STREET SYNTHESIS

A night in London.
I spent the majority of a Friday with Rea and her Uncle Homer, nervously anticipating the moment they'd have to leave me on my own to find The Beaver. Yes, The Beaver, my hotel of choice, located in the cozy neighborhood of South Kensington. I'll never forget that moment, exiting the tube, saying goodbye to Rea and Uncle Homer, Rea anxiously wishing me good luck: "I'm sure you'll be fine. I guess I'll see you on Sunday?" "Yeah, Sunday probably. I'll be fine, don't worry about me!" I was terrified. I turned, feigning confidence, and walked up and out of the tube station, never looking back. I felt certain that if I did, it would "give me away", so to speak, as a tourist... not like my bursting backpack with a burnt orange longhorn wouldn't have taken care of that for me.

I made my way to The Beaver. It was dark by that time, and being in a strange place in the dark always makes me feel vulnerable. Evidently, this lovely borough of Kensington wasn't as nice as I'd thought. I walked through that neighborhood, feeling so scared, so small, so Texan, so tourist, so SORE THUMB sticking out for the world to steal what little this gal's got with her. All of a sudden, I looked in the window of a home to my left. I stopped dead in my tracks at a serene scene of a young mother with a baby in a bassinet, watching TV with the lights off, several candles burning brightly on the mantelpiece. In this moment, my fears were erased. As irrational as it may have been, I felt safe. If this mother and her baby are here, I'm ok. Nonsense, but it's how I felt. I continued to grow in my confidence as I walked down the street, not at a gunshot pace like before, praying no one would approach me, but more in fascination at these evening paintings I was fortunate enough to behold. A small family eating dinner together in their vibrant red formal dining room, wine glasses on the table (elbows off). Two teens on a white leather couch, watching (but obviously not watching) a movie, hyper-conscious of hand positioning, too close for Mom's comfort. Looking through a living room to the kitchen, an older woman washing dishes with a small TV on the counter displaying the evening news. These scenes seemed so normal, so familiar, so comforting. They reminded me that yes, I'm in a strange country, a new neighborhood, at night, alone.... but these people are just people. They live here. They rock their baby to sleep here; they eat dinner here; they make out on the couch when Mom isn't looking here. It's just a neighborhood.

&...

as I stepped into The Beaver, I felt a small sense of accomplishment- at least I'd made it to my hotel room. At least there was that. I watched some British TV, thumbing through the pages of a Time Out London I'd bought with good intentions earlier that afternoon. So many things to do, so many people, out and about in this city. I could see some just out my window on the street. Girls in their "going out" heels. Yet I was on pause there in the room, paralyzed and panicked. I think something inside of me, the way I was brought up, told me not to go out alone. Cue inner dialogue:

Mom would kill me. I'll get mugged, I'll get raped, I'll be stuck here in London and no one will ever find me again! Besides, BBC is quality television. We don't get this back home... well, maybe we do, but not as many options as here in England! I'll stick around here, relax, maybe take a shower. Yeah, that sounds good- I need to relax anyway, been so busy this week! No one will ever know. No one will ever know.... that I've sat here on my butt all night long?! No! No, I can't stay here. Must go out. Must find SOMEthing to do! Be brave, you'll kick yourself later if you don't go out and make some sort of memory.

And so I did. I went out, took the tube and I found Soho. I found Picadilly Circus, I found Covent Garden, I marched along the Strand. I did it alone. And I didn't get mugged or raped or maimed in any way. I did meet Luis, the Columbian rickshaw driver who let me sit in the back of his ride while I ate a slice of pizza, trying to figure out where to go next. We had a most pleasant discussion about Columbian music.

~~*~~

Yes, yes... there it was, the Amazing Learning Experience. It sort of encompasses my feelings about this trip to England- growth being the key element. Self-confidence out in the big, bad world, out of a safety bubble with emergency numbers. I feel proud of myself, like on this trip I've honestly accomplished something real, something useful for the rest of my life. I know it's silly to feel proud, really, when I've only grazed the surface of "experience", and it was an English-speaking city... but hey, a gal's gotta start somewhere.

