State-Sanctioned Science

           How reckless I used to be. I owe my life and status to the World State, yet my past behaviors defied the very foundation on which this great State was constructed. I thought I was intelligent, but really I was ignorant. I thought I was a scientist, but really I was a heretic. I’ve learned my lesson and I’m so very thankful I was given another chance. For the sake of our State and of humanity, I’m committed to upholding the very ideals I once neglected.

            I was in my prime, enjoying life’s greatest pleasures. Not yet 22, I obsessed over Electro-Magnetic Golf and had girls by the plenty - sometimes multiple girls a night, sometimes simultaneously. A pneumatics specialist by night, I was infinitely more surreptitious during the day. I was the Chief Biophysicist for the Centre of Hatcheries and Conditioning. My job was research-based. Officially, I was supposed to refine the Bovanovsky and Podsnap processes in order to surpass the embryo proliferation rates of our counterparts in Africa and Asia. But my office was laden with temptation. I dwelled in arm’s reach of the best technology, seemingly crafted by Ford himself. My workplace was my soma.

            In time, I became distracted from my job. I was constantly unfocused on the task at hand, electing to do my own research. Invigorated by the discoveries of Einstein and Tesla and Newton, I was most excited by the physical world and by the prospect of leaving my own mark on scientific history. As my focus increasingly eroded, I became invested in my own interests, ignoring the agenda of my employer, the State, and humanity. How reckless I used to be. But “Everyone belongs to everyone else” (Huxley 40). That famous bit of hypnopaedic wisdom gnawed at me, urging me to get back to work. I refused to listen and succumbed to my savage fantasies.

            Machines whirred, test tubes bubbled, and lights flashed. I was at home. My job was to find the best way to be productive. To squeeze the most human life from a single embryo. For a job that required the most productive outcome, I often observed, the process was highly inefficient. Alphas and Betas were manufactured solely to manufacture more Alphas and Betas. Human capital was always in high demand at the Hatchery. I wondered to myself: “Why not mechanize the Hatchery process? Why put people to work, when our machines could easily do the leg work?” After all, less time for work meant more time to indulge.

            Bit by bit, I materialized my dream. I was fueled by the desire for self-actualization. A bit of welding here, a bit of circuitry there. My pet project became my obsession. A metal arm slowly took shape. And then another arm, a pair of legs, a body, and finally a head. I kept thinking of that one verse from the Bible: “And I told them of the hand of my God that had been upon me for good, and also of the words that the king had spoken to me. And they said, “Let us rise up and build.” So they strengthened their hands for the good work” (Nehemiah 2:18). With my knowledge of the human body and my experience with mechanics, I created a robot. Proudly, I eyed my creation. Then the nagging feeling returned. “Everyone belongs to everyone else.”

            One day, I heard a knock on my office door. Frantically, I hid my robot under a blanket and I opened the door. The D.H.C. peered at me suspiciously. I quickly stood up straight and greeted him shyly.

“Hello,” the director gruffly responded.

“Would you like to come in?” I ventured. Without answering, the director stepped in drifted around my workplace.

“You’ve been awfully non-compliant lately,” he started. “We haven’t received a report from you in a month. Hatcheries in Africa and Asia continue to make advances in embryo-producing technologies, yet we remain idle. Your laziness and fruitlessness have begun to concern the administration, including myself.”

“I-I’m sorry. I’ll try to pick the pace,” I stammered. I prayed to Ford that he wouldn’t find the robot.

“Sure,” he grumbled. He stopped. Catching a glimmer of light from underneath the blanket, he walked toward my workbench. Suddenly, he yanked out the robot and started cackling madly.

“You fool. You thought you could trick the State,” then his tone took a dark turn, “but you have failed. Insolent child, you must know that your scientific foibles are prohibited in our society. You create for the State and for the State only. Not to satisfy some irrational dream you cherish. People must be put to work for without work there is no leisure. Happiness is dependent on work. You should be condemned for your sin. But your intellectual powers are immense, so I will offer you this: be exiled or accept training to become a World Controller.”

Any reasonable man would have accepted the latter option as I did. I quickly realized that my actions had unfettered the security of our great State. For in a State where stability and happiness reign supreme, the perception of science that dominated the era of Einstein and the other greats is only dangerous today.

