One thing I forgot to mention. Last Wednesday I made the trek back to the scary library at OU partly to look for an article for my Slaughterhouse Five paper–even though Mr. Kreinbring told me it was unusable :( –and partly to start finding articles for my final project (although I didn’t finish the book until this weekend). I wound up finding three articles that I think will be really good for my final project, after spending $8 on copies and fighting off the evil stares of the students who had to wait 20 minutes for my stuff to stop printing I finally made it out alive. My next step is to get them approved and then start reading and writing about them (maybe on spring break?!). I think I’ll take care of the criticism part first since it seems like the most difficult thing to do. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll have to go back to OU sometime in the near future but next time I’ll make sure not to print off 80 pages at the peak of printing time.
Okay, so I finished the book four–From an Immigrant’s Notebook last week, and on Friday I completed part five–Farewell to the Farm. Overall I enjoyed the novel, however I surprisingly found myself somewhat dissatisfied with the ending; as a reader I was left with a feeling of emptiness–like the story wasn’t really complete. I don’t know why, but I feel like I spent the past month reading this incredible book written by an extraordinary writer but I never really got to know the true person behind all of the stories. The fact that Dinesen went to such strong measures to distance herself from the actual realities of her situation and experiences in Africa by masking them with the art of her storytelling kind of caught me off guard. But of course these are all questions I can explore in the daunting task that lies ahead–writing the actual paper!
So I finished part three of Out of Africa–Visitors to the Farm–this morning. Although it did get a little bit dull in some parts, I really enjoyed reading Dinesen’s account of all of the interesting characters that came to stay at her farm. In this part of the book Dinesen used a lot of descriptive language to describe the landscape and the farm, so I googled the Ngong Hills, and this picture came up; I think this is a pretty good representation of how I would imagine her farm. I also updated the Out of Africa page again, more to come soon . . .
So now that I’ve been reading the book for a while, I’m really starting to appreciate Dinesen’s unique writing style. Her poetic prose and figurative language is seriously amazing. The only bizarre thing is, that up until this point in the book Dinesen hasn’t identified herself at all; readers have no idea who she is, when the story is taking place, or why she is there. It seems to me that she is telling the story in a more “dream-like” or stream-of-consciousness manner. Maybe she’s trying to distance herself from the story because it’s painful for her to retell? I’m not really sure, but she always keeps the reader guessing; I just finished part 2 of the book and updated my Out of Africa page with a general summary/reaction for my favorite sections–check it out!
So, after Mr. Kreinbring saw in my latest post that I love coffee he sent me a link www.tmcm.com –too much coffee man–it has some pretty funny comics.
Speaking of coffee . . . I’ve been continuing Out of Africa, and am still really enjoying it. Check out the Out of Africa page to see an updated post for part 1.
I just found out that there was also a film version of Out of Africa made in 1985 starring Robert Redford and Meryl Streep, here is a link to the trailer:
“I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong Hills. . . “
After spending the majority of our snow day two weeks ago at Barnes and Noble, I was finally able to discover the perfect book for my final project–Out of Africa by Isak Dinesen. I stumbled upon the book, and after reading the first few sentences of the synopsis on the back cover–”At the age of twenty-seven; Isak Dinesen left Denmark and sailed for East Africa to marry her Swedish cousin, Baron Bror Blixen. Together they bought a four-thousand-acre coffee plantation in Kenya. From 1914 to 1931 she managed the plantation, even after she and her husband separated.–” I was immediately hooked.
The primary reason I was drawn to this book is because I am passionate about Africa and someday hope to someday travel there to do humanitarian work for Doctors Without Borders, so the fact that this memoir follows the story of a women who leaves her privileged life to immerse herself into African culture and society truly inspires me. Also, when I read that she was running a coffee plantation I also got a little bit excited, since I am pretty much obsessed with coffee.
So far I’ve just started the book and I can already tell what a fantastic writer Dinesen is, and what a profound impact the time she spent in Africa had on her. I’m planning to blog each of the five sections of the book, on my Out of Africa page, so I’ll keep you updated as I go along.
Writing about the visual elements of a work is just like writing about how a piece of writing works. You have to focus on how the image works. Ask what the author or film maker wants you to experience or know and how he’s accomplishing that end.
Look at these clips. Then find the writing from Conrad that it comes from and write a short piece, 250 words, describing how the image works to capture the essence of Conrad’s writing. Post your comments on this blog as well as your own.