***NOVEL SYNTHESIS***

In each of the four novels we read for the London course, there has been an in-class focus on relationships between characters. In all cases, a homosocial aspect has been present, not to be confused with the homosexual elements so prominently displayed in The Picture of Dorian Gray and Mrs. Dalloway. With the topic of the homosocial versus the homosexual, it is easy to make connections and distinctions between the four novels.

In Bleak House, we saw Esther participate in many homosocial relationships. She was connected with many female characters; her relationship with Ada was most prominent. In this case it is interesting to see how female friendships are portrayed in Dickens' time in comparison to Virginia Woolfe's time. In some senses, the relationships between Esther and Ada and Clarissa and Sally are very similar. In both instances, the women were socially thrown together and became the closest of friends almost immediately. In contrast, the two relationships are different in that Esther and Ada were close friends, but Esther played a more maternal role in Ada's life. It seems that Clarissa and Sally had a much different sort of relationship- I was left with the impression that Clarissa idolized Sally in a way; we know she admired Sally and had strong feelings for her. While the relationship between Esther and Ada was pure friendship and nothing more, I would argue that there was romantic love present between Clarissa and Sally, as we have some insight into the matter:

"But this question of love (she thought, putting her coat away), this falling in love with women. Take Sally Seton, her relation in the old days with Sally Seton. Had not that, after all, been love?"

In this vein, we can move along to the comparison of Dorian Gray's relationships and the friendship between Samad and Archie in White Teeth. In The Picture of Dorian Gray, nearly all of the male relationships had a homosexual element to them: Basil's obsession with Dorian's beauty, Dorian's fixation on Lord Henry's words, Lord Henry's fascination with toying with Dorian's mind, and on and on. Though the novel was written in a time in which homosexuality was a crime to be imprisoned for; Oscar Wilde was quite blatant in his approach to describing these relationships. Although nothing overtly sexual occurs in the novel between men, it is implied in his flow of descriptive language.

This bears sharp contrast to the friendship of Samad Iqbal and Archie Jones. The two men have an unlikely friendship, connected probably solely through the war. They have completely different backgrounds, yet their lives are connected through the war and the things they have in common in their current lives, such as their children of the same age in the same school, the pub they convene in daily for chips and beans (or mushrooms in Archie's case), PTA meetings- the sort of day to day mundane is what continues to bind the two together, in addition to their constant rehashing of old war stories. It's interesting how much more functional a relationship between two men of such different backgrounds is in comparison to the relationships in Dorian Gray, in which all of the men are of the same social class and background. The men in Dorian Gray are all mentally or socially peculiar in one way or another, and the result is confusion, manipulation, and death. This proves an interesting point: congruent social, historical, even geographical backgrounds do not a perfect friendship or relationship make. Archie and Samad are almost polar opposites in that respect, yet their relationship has survived for years, through thick and thin.

It is also interesting how the city of London plays into these stories. London's role in the novels is perpetually shifting- we move from the sludge, mire and soot of Dickensian London to the wealth of The Strand in Wilde's time. From there we walk with Clarissa Dalloway through the streets of a still wealthy yet less extravagant London, to the more modern day suburbs of a poor east London- Willesden Green, where Archie and Samad reside. This course in the city and the novel has tied these two elements together in a way I had never previously thought to take note of; in hindsight it seems so completely obvious that I can't believe I passed over such an important element of reading a novel. The ever-changing background of London and its interaction with the lives of the characters and their relationships proves most interesting; the city truly colors each novel in a different way and gives each one a completely different energy.

