Literary Criticism: Formalism Approach

The Little Incident by: Lu Xun

Plot:

The story begins with the recall of the narrator or the “I” about what happens six years ago, what does the “I” thinks and feels over the never-ending, and repetitions of events around him known as “affairs of state. It opens up and shows what kind of personality the “I” had, before the incident that will change him as the story goes on.  

One winter day the “I” had to run some errands and to do this he needs a rickshaw to take him on the South Gate; though he encountered difficulty in finding it, he was lucky enough to hire one. Once the wind moderated its fury the puller ran quickly, and just as they approached the South Gate, somebody ran in front of them, got entangled in the rickshaw and stumbled on the ground.

            It was an old woman; she had darted suddenly from the side of the street, and crossed directly in front of them. Fortunately the puller had slowed his pace; otherwise she would have been thrown head over heels, and probably seriously injured. Though, the “I” saw what happened to the old woman right in front of his eyes, he didn’t show any consideration and concerned towards her, as he tells to the puller to move on. But the puller didn’t response instead he put down the shafts and asked the old women if she’s all right, and the woman said she was hurt. Even if the old woman said that she was hurt, still “I” doesn’t believe him and assert, in his mind, that the old woman is just pretending and making the whole business distasteful; and the puller involving himself to the situation make it more difficult.

            The puller didn’t hesitate to help the old woman, he hold her arm and lead her to the police station. The puller shows consideration and concerned to her, contrast to what the “I” had showed. The puller and the old woman leave the “I” alone on the street; and as they passed in, the “I” experienced a curious sensation. It seems to him that the puller’s shadow becomes bigger as they walked farther from him. He lifts his head, and at that moment he felt bodily-pressured, which came from the puller’s direction. He grew weak; he sat motionless, stunned, and thoughtless, until the he saw an officer emerge from the station. The “I” got down from the rickshaw as the officer approached him, and told him that the rickshaw man cannot pull him anymore. Without thinking the “I” pulled forth a big fistful coppers, and told the officer to give it to the rickshaw-man.

            After the incident, the “I” think back to the situation, and to himself. He was bombarded by a lot of questions in his mind, but still can’t find, give a relevant answer to his own conscience.

            The “I” or the narrator of the story stated that the “incident” still burns in his memory; and as he tries to remember the incident, it purges him with shame, yet impels him to be better, and invigorates his hope and courage.

Conflict:

·         Character vs. Society

The beginning of the story already gives a cue of the conflict of the narrator or the “I” to the society.

“…during all the time, there have occurred many of those events known as ‘affairs of state’, a great number of which I have seen or heard about. My heart does not seem to have been in the least affected by any of them, and recollection now only tends to ill my temper and cause me to like people less as the days wears on.” P.127

It seems that the “I” becomes weary in the events happening in the society, and thus become insensitive. As we all know, our society has profound influence in each individuals, it may influence as in positive and negative ways, though. 

The narrator’s insensitivity is a symbol of protest, of him, against the society.

·         Character vs. Character

The conflict between the two characters- the “I” and the puller, happened when the puller or the rickshaw-man decided to help the old woman, despite the order of the “I” to move on.

‘It’s nothing ,’ I told him. “Move on”

But either  he did not hear me or did not care, for he put down the shafts and gently helped the old woman to her feet.”

There is also a conflict between the “I” and the old woman.

“I saw you fall, and it was not all rough. How can you be hurt? You are pretending. The whole business is distasteful, and the rickshaw-man is merely making difficulties for himself. Now, let him find his own way out of the mess.”

In this part it shows, how “I” contradicts the old woman when she said that she was hurt, when the puller asked her if she’s alright.

The clash of two contrasting personalities of the “I” and the puller are evidently seen in this story; the “I” is cold-hearted, insensitive and inconsiderate, while the rickshaw man, is a total opposite of “I”, is kind-hearted, considerate and sensible, respectively.

·         Character vs. Self (Internal Conflict)

The “I” is the one who suffered internal conflict in the story; he is insensitive, inconsiderate and cold-hearted.

Point of View

The story is in the “first-person” point of view because the narrator does participate, and a protagonist of the story.

