something a little easier to spit out in five pages, like Kill Bill vol. 2 and samurai swords. Jesus.

Cialis evokes irritation in twenty-something feminist

This will be brief because I only have about fifteen minutes. I realized upon reviewing an older entry (involving Pruitans and why I loathe Secretary) that I never explained why Cialis is on my List of Things Which Irritate Me as a Young Thinking Woman. So now I'll fix that.

What bothers me most is that erectile dysfuntion, the reason a man would need to take this medication, is only said at most once throughout a commercial for Cialis. Every other mention it's shortened to "E.D." What the hell is that? In my circled "e.d." is short for "eating disorder," but of course we won't have a commerical about eating disorders and how to get help for them. We as a society refuse to even talk about eating disorders, unless VH1 runs some haphazard special about "Dangerous Celebrity Diets: an inside look." Now the new term for 'eating disorder' will morph and evolve into "DCD" because eating disorders are a problem like alcoholism and drug addiction that always happen to "someone else." My tangent needs to refocus, so back to Cialis. The problem is that it's public admission that the cock is not all-powerful and invincible. WE CAN'T HAVE THAT ON TELEVISION! So actually saying the name of the disorder, a perfectly reasonable health condition that no one needs to be ashamed of (but still are) is something we as a society steer away from. Instead we shorten it to 'e.d.' in order to avoid addressing the issue. Women like me might start getting strange, crazy ideas that maybe we've been investing a little too much stock in what makes a man physically male.
Honestly, have you seen Magnolia? Tom Cruise's character, the warped motivational speaker actually stomps and struts across his stage shouting things like "RESPECT THE COCK!" WHY SHOULD I? sometimes begs to be shouted back. It really doesn't mean anything at all. Because without women to put the cock into, there really isn't any point to the cock at all. But Cialis wants to try and keep us mindful, or at least help us ignore, that "the cock" is an organ that can get old along with the human it's attached to. Not very glorious. But if it isn't glorified, there's less reason to worship it.

All I'm saying is language is important, and the absense or omission of words can be very significant. It's another instance in which people don't even realize it. They just continue with their day. No one but myself, that I'm aware of, are at all offended by Cialis commercials, or any other erectile dysfunction medication ads. Why? Because that's how they want it -- they keep it subtle enough that you're more annoyed you've got to sit through the commercial in your wait for the conclusion of "CSI:" than by what the commercial actually says. Or doesn't say.

Fate is just another word for "Denial of Responsibility"

Or, Why I Really Loathe Romeo and Juliet.

I know, blasphemy, right? An English major who hates a Shakespeare play. There are several reasons for my dislike, however. And every other Shakespeare play I've read I've either enjoyed and respected or at least tolerated. Sometimes I'm just not in the mood to read a damn sonnet, okay? That's pretty much why I'm not planning to become a Shakespeare scholar. First let me state that, (and I am quite possibly being a complete pretentious asshole here) it's okay not to like Shakespeare. At least I think it is. I mean, I think it's important, hugely important in fact, to study his works. But honestly, I think we should all stop acting like it's a mortal sin to dislike Shakespeare in any way, shape or form. You heard me. I walked around feeling a secret sense of horrible shame because I really dislike Romeo and Juliet. As an English major I thought that made me a bad person. Okay, kids, No. NO. Shakespeare was a dude, okay? Not a god or even a demi-god. He was a human being who wrote plays. Most of them extremely brilliant, but there's also argument that he had help. So stop worshipping him, or pretending you do because you think you're supposed to. On the flip side, don't disregard him completely. I know we all groan in high school when we're assigned our first Shakespeare play because it's supposed to be so "hard." There is a lot going on in these plays and a lot to learn from them, especially at the college level. I'm not saying we should ignore Shakespeare cos he's all old and dead and irrelevent now. I'm saying tone it down a bit. Crikey.

Now onto why I really dislike R&J. Yeah, I'm so tight with this play I use initials. Really I'm just lazy and don't like typing on this keyboard (it's not my Model M, for the record, but an Apple that The Boyfriend found at work, used until it was like typing in a bowl of oatmeal and then passed off to me so I wouldn't keep the entire apartment complex awake until 4 AM typing on the IBM -- right now my roommate is watching the Disney Channel [no "Kim Possible" tonight, bummer!] and I don't want to disturb that. I may hate a Shakespeare play, but I'm not rude). Okay, now that I've had an extremely long and unnecessary aside about keyboards, the play and why I hate it. I use the word hate. And mean it. I loathe this play. Part of that stems from the fact that it was my first experience with Shakespeare (but note it didn't turn me off from Shakespeare completely!), Freshman year of high school. We spent an entire semester on the first four acts and then one week on act five. I sat there thinking "Um, lady, can we move on? I mean, don't we have the Odyssey to read and crap?" Even back then I remember the relief when it was over. I actually said to my classmate that I was glad they died because I was sick of reading their lines and it also meant the play was over and we could do other things. I still stand by that statement!