The image I chose to focus on was the first clip, Kurtz’s monologue to Willard. This scene stands out more than any other in the film, primarily for Copolla’s ability to create and allow the viewer to see and feel the dramatic tension building between Kurtz and Willard. Copolla accomplishes this by using various cinematic techniques, which truly allow Conrad’s writing to come alive. Copolla sets up the scene emphasizing the darkness—not only as a visual element, but of Kurtz’s conscience and soul as well—by using shadows and fading in and out of the shots of Kurtz’s haunting profile. Kurtz’s monologue is perfectly executed, using dramatic pauses to emphasize certain words or emotions, for example, between “horror” and “has a face.” Ironically when Brando delivers the line “has a face” the camera completely fades out on his face, and for a brief moment the scene goes totally dark. Brando uses this opportunity to flawlessly deliver his lines in a manner that builds upon the mounting tension between himself and Willard.
Copolla also allows the viewer to finally experience Kurtz as a “voice,” which provides a chilling affect for the audience. Throughout the entire film and the novel, Kurtz’s voice is his defining trait, through which we are given mere pieces of his true character. As Marlow describes, “A voice, He was very little more than a voice. . . A voice! A voice! It rang deep to the very last. It survived his strength to hide in the magnificent fold of eloquence the barren darkness of his heart.” Now, in the film we are finally able to experience the voice, and allowed to actually see the reactions on Willard’s face as he listens.
Overall, this image is truly climatic for the film. It culminates Willard’s longing for a confrontation with Kurtz, and the longing of the audience to hear Kurt’s true “voice.” The scene in the film is in some ways more profound than the similar scene Conrad depicts in the novel because it’s hard to capture the true essence of emotion without using visual and auditory components.
Pick a scene from Heart of Darkness; find its equivalent in Apocalypse Now and discuss how each scene represents, or is meant to represent a larger theme, what difference does seeing it make vs. reading it?
One scene that really stuck with me from the novel was when Marlow arrives at the first station and meets the Company’s chief accountant. Marlow is perplexed by the accountant’s appearance; “when near the buildings I met a white man, in such an unexpected elegance of get-up that in the first moment I took him for a sort of vision. I saw a high starched collar, white cuffs, a light alpaca jacket, snowy trousers, a clear necktie, and varnished boots. No hat. Hair parted, brushed, oiled.” (65) The mere fact that this white man can appear so normal amidst all of the horror that is happening around him, is shocking to the reader and also to Marlow who isn’t sure what to make of the situation. The irony of the whole scene comes in Marlow’s description of the demoralization he witnessed just minutes before meeting the accountant, “They were dying slowly—it was very clear. They were not enemies, they were not criminals, they were nothing earthly now,–nothing but black shadows of disease and starvation, lying confusedly in the greenish gloom.” (64) As a reader I found myself appalled and upset that the accountant and all of the Company’s men were be so oblivious to their surroundings and the destruction their actions were causing.
For me, the equivalent of this scene in the movie was the surfing scene. It was interesting to see how Coppola transformed and modernized the idea of the white men’s total state of oblivion to their surroundings; in this case using Colonel Kilgore’s fascination with surfing as helicopters drop napalm on the surrounding area. Kilgore tells Willard, “If I say it’s safe to surf this beach, Captain, then it’s safe to surf this beach.” The part in the film when Kilgore walks over to a man lying with his guts “strapped on him” stayed with me, because all it took was a mention of Lance’s name for Kilgore to become totally preoccpied with the famous California surfer, leaving the dying man without hesitation. This shallowness further demonstrates the cold nature of the Company’s men (in the case of the novel) the military’s men (in the film) and their obvious state of denial to the suffering in their surroundings.
For me, being a visual person, seeing the movie and the scene being played out allowed me to better connect to the theme or idea that Conrad was describing in Heart of Darkness, and made certain parts of the novel come alive for me. Both of these scenes demonstrated the sad realities of imperialism and racism and the methods by which those who consider themsevles superior jusify their actions by the “idea” that it is their duty to “civilize” those who are different than they are.
For I have known them all already, known them all;
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
Analysis:
I will admit what first made this stanza stand out to me was the reference to coffee—I guess you know you’re an addict when. . .— but then after reading the poem a few times I realized this stanza alone truly captures the entire essence and mood of the poem.
It becomes clear to the reader that Prufrock is obviously battling a sense of chronic dissatisfaction with his life. As he reflects on his life thus far he claims, “. . . have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.” The visual image of the coffee spoons suggest that he is just going through the motions of each day, never achieving the happiness and true sense of self he longs for. This display of discontent gives the reader the impression that Prufrock is bored with his life and feels like he is just wasting time with the passing of each day (as exemplified in the previous stanza).
The next two lines address Prufrock’s undeniable awkwardness and self consciousness, as he alludes to the women he is meeting for tea; “For I have known them all already, known them all. . . I know the voices dying with a dying fall.” Prufrock obviously is aware of his insecurities and his inability to fit into these common social situations.
Prufrock ends the stanza by asking the seemingly rhetorical question, “so how should I presume?” suggesting that he doesn’t know where to go from here; as he is unsure of what be will become of him as his life continues down a path of mediocrity.