***THE NOVEL***
White Teeth

The question of the moral fiber of Archibald Jones is an interesting one. To some, he appears as a sort of bumbling dullard, wandering through life with no real conviction of character, no rules for life, no religion- no nothing. These people may have some affection for his character as a sort of silly old man, but don't really value him in the novel. I have a different view of old Archie- he's my favorite character in the whole book. When it comes to the question of the man's character and values, I feel that Archie is perhaps the most virtuous guy in the story. But it takes a while to get to this point; the opening scene finds the man attempting to kill himself. A real act of cowardice (displayed as courageous in Archie's mind) opens the novel:

"But dying's no easy trick. And suicide can't be put on a list of Things to Do in between cleaning the grill pan and leveling the sofa leg with a brick. It is the decision not to do, to un-do; a kiss blown at oblivion. No matter what anyone says, suicide takes guts. It's for heroes and martyrs, truly glorious men. Archie was none of these. He was a man whose significance in the Greater Scheme of Things could be figured along familiar ratios:
Pebble:Beach
Raindrop: Ocean
Needle: Haystack."

Ultimately, Archie does decide to kill himself... by gassing himself in his car. This hopelessness the man feels, the cowardice in dealing with his troublesome life- these things show lack of character in my opinion. However, Archie does not die. Archie lives. Archie is saved by (in my opinion) divine intervention, in the shape of a man named Mo. As a result, Archie transforms himself from a depressed and washed-up old character into a man with a new lease on life. He's alive!

"Later that morning, Archie did an ecstatic eight circuits of Swiss Cottage traffic circle in his car, his head stuck out the window, a stream of air hitting the teeth at the back of his mouth like a windsock. He thought: Blimey. So this is what it feels like when some bugger saves your life. Like you've been handed a great big wad of Time.....

Go straight past Go!, Archie-boy, he tells himself; collect two hundred, and don't for Gawd's sake look back."

This new and improved Archibald Jones is my favorite character because of his zest and appreciation for life and the people in it. His new wife Clara, his daughter Irie, his best friend Samad... I think Archie knows what to value and what to not obsess about. Samad is constantly stressed about his sons and their spirituality, their roots, to the point of splitting them up and sending one back to his homeland. This is insane to me; the work of a madman. Archie appears to have the concern of a potato in comparison, but if we look a little closer and dig a little deeper into who Archie is; where he's been, what he's lived through, who is is presently, I think we find a man with his values in the right place.

GENERAL UPDATE FOR THE MASSES:

Sorry I have been so terrible about updating the blog. I promise to tell everyone anything you want to know! Here's a recap of last week: saw two amazing Shakespeare performances. The first was The Comedy of Errors at the Globe Theater in London on Tuesday (I think). It was really funny and entertaining- it was such a cool experience in general to be in the Globe- we had standing tickets in front of the stage, so it was neat to sort of experience that. It also rained during the performance which I loved. Before the Shakespeare performance, we had gone to east London to explore some ethnic neighborhoods to coincide with our reading in White Teeth. We checked out a Muslim mosque, which was interesting. As an anthropology major, I felt a little uncomfortable going in to mosque. I don't mean this in the sense that being around another culture was uncomfortable- being uncomfortable in that sense is always a good learning experience; it was more of the fact that a large group of us sort of went tromping about in someone else's mosque unannounced during their prayer time. Nevertheless, it was an excellent opportunity to view someone else's religious practices in action. The mosque was really beautiful inside, as was watching the men and women practice their prayers. After that, we went to an area of London called Brick Lane, which was SUPER cool. I found some awesome record stores and bought some Black Crowes vinyl... one limited edition clear vinyl with a calendar included from 1993. I'm still really excited about them.

Also last week we visited another magnificent garden at Rousham. It ties at number two with Stourhead for my favorite, because the two were so different. They were both really majestic and massive, but Rousham was different in that there was no distinct tour or path we were supposed to take; you could wander at will and come upon the more painterly views of the garden, as well as the picturesque. They were simply framed differently than Stourhead, where you could see a view of a temple from a mile away. At Rousham, you could wander through some woods and then just happen upon an old temple. It was fantastic. There was also a really nice par terre garden close to the house.