Characters:

·         The narrator

The “I” or the narrator is both the protagonist and antagonist of the story, though he shows rudeness, he is still the main character, and it is his story of realization or waking-up. His character falls under the dynamic, for he undergone changes as the story goes on.

·         The rickshaw man or the puller

The rickshaw man has a very contrasting personality to the “I”; for he is sensible and shows malevolence in the story. His character falls under static, because there is no changes happened to him as the story went on, though he plays significant part of the story for he is the cause of changes of “I”.

·         The Old woman

The old woman fall under the static character; she also symbolized oppressed people in the story.

Theme

Man is good in-nature; and man is us. No matter how cruel or rude a man appears to be, there is still goodness lies in him, that only needs a “bang” to wake-up.

 Setting

The setting of the story is in China; where social classification was apparent- I believe during the story was written. This social classification can be seen in the story; the “I” represents people of high rankings, whereas the puller represents people of lower rankings, or the commoner.

Formalism

This story fall under formalism because for a reader to fully understand a particular literature he/she must observe its forms, and how these forms woven together to create a wonderful story like this. Socio-political is seen in the story, but can’t deny the importance it plays in the story though. Even it has different forms it still managed to transcends its message to the reader, and that is:

Man is good nature, it is just a matter of waking it up.

Literary Criticism: Marxism Approach

Literary Criticism: Marxism Approach

• Karma by Khushwant Singh

Marxism as we all know is about social stratification within a society, and this approach is often and visibly seen in every literary genre. Society has always made its way to influence, and literature is not excluded in society’s radical power.

Karma was written by Khuswant Singh a Hindu, and lives in India. India is known not just for their peculiar religious rituals, but also for giving birth of “caste system”- a social stratification of classifying where a particular group of people belongs. And in the story karma this system is very visible; though it has already been wiped-out during the time the story was written, but still living in people’s minds including the author’s.

The story starts with the scornful statement of Lal about his country India, saying it in-front of a mirror while travelling in a first-class compartment of a train; while his wife Lachmi is happily eating in an interclass zenana of the train. Lal had lived in Great Britain and studied in the prestigious Oxford University for five years. During his time there he became enchanted and fascinated with the “beauty” of Britain has, and compared British society over Indian society.  Lal dislikes Lachmi’s illiterate relatives and often locked himself-up every time her relatives come-over in their house; he is very proud of his education, and of course of his Oxford-ian accent. But, one particular incident has let Sir Mohan Lal touch the ground of the earth, two Englishmen came in the train and look for a compartment where they would stay, and upon seeing this Lal became excited to boast his knowledge about Britain; but it didn’t turned out the way Lal wanted it to be, the two Englishmen forcefully open the door and flung Lal out of the train, as they say Karma came.

The story circles on the colonial mentality embraces by one of the characters- Sir Mohan Lal, for English culture; and the stereotype personality, of Hindu women , of Sir Mohan Lal’s wife Lady Lachmi. In this we can already classify the two characters into two classes of society; Sir Mohan Lal represents the upper class’ and Lady Lachmi, though she is Lal’s wife, represents the masses or the lower class.

Literary Criticism: Pyscho-analytic Approach

The Lottery Ticket  by Anton Checkov

“The Lottery Ticket” is a very interesting short story and one of the stories that leaves impression on me. The story tells about how we, people, become so selfish over earthly things to the extent that we gave birth to insecurity, hatred and evil-thoughts.

The said story was written by Anton Chekov; the characters in the story are Ivan Dmitrch and his wife Masha, the two represent people who try their luck thru lottery. And it can be observed thru psycho-analytic approach because the characters in the story have interesting personalities that are patterned wit human nature.