Works Cited

Huxley, Aldous. Brave New World. New York: Harper & Bros., 1946. Print.

In the Spirit of Halloween

Out of darkness, came light. Out of irrationality, came rationality. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein charts the transition from Enlightenment ideals to the Romanticist school of thought. This harrowing tale recounts the experiences of Victor Frankenstein as he sets out to do what no other scientist has done before: create life. As piecemeal as Frankenstein’s monster, this tale stitches together varying perspectives to detail Victor’s journey of creating and confronting his demonic masterpiece. Grounded in the scientific method, Frankenstein’s approach to his work is certainly rational. However, his passionate urges and powerful obsessions ultimately reveal that his motives are highly romantic.

Frankenstein’s monster hesitates little to bite the hand that feeds him. His loneliness and hatred for his creator instigate him to murder Victor’s close friends and family. In a quest to avenge the deaths of his loved ones, Victor sets out to find the monster and kill him, laying the groundwork for his own certain doom. Some may speculate that Victor’s death is emblematic of the fall of reason in an emotionally charged world. However, it is not reason that guides Frankenstein to create the monster in the first place. Sure, his approach is logical and scientific, but his motive to create life aligns with the Romantic school of thought. That is, his desires are fed by passion rather than reason. So, Victor’s ultimate fall is not a “condemnation of Rationalism,” rather, it is simply a signal of the Romanticist strength. Shelley did not intend to demean Enlightenment ideals; instead, she wanted to delineate the comparative magnitude of passion. The monster, by extension, is born from emotion. It is no surprise then, that the monster himself sees the world through a Romantic lens. He simply wants to break free of the isolation that perpetuates his loneliness and his sadness.

Lastly, Frankenstein is novel not because the monster makes a nice Halloween prop. Victor Frankenstein, in his creation of the monster, is ultimately invested in the truth of life. This novel is timeless because we are an information-thirsty society. All of us are driven by the passion for knowledge. Social media and news represent the convergence of information, all that we seek in our modern era. The monster is Frankenstein’s vindication of his quest for knowledge in the natural sciences and in life. As humans, we think we are better off by knowing more. The true horror of Frankenstein, and the reason why it resonates loudly in modern culture, is because this novel perverts our mission to know by portraying the harms of seeking truth when unfounded by rationality.

Less is More

            Perhaps no author better abides by the dogma “less is more” than Ernest Hemingway. One of Hemingway’s most celebrated works, The Sun Also Rises, exemplifies the uncluttered prose that is standard in his fiction. While this novel may be devoid of complicated verbiage, unnecessary phrases, and distracting rhetoric, the true genius behind Hemingway’s writing lies in the fact that he is able to communicate so much by saying so little.

            Hemingway makes deliberate use of sentence structure. No one sentence matches the length of the previous sentence. Unlike authors like Charles Dickens who tend to present information in a very roundabout fashion, Hemingway’s sentences are pointed. For example, at the beginning of the novel, Jake Barnes says:

I mistrust all frank and simple people, especially when their stories hold together, and I always had a suspicion that perhaps Robert Cohn had never been middleweight boxing champion, and that perhaps a horse had stepped on his face, or that maybe his mother had been frightened or seen something, or that he had, maybe, bumped into something as a young child, but I finally had somebody verify the story from Spider Kelly. Spider Kelly not only remembered Cohn. He had often wondered what had become of him. (Hemingway 3)

            As you can see in the quotation above, Hemingway employs a long list to speculate on the background of Robert Cohn. In contrast, the very next sentence is short and fragmented. These opposing sentence structures are rhythmically pleasing to the reader. The first sentence in the paragraph can be rather overwhelming, but the next sentence is brief and relieving. Hemingway is just as masterful at crafting and suspending tension through his words as he is through his subject matter.

            Moreover, Hemingway is artistic in his use of monosyllables. For instance, when Jake is describing Cohn, he says, “Also he was sure that he loved her” (Hemingway 3). The majority of the words in this statement are monosyllabic, that is, composed of a single syllable. Although simple on the surface, the very bare nature of this monosyllabic prose masks the powerful, underlying layers of meaning. Throughout the novel, Hemingway is careful to employ this technique to stress important items. 

