Persuasion - An Evolution of Ideals

In Persuasion, Jane Austen reveals the horrifying living conditions faced by members of the elite, wealthy class in early nineteenth century England. The Elliots’ story, as told by this novel, is a dismal one. Through Sir Walter Elliot especially, the baronet of Kellynch Hall who is solely responsible for the weighty burden of heading his town’s social and political pyramid, Austen assures readers that life for this encumbered citizen was, undoubtedly, not a party. Or was it? This mature work actually pokes fun at the lavishness and extravagance of those who dominated England’s late feudal society. In this novel, Austen employs exaggeration often to distort social ridiculousness and to signify changing ideals in her society.

Sir Walter Elliot is perhaps one of the most notable characters in Persuasion because he epitomizes the over-the-top lifestyle that he and many others in his social circle embrace. Austen is not subtle in portraying his narcissism, even going so far as to say “Vanity was the beginning and end of Sir Walter Elliot’s character” (Austen 2). Sir Walter, a man whose favorite book detailed his own history, and whose dressing room was layered with mirrors, was assuredly in love with himself. In contrast, Captain Frederick Wentworth and Admiral Croft are both men who have made a living on their own and have achieved social rank through their service to their navy. Austen’s exaggerated, effeminate portrayal of Sir Walter in juxtaposition to the characterization of these rough’n ready men signals a changing ideal of the gentleman: where men inherently of class and of title, such as Sir Walter, were once regarded as true English men, Austen points out that those who rose to their social rank by their own merits, such as Wentworth and Croft, were becoming increasingly respected as the true gentlemen of the time.

Moreover, Austen employs satirical elements to illustrate the meshing of private and public spheres. This blend is primarily achieved through the characters Admiral Croft and Mrs. Croft. Where women typically resided in the private sphere, committing to household activities and domestic chores, men resided in the public sphere, possibly working in a trade and earning money for the household. The apparently equal dynamic between Admiral Croft and Mrs. Croft, however, signifies an overlap of these traditionally separate spheres. Mrs. Croft accompanies Admiral Croft on his naval tours, and Admiral Croft is happy to help Mrs. Croft around the house. This relationship is symbolized by their partnership in driving the carriage, a role usually upheld by solely the husband. Instead, the Crofts share the reigns equally. In this unlikely relationship, Austen utilizes dramatic irony as Admiral Croft is an esteemed naval officer who would have been more likely to value tradition than change.

Therefore, we can see through the examples of Sir Walter, Captain Wentworth, and the Crofts that Austen’s society was very much rooted in the changing ideal of the gentleman and the meshing of the public and private domains.

Works Cited

Austen, Jane. Persuasion. Dover Publications, Inc. Mineola, New York. 1997. Print.

The Phantom of Smooth Talk

     The Smooth Talk experience was like stopping by the local high school to watch their production of Phantom of the Opera and the actor playing the Phantom had a bad encounter with the puberty fairy the night before, such that each song he sings is riddled with embarrassing voice cracks and every other transition he stumbles over the set pieces, occasionally tripping over his own cape and dropping his mask to reveal an acne-ridden, shock-covered face. Only Smooth Talk was 10 times funnier and 100 times more cringe-worthy. Besides the poor acting, this visual representation of Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been by Joyce Carol Oates is to be applauded…up until the ending.

     I appreciate Smooth Talk for its relative truth to the story through the vast majority of the film. Details are preserved so much so that the short story and the film flow in a similar direction (no scenes are reversed or omitted) and even key pieces of dialogue from the short story are repeated in the film. Additionally, the movie provides visual and auditory components, artistic elements that together create a whole dimension that the short story lacks. Brenda O. Daly in her essay “An Unfilmable Conclusion: Joyce Carol Oates at the Movies” expresses concern for “spatial limitations and invasions of personal space in Chopra’s film” (Daly). I find this point very intriguing because it makes me consider the unexplored auditory component of the film. Just like we can’t literally see the action when reading the story, neither can we hear the dialogue or the orchestra’s input. Generally, I recall that tense scenes, such as when Arnold was trying to lure Connie from her home, were scored with minor dips and eerie overtones, all elements that relate well in creating fear, a phenomenon that the story alone could not accomplish. Besides creating a mood, these specific tones hold a particular association to this story. Minor chords are generally composed of notes that are close to one another, to create crunchiness. Just as Arnold invades Connie’s space, these minor chords sound louder and louder, and the notes collide with one another just as Arnold’s presence collides with Connie’s.

     However, this dark musical layering does little to compensate for the atrocious ending of the film. In the short story, Oates concludes with the image of Connie drifting from her house, “moving out into the sunlight where Arnold Friend waited” (Oates). Readers are left to imagine what happens next for Connie. This absence of information in itself induces that cliff-hanging feeling that makes the story seem so mysterious yet so enjoyable. I held on tightly to the belief that Arnold Friend, a seasoned seducer and assassin, murdered Connie. But for all we know, she was taken to a nearby candy store to buy a bag of jellybeans. In contrast, Smooth Talk abandons all previous notions of the story’s ending in exchange for director Joyce Chopra’s preferred ending. In her conclusion, Arnold takes Connie to a nearby field where he most likely rapes her and returns her home where she has moments of atonement with her mother and her sister. While it is unclear whether Arnold actually rapes Connie in the field, the filler at the end when she returns home to her family is explicit enough to discourage non-literary viewers from imagining their own endings.