In this story, though, there is no accurate description about the two main characters, it seems to be that Ivan and Masha together with their children live simply in their abode, and contented with what they have. It implicitly describes that Ivan had no faith in lottery, while his wife, and appears to be one of the few people who tries their luck in lottery. But all things have changes when they, thought, won in the lottery; and started daydreaming of how they will spend the money. And such daydreaming a conflict arises, conflict between the internal and external behavior of the characters especially Ivan. Conflict because Ivan’s internal behavior is different from the way he act or do; his desires, needs was unfolded thru daydreaming, or internal monologue in the story. He lets his id take him over, which gave birth to ill-thoughts and selfishness; and it can be seen on the part where he thinks of enjoying a luxurious  vacation alone, and even think of re-marrying. But all their daydreaming were stopped and became shattered as reality slaps them with  the truth that they didn’t won, and all were just misconception.

Anton checkov is considered to be the master of short story and uses themes that related to everyday life. And this particular story, “The Lottery Ticket” hits the jackpot of awakening people of how money could change everything. Money is one of people’s weaknesses; and Anton uses money as his theme in this story. He provides concrete example of how people could change when they were influenced with money; he shows how money could make a person a monster. And he uses money to unfold the hidden desire, needs and motives of Ivan.

In my opinion, Anton Checkov uses money as his theme because he is fully aware of how money could drive people crazy, and want to wake people up about this.

My Grandmother's Sweater

The crispness of the morning
awaken the sleeping robins.
The sun peeks out from the horizon
as I put on my grandmother’s sweater.

I turn and face the body
wasted of life
tired eyes looking back
full of pain.

The other day my sister asked me,
“Which way does the grass grow?”
Down into the ground, I think
as I snuggle deeper into my grandmother’s sweater.

“What’s life all about?” she asked me next.
Love. Death. Pain. I think,
as they lay her into the ground.

I feel nothing
as the sun shines down
upon the crosses in a row
only comfort in my grandmother’s sweater.

The POEM was written by Marla Stevens. And it tells and shows the granddaughter’s love for her grandmother.  It is a narrative poem and a free verse. Narrative, because it simply tells a story; and the story is about the experience the author’s has had during her grandmother’s burial, as she reminisce it in this poem.

The crispness of the morning
awaken the sleeping robins.
The sun peeks out from the horizon
as I put on my grandmother’s sweater 

The first stanza sets the mood of the poem. It starts with an ordinary situation in the author’s life, and a common situation in everyone’s life. When we wake up in the morning the shining rays of the sun greet us; and give us its radical energy to fill us up. And then on last line of the first stanza cues the start of what the poem is about.  

I turn and face the body
wasted of life
tired eyes looking back
full of pain.

In the second stanza, Marla describes her grandmother, the dead body of her grandmother. She implicitly tells that her grandmother endured great pain as she described it in the poem, but didn’t tell what it is.

The other day my sister asked me,
“Which way does the grass grow?”
Down into the ground, I think
as I snuggle deeper into my grandmother’s sweater.

The third stanza starts with the conversation Marla had with her sister.  It is about the spontaneous moment Marla had with her sister, and a spontaneous question asked by her sister. The mood in this stanza is like a question that came out of curiosity about something.

“What’s life all about?” she asked me next.
Love. Death. Pain. I think,
as they lay her into the ground.

The fourth stanza is the continuation of the spontaneous conversation of the two sisters. But in this particular stanza it describes what life is all about, love, death, and pain. The inescapable stages of life that every human will must pass through, regardless of age, sex, status, and race. And this stanza tells the reader that the author had already experienced the stages. The love she had for her grandmother, and the pain she’s experiencing after her grandmother died; and the painful fact that her grandmother can never be with them again.

I feel nothing
as the sun shines down
upon the crosses in a row
only comfort in my grandmother’s sweater.

 The last stanza of the poem tells the end of her grandmother’s burial. And implicitly describes the feeling of the author, it is like she is looking blankly as the sun goes down; and only find comforts with her grandmother’s sweater.

DESIRE

 
by Paz Latorena


She was homely. A very broad forehead gave her face an unpleasant, masculine look. Her eyes, which were small, slanted at the corners and made many of her acquaintances wonder if perchance she had a few drops of celestial blood in her veins. Her nose was broad and flat, and its nostrils were always dilated, as if breathing were an effort. Her mouth, with its thick lips, was a long, straight gash across her face made angular by her unusually big jaws.