            Finally, Hemingway presents very stripped-down dialogue. In fact, Hemingway simplifies his dialogue to the extent that it can be very easy to lose track of who is speaking. Consider the following conversation between Jake and Robert Cohn:

"No, why should I? If I know an American girl that lives in Strasbourg what the hell is it to Frances?"

 "It doesn't make any difference. Any girl. I couldn't go, that would be all."

 "Don't be silly."

 "You don't know Frances. Any girl at all. Didn't you see the way she looked?" (Hemingway 4)

            In this dialogue, there is no “he said this,” “he exclaimed that.” Moreover, Hemingway does not supplement his succinct dialogue with flowery exposition. When Hemingway starts a conversation, he is sure to finish that conversation on the same page. Although this technique can be confusing for the reader, Hemingway stays true to the straightforward prose that characterizes much of his work.

Works Cited

Hemingway, Ernest. The Sun Also Rises. The Hemingway Library ed. New York: Scribner, 2014. Print.

*****

            I left my hotel. I blinked a couple times, my eyes adjusting to the furious sun. A little dizzy from the previous night’s events, I walked through the streets of Paris thinking about my day. What should I do this morning? Who is still in town? I stopped a taxi and asked the driver to take me to the Select, on the other side of town.

            When I arrived at the café, I joined the crowd of eager sports fans huddled around the TVs. They were watching France play in the 2014 World Cup. I laughed, knowing that they would not best the Americans in this tournament. Never set yourself up for failure. I ordered a bottle of wine. And then another. And then another. By the fourth bottle, I was well on my way to passing out, when Brett tapped me on the shoulder. In her typical boyish grace, she pulled up a chair next to me and told the waiter, “This chap is thirsty. Get me a martini and an olive.”

            We sat and drank for about three hours. Just another lost day with Brett; we spend so much of our lives together yet we are not bound for a lifetime. 

            We walked around the streets for a while. We peered into textile shops, took note of new cafés, and stopped in the Apple Store. You need to have a certain composure when walking into an Apple Store. You have to look well-off, rather wealthy. At the same time, you have to appear casual. It was a headache trying to conform to the Apple ethos, but Brett and I managed. We curiously poked the new iPhone 6 and unconsciously stroked the Mac Pro Computer. Everyone does this. Its the Apple way; always has been and always will be.
            "I'm thirsty chap, let's leave."
            "Alright."
             And we left, circling back to the Select, and continued the day the same way it began.
           

           

Literary Topoi in Wuthering Heights

Sadistic landlords, misguided romances, and a slew of deaths make for a less-than-ideal bedtime story. For Lockwood, however, these rather mysterious occurrences provide plenty of entertainment to pass the time while bedridden with sickness. Emily Brontë’s celebrated Wuthering Heights is a novel that recounts the complicatedly interwoven pasts of Wuthering Heights’ denizens. Uniquely, Brontë frames Lockwood’s narrative around a series of shorter stories that link together to recreate the conflicted history of Wuthering Heights and Thrushwood Grange. In Wuthering Heights, Brontë rejects the classic linear method of storytelling in favor of a more piecemeal structure and relies on Lockwood to put together the pieces.

At the outset of the novel, Brontë portrays Lockwood approaching Wuthering Heights for the first time. Like readers, Lockwood is impervious to the dark history of Wuthering Heights. As Lockwood learns more about the residence’s tenants, his skepticism and disbelief mirrors that of the readers who pioneer alongside Lockwood. The novel begins in media res, in the middle of the action, which inevitably demands a curiosity for the events that preceded the arrival of Lockwood. It is not until Lockwood is bitten by Heathcliff’s dogs and is forced to remain in bed that the story of Wuthering Heights’ past begins to unravel.

For a story with such a unique narrative structure, Brontë selected a rather typical setting for the level of narrative that involves Lockwood and Nelly. Yet however bland a bedridden Lockwood may be, Brontë’s chair-and-bed setup adheres to structural convention. In Theory and the Novel: Narrative Reflexivity in the British Tradition, Jeffrey Williams posits that framed narratives contain classic topoi of specific times and places, that is, literary clichés that constitute the setting. Frequently, these topoi effect “not only a pedestrian social entertainment to pass the time, but symbolically a pharmakon to stave off danger and grief” (Williams 111). In Wuthering Heights this literary topos takes the form of Nelly’s long conversations with Lockwood in which she recounts the background of Wuthering Heights to take his mind off the “grief” of his grippe. Totally unfamiliar with the history of Wuthering Heights, Lockwood must accept Nelly’s stories as truth, even though her own biases distort her recollection of the details.