If you've been following along through the entire course of this Textual adventure, you've probably realized I'm not the most ... compassionate of women at some times. I really have no compassion for these two horny idiots. The play as a tragedy is completely moot to me because I don't feel sad or pity or fear or anything else I'm "supposed" to feel. I'm sorry, but you don't fall in love by touching a chick's hand. Even some of the dumbest people I know at least wait a few months before getting married. And then there is the real problem, the factor I take most issue with: Fate.

I've just recently read Romeo and Juliet again for a class on Shakespeare and the Movies and this time around not only was I completely irritated by the fact that Romeo and Juliet obviously fall prey to that oh so common misconception and believe lust is true love (I've done that, and it's not recommended -- I'm sure if they had taken a little breather they would have come back about a month later and said things like "Hark, um. Yeeeeah... Did we sign a prenup?") but the entire course of action throughout the play is placed in the hands of FATE. No. Okay, I honestly think there are some things beyond our control. But in this situation they suffer the consequences of their own horny actions! But we're basically fed some crap about how it was all none of their fault because it couldn't be helped because they're "star crossed." Spare me. Can't you hear Carlos Mencia making that "deet deet deet" noise? I do. Everything that leads up to their deaths is their own doing. They don't even KNOW one another and they go sneak off and get married. The only thing they actually have in common (that WE, the all-knowing audience, even know of) is that they're both really horny and their parts fit together. Horniness is not inherently bad -- none of us would be here if people didn't get horny. But when people mistake it for deep and meaningful emotional connections, THAT'S A PROBLEM.

So really, I don't feel bad at all for Romeo and Juliet. If you're going to be a dumb ass, chances are some dumb ass things will happen to you. Like you'll trust some batshit friar who grows a poison garden and decide a shotgun marriage after touching some dude's hand is a really great idea. Then you'll die. Because stupid people DIE IN STUPID WAYS.

Cheers from the SoapBox,

Following Through

I said I wanted to post here at least every other day, didn't I? Obviously I have a problem following through. I hope this will not be as much of a problem in the future, seeing how I've got Internet at my apartment now. There was a slight snafu because I didn't have a wireless card, but it's been taken care of with the aid of my brilliant boyfriend. I'll refrain from using emoticons in this blog. This is serious business, we don't have time for colin and parentheses smiley faces! I've realized through looking over old posts that mostly what I've done up to now is talk about what I want to do with this, but never actually done any of it. Tonight, readers, that will change. I'm going to attempt to transcribe some handwritten musings done on the train. Bear with me, I may not be able to read my own handwriting.

Rather than read a melodramatic Puritan woman's diary recounting her capture by Indians, I've decided to sequester myself in the Sightseer Lounge on the City of New Orleans Amtrak so I might record some ponderings. Given the callous manner in which I wrote off a poor woman captive's suffering you'd probably surmise that henceforth I'll employ a, shall we say, "catty" tone throughout this excersise.

For starters, let me defend my opinion of said Puritan woman. I don't pretend to understand her situation. All I have is this recount, and while I try to keep an open mind as I read, I often find myself distracted by how whiney she comes off in her writing. Most of this comes from the fact that she and I are from completely different periods in history, and therefore societies and mindsets. My overall reaction to her story in general is annoyance. The Puritan beliefs in God are extremely prevelant in the diary, and that gets on my nerves as well. She comes off as a completely helpless and weak individual, always hoping for death to end her misery, but O! the divind providence of God ensure that her feet don't get wet in the brook.

I'm losing my point here. I understand and appreciate the reason for this text. But I seem to find it impossible to shed my own more modern views of reality in order to really sympathise with her as I feel I'm supposed to. The truth is I'm bored with her constant lamentations, and from that experience a sense of guilt about my cold heartedness. I don't think of myself as a mean of heartless person (though I sometimes joke about being a card carrying member of Heartless Bitches International) I just have a strong aversion to women who I percieve as incapable or unwilling. I try to keep the book in context of its time period, but always find myself frustrated by this woman's portrayal.

Now for an extremely choppy transition.

During a conversation with a friend I realized the real reason I hate the movie Seceretary, and why commercials for medication like Cialis get on my every last nerve. We live in a totally cock-worshipping society. Seceretary, to me, reinforces that. OF COURSE a main stream movie involving the S&M subculture had to feature a male dominant and a female submissive -- no one would 'get it' otherwise. Instead it serves as a reinforcement of archaic gender stereotypes that our society should have shed a long time ago. The movie, in a strong sense, says that women exist as subordinant to men, to serve them, and then let them fuck us at the end of the day, IF we performed our other services satisfactorilly! Look at it -- she's his seceretary, that's extremely significant. His occupation in relation to hers already puts him in a position of superiority, not to mention the "classic" stereotype of women secretaries -- ditzy blondes who file their nails and can't work a phone, sometimes women who struggle to be independednt but can't due to restrictions society puts on her gender. She does his filing, gets his coffee -- generally serves his needs throughout the day. Then, after she follows all of his arbitrary and demeaning orders, her ward is James Spader cock. Gross. At the end of the day the film only reaffirms the tired notion that women ARE inferior and need to be told what to do.