But nature, as if ashamed of her meanness in fashioning the face, moulded a body of unusual beauty. From her neck to her small feet, she was perfect. Her bust was full, her breast rose up like twin roses in full bloom. Her waist was slim as a young girl’s, her hips seemed to have stolen the curve of the crescent moon. Her arms were shapely, ending in small hands with fine, tapering fingers that were the envy of her friends. Her legs with their trim ankles reminded one of those lifeless things seen in shop windows displaying the latest silk stockings.

Hers was a body a sculptor, in a thirst for glory, might have dreamed of and moulded in a feverish frenzy of creation, with hands atremble with vision of the fame in store for him. Hers was a body that might have been the delight and despair of a painter whose faltering brush tried in vain to depict on the canvas such a beautiful harmony of curves and lines. Hers was a body a poet might have raved over and immortalized in musical, fanciful verses. Hers was a body men would gladly have gone to hell for.

And they did. Men looked at her face and turned their eyes away; they looked at her body and were enslaved. They forgot the broad masculine forehead, the unpleasant mouth, the aggressive jaws. All they had eyes for was that body, those hips that had stolen the curve of the crescent moon.

But she hated her body—hated that gift which Nature, in a fit or remorse for the wrong done to her face, had given her. She hated her body because it made men look at her with an unbeautiful light in their eyes—married eyes, single eyes.

She wanted love, was starved for it. But she did not want the love that her body inspired in men. She wanted something purer…cleaner.

She was disgusted. And hurt. For men told other women that they loved them, looking into their eyes to the souls beneath, their voices low and soft, their hands quivering with the weight of their tenderness. But men told her that they loved her body with eyes that made her feels as if she were naked, stripped bare for their sinful eyes to gaze upon. They told her with voices made thick by desire, touched her with hands afire, that seared her flesh, filled her with scorn and loathing.

She wanted to be loved as other women were loved. She was as good, as pure as they. And some of them were as homely as she was. But they did not have beautiful bodies. And so they were loved for themselves.

Deliberately she set out to hide from the eyes of men the beautiful body that to her was a curse rather than a blessing. She started wearing long, wide dresses that completely disfigured her. She gave up wearing Filipino costume which outlined her body with startling accuracy.

It took quite a while to make men forget that body that had once been their delight. But after a time they became accustomed to the disfiguring dresses and concluded that she had become fat and shapeless. She accomplished the desired result.

And more. For there came a time when men looked at her and turned their eyes away, not with the unbeautiful light of former day but with something akin to pity mirrored there—pity for a homely face and a shapeless mass of flesh.

At first she was glad. Glad that she had succeeded in extinguishing that unbeautiful light in the eyes of men when they looked at her.

After some time, she became rebellious. For she was a woman and she wanted to be loved and to love. But it seemed that men would not have anything to do with a woman with a homely face and an apparently shapeless mass of flesh.

But she became reconciled to her fate. And rather than bring back that unbeautiful light in men’s eyes, she chose to go on…with the farce.

She turned to writing to while away the long nights spent brooding all alone.

Little things. Little lyrics. Little sketches. Sometimes they were the heart-throbs of a woman who wanted love and sweet things whispered to her in the dark. Sometimes they were the ironies of one who sees all the weaknesses and stupidities of men and the world through eyes made bitter by loneliness.

She sent them to papers which found the little things acceptable and published them. “To fill space,” she told herself. But she continued to write because it made her forget once in a while how drab her life was.

And then he came into her life—a man with white blood in his veins. He was one of those who believed in the inferiority of colored races. But he found something unusual in the light, ironic, tirades from the pen of the unknown writer. Not in the little lyrics. No, he thought those were superfluous effusions of a woman belonging to a race of people who could not think of writing about anything except love. But he liked the light airy sketches. They were like those of the people of his race.

One day, when he had nothing to do, he sent her, to encourage her, a note of appreciation. It was brief. But the first glance showed her that it came from a cultured man.

She answered it, a light, nonsensical answer that touched the sense of humor of the white man. That started a correspondence. In the course of time, she came to watch for the mail carrier, for the grey tinted stationery that was his.