Because Ellen “Nelly” Dean is one of the only sources of authority concerning the history of Wuthering Heights, Lockwood, and by extension readers of Wuthering Heights, invest a lot of confidence in Nelly’s narration. However, it is crucial to remember that Nelly is a fallible human being and that her picture of the past, while accurate, may not be complete. For instance, Nelly tends to downplay events that cast her in a negative light. Such is true when she explains to Linton Heathcliff that his father will “be fonder of [him] than any uncle, for [he] is his own” (Brontë 172). As readers will realize at this point, Nelly is lying. There is no evidence throughout the rest of the novel that supports the notion that Heathcliff will love his son, especially considering how he treated his mother. After dropping off Linton with Heathcliff, Nelly moves to leave the scene quickly, asserting that she had “no excuse for lingering longer” despite Linton’s pleas for help (Brontë 175). Such urgency to gloss over this part of the story when she converses with Lockwood suggests a subtle attempt of cover-up on the part of Nelly. On balance, Nelly is a pretty reliable character, but readers have to keep in mind that her subjective lens will cloud her objective depiction of Wuthering Heights’ history.

           So, Wuthering Heights is an incredibly self-contained novel. The character interactions are plentiful, but only occur between the two distinct households of Wuthering Heights and its literary foil, Thrushwood Grange. While Wuthering Heights is characterized by wild passion and hatred, Thrushwood is governed by compassion and order. In many ways, this novel’s scrambled structure mimics the disjointed lifestyle that dominates Wuthering Heights. Brontë’s narrative places a huge premium on Lockwood, a critical vehicle who discovers the events of Wuthering Heights’ past. The readers simply accompany Lockwood on this journey. While his sources may not be completely truthful, Lockwood nonetheless helps us understand an incredibly nuanced narrative within a novel that could not have existed without his voice.

Works Cited

Williams, Jeffrey. Theory and the Novel: Narrative Reflexivity in the British Tradition. Cambridge, England: Cambridge UP, 1998.Questia School. Web. 17 Sept. 2014.

Brontë, Emily, Anne Brontë, Charlotte Brontë, Caroline M. Freich, G. D. Hargreaves, and Jan Hargreaves. Wuthering Heights. London: Smith, Elder &, 15 Waterloo Place, 1870. Print.

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Your Inner Fish

“Find your inner fish,” whispers Kevin Bacon, your social engineering instructor. Its 9:00 AM and you are attending the Popularity Verity with Bacon seminar in upper Manhattan. All your dubiousness of attending the event rapidly departed after your first enlightening encounter with the actor. After just an hour of his mingling and conversational exercises, you are now more confident than ever. You feel great about yourself. Your self-esteem, you decide, has never been higher. But what will you do with the Bacon doctrine? After some thought, you resolve to apply these newfound social skills to your personal life and to your workplace.

Your mind rewinds to the icebreaker question: How many times have you farted in public? Initially, you think, “Who the hell is this guy? Did I really sacrifice my marriage to be here?” As you motion toward the exit, Bacon swiftly stops you in your tracks and, in front of the class of 30 people, repeats, “How many times have you farted in public?”

In a timid voice you respond, “Once, by accident,” when Bacon proceeds to laugh maniacally.

At once, he proclaims, “You see, this is exactly the problem with society today. Not enough farting, not enough courage. From this moment on, I mandate that you fart at least one time in an elevator daily. This way, you will become unaccustomed to what others think of you and your odors. Eliminate that Shy Guy persona and let the flatulence come forth!”

Your mind struggles to register the sheer extraordinariness of this advice. Your Bacon-induced stupor grounds you, paralyzes your awe-stricken face.

As Bacon prepares to share his closing remarks, you reflect on how Bacon’s counsel will resonate with you for a lifetime. Finally, he bids the audience farewell, reminding you ladies and gentlemen to embrace the spirit of the fish and to always swim with the school. The one that swim in the opposite direction, he asserts, is the first to be eaten by the shark. How delightful, Bacon is talking about fish. Your stomach grumbles and you realize that you are incredibly hungry.