This isn't so much a problem for people familiar with the concepts and basic rules of BDSM, but a vast majority of people AREN'T. to the average person, this film is a representation of women's overall submission to men, whether they realize it or not. Despite the fact that 50% of men in the S&M subculture are submissive, the film had to represent a female submissive because the average movie goer would not have been able to understand or accept the reverse. This is due to the fact that the movie reinforces and represents notions about gender roles that are widely accepted, and I feel are completely fucking oudated.

I swear I'm going to grow up to be a feminist critic.

Back So Soon?

Well kids, it's been quite some time since I've been possessed by the strange urge to update Textual Confusion. No matter, I've got one post saved as a draft, in need of revision and additions before I post it, and also another subject entirely that I want to get into. That topic is graduation and what may or may not happen after undergrad is finished. Doesn't that sound rather unrelated to confusing texts? Slightly, but it's not, trust me. I'm an English major. I can relate anything to anything. I've toyed with some ideas recently on what I should do after graduation, because it's not too far off (two terms at a college that operates on the trimester system) and I need a plan of action. My boyfriend (who is not asleep in bed as I write this, but probably walking home from work and contemplating the state of dissarray the brick sidewalk is in, while I'm a couple hundred miles north of him in my school library) suggested something that nearly caused a reaction not unlie Pavlov's dogs at the ring of a bell: Gender studies in grad school. Of course this was after I mentioned I have a sense I'll grow up to be a feminist critic, and then we had a nice little discussion about how Gender Studies used to be called Women's Studies, but it sounded sexist so it was changed. Honestly in undergrad I feel like most of the upper level English classes I take are gender studies courses, because if there's some sort of focus it will have "women" in the title. Right now for example it's "American Literature: Women and War" -- dealing with female authors who wrote about wartime. Last year it was "African American Women Writers." It's not bothering me, I quite enjoy it, which is why I think I'll continue in the area. Especially when I look at things I write in my notebooks outside of class while I've got nothing to do but think and kill time. Why not record some of those thoughts?

A couple of weeks ago I took a train to visit the boyfriend and it was a perfect example of not a whole lot to do except think and look out the window. Looking out the window didn't get anybody anywhere, however, unless you enjoy staring into a never ending, inky blakness. So I decided to write some things down, and really want to keep them and evolve them; pull them apart and glue them back together in other places, poke deeper and explore. I so far have three pages and a few lines of handwritten psychobabble that I'd like to transcribe to this blog (at another time) so they're more accessable in the electronic format. I'd also like to try and post here at least once every day or every two days. I need to keep in a habit of writing daily and thinking about things and connecting things. I was severely out of practice with that for a few months and my brain felt dilapidated. Once school started up again I realized that your mind is a muscle and it needs excersise. One professor I had where we read a lot of theory (mostly post-modernism, as I've stated before) would give us microthemes, or weekly one paged, single spaced papers. They sound easy, but they reall are not. If a fellow student ever asks me "What is it like to have him for Critical Methods?" my response will be something along the lines of: "It's a mind fuck of a class. He literally asks questions that you write about which will make tears in your mind and your understanding of reality and your place in the world. But then you have some time to let that heal over. Just like weight lifting, when the muscle tears with the strain of the weight, but it heals over and you create strength and muscle mass. Your mind is a muscle, too. So his class is like mental weight lifting." Laziness is not just a physical state, friends. And now that school is back in session, I'm all excited about making connections and observations and theories in the realm of literature (and sometimes film) -- so look forward to more from me, your somewhat haphazard narrator,

Simulacra ahoy!

Well kiddies, it's been a while since Textual Confusion has gotten any attention from yours truly, but I feel it's time to muck about with some borderline pretentious theoretical ramblings, yeah?

Much has happened since the last post, however not much of it relates to the nature of this blog. Oh boo hoo. Anyway, I'm staying with the boy full time until mid-August and at one point he was out of town for a week. Oh my, an entire week? Whatever shall an overly neurotic, unemployed lit major with a strong affection for overanalysis to with herself? Read Wikipedia, of course! I should note here that I did a stint at my grandparents' house for a short while and had few friends, so I would occupy myself by reading this amazing gigantic old dictionary Grandma's got. So, it's only natural for me to piss around on an encyclopedia Web site, yeah? Let's be honest, kids, Wikipedia is the lazy man's resource. I love it. It's so adorable.

I had a bee in my bonnet because The Boy was headed off to a friend's house to watch James Bond. The nerve! Not sitting around at home to entertain me on GAIM. After much huffing and puffing and nasty statements like "I hope James Bond sucks and you regret going" I gave up the fight and began to look into something we'd discussed in Critical Methods: Simulacra. Oh I was in heaven. So much in heaven. I don't really have much to say about it right now, because it's been about two weeks since I was waist deep in the stuff, but make note that I will return to discuss it further. Should have posted here a while ago, but sadly I admit that I kind of forgot about dear old Textual Confusion. I think myself and The Boy are the only people who even have any idea that it exists.

For now, however, my dears I'll leave you with a link. An amazing link. Something to cherish, read and re-read. This link is called The Huge Entity and I highly recommend you check it out. Especially the article on RealDolls and cybersex in relation to Simulacra. Fantastic stuff, that.

'Till next time,
Yours Truly,