He asked to see her—to know her personally. Letters were so tantalizing. Her first impulse was to say no. A bitter smile hovered about her lips as she surveyed her face before the mirror. He would be so disappointed, she told herself.

But she consented. They would have to meet sooner of later. The first meeting would surely be a trial and the sooner it was over, the better.

He, the white man, coming from a land of fair, blue-eyed women, was shocked. Perhaps, he found it a bit difficult to associate this homely woman with the one who could write such delightful sketches, such delightful letters.

But she could talk rather well. There was a light vein of humor, faintly ironical at times, in everything she said. And that delighted him.

He asked her to come out with him again. By the shore of Manila Bay one early evening, when her homely face was softened by the darkness around them, he forgot that he was a white man, that she was a brown maiden homely and to all appearance, shapeless creature at that. Her silence, as with half-closed eyes she gazed at the distance, was very soothing and under the spell of her understanding sympathy, he found himself telling her of his home away over the seas, how he loved the blue of the sea on early mornings because it reminded of the blue of the waves that dashed against the rocks in impotent fury, how he could spend his life on the water, sailing on and on, to unknown and uncharted seas.

She listened to him silently. Then he woke up from the spell and, as if ashamed of the outburst of confidence, added irrelevantly: “But you are different from the other women of your race,” looking deep into her small eyes that slanted at the corners.

She smiled. Of course she was, the homely and shapeless mass of flesh that he saw her to be.

“No, I do not mean that,” he protested, divining her thoughts, “you do not seem to care much for conventions. No Filipino girl would come out unchaperoned with a man, a white man at that.”

“A homely woman can very well afford to break conventions. Nobody minds her if she does. That is one consolation of being homely,” was her calm reply.

He laughed.

“You have some very queer ideas,” he observed.

“I should have,” she retorted. “If I didn’t, nobody would noticed my face and my…my…figure,” she hated herself for stammering the last words.

He looked at her impersonally, as if trying to find some beauty in her.

“But I like you,” was his verdict, uttered with the almost brutal frankness of his race. “I have not come across a more interesting girl for a long time.”

They met again. And again. Thoughts, pleasant thoughts, began to fill her mind. Had she at last found one who liked her sincerely? For he liked her, that she was ready to believe. As a friend, a pal who understood him. And the thought gave her happiness—a friend, a pal who understood him—such as he had never experienced before.

One day, an idea took hold of her—simply obsessed her. He was such a lover of beautiful things—of beauty in any form. She noticed that in all his conversations, in every look, every gesture of his. A desire to show him that she was not entirely devoid of beauty which he so worshipped came over her.

It would not do any harm, she told herself. He had learned to like her for herself. He had learned to value their friendship, homely as she was and shapeless as he thought her to be. Her body would matter not at all now. It would please the aesthete in him perhaps, but it certainly would not matter much to the man.

From the bottom of a very old trunk she unearthed one of those flimsy, shapely things that had lain there unused for many years. She looked at herself in the mirror before the appointment, she grudgingly admitted that her body had lost nothing of its hated beauty.

He was surprised. Pleasantly so.

Accustomed as he was to the beautiful bodies of the women of his race, he had to confess that here was something of unusual beauty.

“Why have you been hiding such a beautiful figure all this time,” he demanded in mock anger.

“I did not know it was beautiful,” she lied.

“Pouf! I know it is not polite to tell a young lady she is a liar so I won’t do it.”

“But…but…”

“But…” fear was beginning to creep into her voice. “Well…let us talk of something else.”

She heaved a deep sigh. She was right. Se had found a man to whom her body mattered little, if anything at all. She need not take warning. He had learned to like her for herself.

At their next meeting she wore a pale rose of Filipino dress that softened the brown of her skin. His eyes lighted up when they rested on her, but whether it was the unbeautiful light that she dreaded so much, she could not determine for it quickly disappeared. No, it could not be the unbeautiful light. He liked her for herself. This belief she treasured fondly.

The had a nice long ride out in the country, where the winds were soft and faintly scented and the bamboo trees sighted love to the breeze. They visited a little out of the way nipa chapel by the roadside where naked man, nailed to the Cross, looked at them with eyes which held at the tragedy and the sorrow of the world—for the sins of sinning men.