     So, what could have made Smooth Talk much more palatable and redeemed its lack of substantial acting is a more open ending. But until another film revival of Where are You Going, Where Have You Been, this awkward-Phantom-esque portrayal will have to do.

Works Cited

Daly, Brenda O. "An Unfilmable Conclusion: Joyce Carol Oates at the Movies." The Journal of Popular Culture 23.3 (1989): 101-14. Print.Oates, Joyce Carol. “Where are you going, where have you been?” New Brunswick, N.J: Rutgers University Press, 1994. Print.
Smooth Talk. Dir. Joyce Chopra. Perf. Treat Williams and Laura Dern. International Spectrafilm, 1985. DVD.

Who Needs a Map in Fairyland?

“Where are You Going, Where Have You Been?” by Joyce Carol Oates details the horrifying encounter of an adolescent girl named Connie with an older man named Arnold Friend. Connie, symbolic of the typical 1960s female rebel, enjoys a summer filled with late nights out with her friends and visits to a teen-populated restaurant. It is one fateful visit to this restaurant in which she collides with Arnold Friend, sending her life spiraling. As the story progresses, readers become increasingly aware of Arnold’s sexual agenda with this ‘innocent’ teenage girl. Gretchen Schulz and R.J.R Rockwood in their essay “In Fairyland without a Map: Connie’s Exploration Inward in Joyce Carol Oate’s ‘Where are You Going, Where Have You Been?’” comment that Connie’s lack of fairy tale narratives in her life has undermined “society’s…cultural obligation to provide what is needed to help the adolescent make it safely through to adulthood” (Schulz et al). Consequently, she is seduced into leaving the familiarity of her home to join Arnold Friend.

While I agree with Schulz and Rockwood that Oates alludes to a number of fairy-tales that echo all too familiar motifs, I totally oppose their position that Connie should have been guided by these tales’ morals. Instead, I believe that the defining factor of adolescence is finding oneself in the context of a wider world, while upholding a loose tether to one’s familial background. In essence, it was right that Connie was given room to develop freely without much pretext, but it was wrong for her to reject her family completely. Schulz and Rockwood assert that Connie’s passion for Rock ‘n’ Roll popular music attunes her to a culture of sex and drugs rather than counseling her on life at present, which brims with ethically challenging decisions. Where fairy tale morals may have come in handy in helping her make tough choices in her corn-maze through adolescence, it is ridiculous to think that to be a good parent of a teenager, Connie’s mother should have sat down with her daughter every night to read a selection from Grimm’s. Of course, it would have been more effective having grown up listening to these tales and understanding their morals. Still, Sleeping Beauty would not exactly be at the forefront of my mind if I were ever to come across a woman lying motionless and unresponsive in bed, perhaps EMS would provide a better narrative in this instance. Connie totally lost her way, and lost touch with core family values, evident in her strained relationship with her mother and sister. She turned to the comforts of pop music, malls, and the company of her friends to distract her from her bothersome household.

While like many teens, Connie experiences a phase of losing herself with prospects of truly finding herself in the end, the sinister revelation of the story is that succumbing too much to temptation while in this delicate period can ultimately lead to downfall. In other words, as Connie matured, any twist in the wrong direction could have had fatal consequences (cue Arnold Friend). Throughout this interpretation of the story, it is important to bear in mind that, in her own blunt way, Connie’s mother did indeed offer her daughter advice by implying that “her mind was all filled with trashy daydreams” (Oates). Connie could have taken this criticism constructively and had a productive conversation with her mother regarding her coming of age. However, because she misinterpreted this advice, regarding these words as the poison rather than the antidote, she continued basking in the glory of her counter-culture. Arnold Friend later challenges Connie’s misconception that she is already an adult, totally independent – in fact, she is still just a child without the means of defending herself under the supernatural influence of Arnold. The essay rightfully indicates that as Connie is subconsciously drawn toward Arnold’s car at the end of the story, she is internally caught in a rift between adulthood and childhood – she wants her mother to come to her aid, but at the same time she is curious to explore her sexuality with Arnold Friend.

So, the hero in this story is neither Arnold nor Connie. In fact, the classic hero, if anyone, would be Connie’s mother, the common woman on the sidelines shouting words of advice. She represents the assistive yet distant guiding force in Connie’s life, if only she came to accept it. Connie, an antagonist by contrast, is symbolic of human desire for temptation and by her mysterious disappearance with Arnold, she heralds the dark warning of heeding family wisdom when embarking on the beaten path of adolescence.

Works Cited

Oates, Joyce Carol. “Where are you going, where have you been?” New Brunswick, N.J: Rutgers University Press, 1994. Print.

Gretchen Schulz and R. J. R. Rockwood (1980). In Fairyland, Without a Map: Connie’s Exploration Inward in Joyce Carol Oates’ ‘Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?’. Literature and Psychology. Print.