She gazed at the figure feeling something vague and incomprehensible stirring within her. She turned to him for sympathy and found him staring at her…at her body.

He turned slightly red. In silence they left the little chapel. He helped her inside the car but did not start it at once.

“I …I…love…” he stammered after some moments, as if impelled by an irresistible force. Then he stopped.

The small eyes that slanted at the corners were almost beautiful with a tender, soft light as she turned them on him. So he loved her. Had he learned not only to like her but to love her? For herself? And the half-finished confession found an echo in the heart of the woman who was starved for love.

“Yes…” there was a pleading note in her voice.

He swallowed hard. “I love…your body,” he finished with a thick voice. And the blue eyes flared with the dreaded, hateful light.

She uttered an involuntary cry of protest, of pain, of disillusion. And then a sob escaped her.

And dimly the man from the West realized that he had wronged this little brown maiden with the homely face and beautiful body as she never had been wronged before. And he felt sorry, infinitely so.

When they stopped before the door of her house, he got out to open the door for her.

“I am sorry,” was all he said.

There was a world of regret in the eyes she turned on him. “For what?” she asked in a tired voice. “You have just been yourself…like other men.” He winced.

And with a weary smile she passed within. 

The end.

Analysis:

The story is about the inferiority complex of a woman, and men’s endearment for women curves. The story is not a typical one, because most of the stories I’ve read always circles on love and the madness of society. But this particular story is very unique, because it bravely tackles the nature of men for women curves. And I think only few women writer can be so brave enough to have this kind of story, and Paz Latorena belongs to them. She is brave enough to step out and be bold enough to let people, regardless of which gender you belong, be aware of men’s nature.

This story belongs to school of feminism, aside from the writer is a woman, the story is also about the suffering a woman has to endured in order to escape from the malicious eyes of men.

The story is in the first-person point of view, because the “I” is directly involved in the story. She is the protagonist, and is static in character, because, of the changes she had undergone as the story goes on.

The conflict between self; and between characters can be evidently seen in the story. In this story the woman has inferiority complex over her face, and considers her beautiful figure a curse and hiding her figure through wearing long and massive dresses is a conflict vs. self. Hating men for endearment for curves and her disappointment to the blue-eyed man is a conflict vs. characters.

The theme of the story is about being loved despite one’s imperfections; though it wasn’t achieved by the woman at least she felt she was loved once. And the author implicitly tells us that we are all beautiful despite our flaws.

Like Water for Chocolate (Novel)

The novel “Like Water For Chocolate”, written by Mexican Novelist Laura Esquivel, revolves around the life of a woman, Tita de la Garza. It shows how most of the youngest daughter of middle and upper class family lives, her sacrifices, her sufferings, and her contentment. The de la Garza family has three daughters of which Gertrudis and Tita belong, and their mother is Mama Elena. These three people are blood related and they do have traits that are common to each other but there are traits that contradict the other.

First off, is Mama Elena, she is a symbol of a mother who has an absolute authority, a strong personality and a stubborn individuality. She is such a strict mother to her daughters that they don’t get enough freedom, and does not like depending on men. When her husband died two days after Tita was born, she took control of the management of the ranch. In their house, she does not accept the opinions of others; she also wants everything to be perfectly and properly done. —— “I’ve never needed a man for anything; all by myself, I’ve done all right with my ranch … It’s worse to have chiles with no water around!” (p 80).

Gertrudis is the first daughter of the family. She has this enthusiasm on things where rhythm, music or movement were involved, of which her parents and other siblings do not have, that is a bit of strange if you haven’t known that she was a child from another man. She is an open-minded person, seems to see things in the right perspective and very expressive.

And Tita, the one that was prohibited to marry while her mother still alive. She has to take care of her mother, and obediently follow her until the end. She has a big love for her family that she can’t run away with her lover, Pedro, which made her suffer more from the hand of her mother. She grew up in the kitchen, like it was her real home, with Nacha as her mother. When her sister Rosaura and Pedro married, she was left depressed and felling cold. Her love for Pedro last for a long time until she died because of it.

Love Life

            Both Mama Elena and Tita experienced the feeling of not being able to marry the love of their life. Mama Elena was forced to marry Juan de la Garza when her parents found out her relationship with Jose Traviño a Negro. On the other hand, Mama Elena did not allow Tita to marry Pedro, forcing the latter to marry Tita’s sister Rosaura just to be near Tita. Mama Elena and Tita were not able to stop by the opposition of their respective parents, and they both secretly had some communication and meeting with the one they truly love. While Gertrudis follow what her heart says, and when she ate the Quail in Rose Petal Sauce, that was cooked by Tita with the rose given by Pedro to her, she felt hot with her body burning, then nakedly run around their ranch until Juan Alejandrez (a soldier) took her out of the ranch.

            Both Gertrudis and Tita got what they wanted in the end but Tita died because of the too much happiness she felt and the desire to follow Pedro wherever he goes. And after the lustful feelings Gertrudis had, she had a happy life with her husband Juan. While the other two got what they wanted, Mama Elena died and buried with her love for Jose Traviño.

Ability To Nurture

            Even though Tita has not been able to be a mother or bear a child, she was able to feed the first child of Pedro and Rosaura and became attach to the child. Mama Elena lost her ability to breastfeed Tita when she was little because of the shock of the death of Tita’s Father.

Mama Elena brought up her daughters in the way she was brought up. She is the one who will choose to whom her daughters to be married to. Whereas, Tita wanted to …… 

Attempts At Gaining Personal Freedom

Mama Elena was about to run away with Jose Traviño, but he was killed leaving her with no other option but to live with Juan de la Garza.

·         “When Mama Elena’s parents discovered the love that existed between their daughter and this mulatto, they were horrified and forced her into an immediate marriage with Juan de la Garza, Tita’s father… When she found out she was pregnant, Mama Elena had planned to run away with Jose…After that terrible grief, Mama Elena resigned herself to life with her legal husband.” (pp136-137).

             Gertrudis was able to free herself from the hands of her mother and their family’s tradition. She was able to finally show and express her true and hidden feelings when she run away from her home. She became the leader of a band of revolutionary troop. When she gave birth to a child that has a dark complexion, she learned from Tita that she was the fruit of Mama Elena and Jose Traviño’s love. This fact saved her relationship with Juan and gave a clear explanation of her sense of rhythm and the traits of a leader running through her blood.

·         “Tita shrugged her shoulders in answer, although she knew perfectly well who had given Gertrudis her rhythm and other qualities. That secret she planned to take to her grave; but it was not to be…. It was a hard blow for him to take, but at least they didn’t separate; instead they lived together forever and were happy more often that not.”(p 180)

            On the other hand, Tita can’t just leave her family just because of her love for Pedro. She has tried to answer back her mother and gave opinions, but was not able to get good results. But when the first child of Pedro and Rosaura died, she begun to disobey her mother.

·         “Tita felt the household crashing down around her head. The blow, the sound of all the dishes breaking into a thousand pieces…” (pp 99-101).

 Mama Elena asked Dr. Brown to put Tita to an asylum, but instead, he brought her to live with him. When Tita’s mother got sick, she returned to the ranch and took care of her until she died. Although Mama Elena’s dead, Tita was not able to escape her. The “ghost” of Mama Elena started bothering her when she and Pedro secretly see each other and even made love in Mama Elena’s private place in the house. Mama Elena’s ghost gone when Tita answered her back with words that she wanted to say for a long time ago, he hatred she felt for her mother. When Rosaura died, and their second child was married to Dr. John’s son, Tita and Pedro were able to free their longing for each other.

These three women all tried to gain their freedom from their respective parents, but not all of them had a good outcome. Tita and Gertrudis were able to gain their freedom at the end of the novel. They both had a chance to be with their true love before they die and to do what they wanted to do. Whereas, Mama Elena died not being able to live with her true love and still attached to their family’s tradition.

Views On Tradition

            Mama Elena sticks to her belief in their family’s tradition that the youngest daughter has to take care of her mother until she dies. (10-11)

            Both Gertrudis and Tita do not like what Mama Elena’s “family tradition”. Because Tita was the youngest, she has been questioning herself on why is there such an absurd tradition in their family. And when Pedro insisted to name his daughter Josefita, Tita refused thinking that the child might experience what she had been experiencing.

“Gertrudis - She is not constrained by traditional definitions of gender, race, class, or any other hierarchical notions of one’s “proper place” of “role.” (She becomes a general”) —-

·         “For one thing, she wanted to know who started this family tradition. It would be nice if she could let that genius know about one little flaw in this perfect plan for taking care of women in their old age…If she couldn’t marry , was she at least allowed to experience love? Or not even that?”(p 11-12)

·         “Pedro insisted that the child should be given the same name as Tita, Josefita. But Tita refused to hear of it. She didn’t want her name to influence the child’s destiny.”(p 146)

·         “She wished Esperanza could marry, without Rosaura being able to stop her, so she would never know this pain and suffering. She wished that the child would have the strength of Gertrudis had shown and run away from home.”(p 175)

Favorites (Deconstructionism)

 

By Thomas E. Feeney

          “Now which is your favorite doll?” I asked

                                       Of Little John Marie.

                     “My old rag doll without any arms

                               I love the best,” said she.

           “And which of the kittens that play about

                   Is the one that you love the best?”

             “Oh the poor little thing without any tail

                                    I love above the rest,”

                 “And of all the boys I know at school,

                                    The one that I prefer –

                  Is  you!” she cried and she ran away

                                 Before I could answer her.

       And I looked at the blear-eyed cat she chose

                                  And the doll in faded pink;

          And I ran into the mirror and I looked at me;

                           And I tell you it made me think.

 Analysis:

“Favorites” is written by Thomas E. Feeney. This poem is very comical for it shows and tells the unique preference of Little Jane Mary with the things she loves, including the boy she prefers. The poem starts with a conversation between the boy and Little Jane Maries, and ends with the boy looking at the mirror.

I think this poem is about the imperfections of things around us, including us humans. And these imperfections were perfectly and implicitly show in the poem, specifically in the preferences of Little Jane Marie. It starts with the boy asking the favorite doll of the girl:

“Now which is your favorite doll?” I asked

Of Little John Marie.

“My old rag doll without any arms

I love the best,” said she.

And which of the kittens that play about

Is the one that you love the best?”

“Oh the poor little thing without any tail

I love above the rest,”

In this part of the poem it is clearly seen that Little Jane Marie chooses things which lacks of something physically, like in the first stanza a doll without any arms is the one that Lady Jane Marie loves; and in the second stanza the kitten without a tail is the one she love the rest. So, with her unique preferences the wittiness and comicalness of the story came out.

“And of all the boys I know at school,

The one that I prefer –

Is  you!” she cried and she ran away

This is the funniest part of the poem, choosing the boy she likes. And with the kind of “favorites” the girl has, the boy was left dumbfounded, and also made me as a reader think of what kind of characteristics does the boy possess, which made the girl likes him.

Before I could answer her.

And I looked at the blear-eyed cat she chose

And the doll in faded pink;

And I ran into the mirror and I looked at me;

And I tell you it made me think.

The last part of the poem is the analyzation of the boy of the “likes” of the girl, which made him think of why she likes him. It is like “why does she like me?” “What does I haven’t to make her like me?”.  And for that deconstruction fits the poem, because it leaves a question why does he choice him, which leaves the reader uncertain of the answer.

 Point of View

The poem is in a first-person point of view because the author uses the word “I” which signifies the first-person. And also, the “I” is taking part of the story for he is also the center of the poem. And the “I” is the narrator of the story.

Form

The poem is in a narrative form because it has a story, and it has two persons conversing about their likes.

Style

The poem is in free-verse, because it does not have any distinct rhyming, it is just plainly free from rhyming.

Theme & Motif

The theme of the poem is about no matter how physically imperfect you are, someone or somebody still loves you for who you are, and it is evidently seen in the story, and Little Jane Marie is an example of this people.