We also got to see The Tempest last week in Stratford, starring Patrick Stewart. Yes, I mean Patrick Stewart from Star Trek. He was really excellent. The Tempest really freaked me out though- there was this one part when freaky Ariel (this weird sprite dude) came unexpectedly out of a freaking walrus or something all bloody and I was sort of terrified. I did not enjoy that bit. The rest was good though. Just the experience of realizing, sitting in your seat, that you're watching the Royal Shakespeare Company, with Patrick Stewart, act out The Tempest, in Stratford.... it's mind-blowing. I keep reminding myself to take a step back and realize in the grand scheme of things, how amazing these experiences are!

Friday, I went with a few friends to do some more touristy stuff in London- for the Buckingham exhibit, see the last post. That night, we miraculously got discount tickets to see The Producers- the newest Mel Brooks musical. It was absolutely hysterical- we had an awesome time, and SOMEHOW managed to get second row seats! I don't know how this happened... divine providence, I think. We were second row, right in the middle behind the conductor! We even got some interaction with one of the actors! It was a blast!

Phew! So, things are sadly winding up here. In classes we're working on final projects, finishing books, etc. I don't want to leave! I love England, save the food and occasional snotty people. The weather today is so cold, it feels amazing.... I really don't want to return to the likes of 110 degree highs in Austin. I also love my profs and the kids- I feel so blessed to know these people and we're kind of like family now. I will really miss being around them every day in this happy little bubble at Brasenose College. I do, however, miss many things about Texas. Number one: friends and family. Two: Ned Plimpton. Three: texmex and edible food in general. Four: ice cubes. Five: water that does not smell like sulphur. Those are the top five. In in all honesty, number one weighs out against everything I adore about England, so don't worry, I will be coming home. :)

xo,
Sarai

ps- i do still promise pics- i think i will have to use the lab because my internet connection isn't fast enough.

***The Museum***


This past Friday, I had the rare opportunity to view the interior of Buckingham Palace. The Queen is on vacation somewhere, and the 19 state rooms are currently on display for the general public (at a rather hefty price!). But what I really desired to see was a special exhibit of the Queen's evening gowns. It was included in the tour of the state rooms, so luckily, I was able to view it.

When I first walked into the room and saw all of the gowns, I was completely overwhelmed and I actually got a little teary-eyed. There were glittering dresses of every hue, sorted by color. To the left, a gorgeous collection of blues; past that canary yellows; then pinks, reds, greens, and on and on! It was a vintage lover's dream come true. Never in my life have I seen so many amazing gowns.... but it makes sense, because honestly how could it get any better than the gowns of the Queen of England? I took in every detail, laughing at how the Queen has changed shape considerably since 1947 (the oldest dress on display, a red velvet number) from hourglass to rectangle. It was also amusing to see that even the Queen was affected by tiedye in the 1970s- why her designer thought it a good idea to incorporate it into an evening gown, I'll never understand.

It may seem highly materialistic that I get so excited about "a bunch of old dresses", as a friend put it. But to me, they're not just dresses, they're history, and I find it fascinating how styles and trends have changed through the years, and how they even affect someone in power like Queen Elizabeth. The dresses mark certain important events; she was rarely allowed to wear them twice. Each one was crafted with exquisite detail, even with elements of the country she may have been visiting- something like a national flower or symbol, to show respect and admiration for that particular country. In addition, there are gowns in the exhibit that mark special dates in the Queen's personal life; what she wore when crowned, what she wore for her official photograph, what she wore at her son's weddings, and on and on. That's why these gowns are important to preserve- because they're not just dresses; they're a special piece of pop culture and world history, and one woman's personal history in one.

***The Novel***
Mrs. Dalloway

"How long had Dr. Holmes been attending him?
Six weeks.
Prescribed a little bromide? Said there was nothing the matter? Ah yes (those general practitioners! thought Sir William. It took half his time to undo their blunders. Some were irreparable)."

This section of Mrs. Dalloway, the part in which Septimus finally sees a proper doctor for his mental ailment, is depressing. Septimus suffers from post-traumatic stress syndrome after his time in the war; but at this time, any decent form of psychiatry was only just getting off the ground. This poor man had to suffer a long time with another doctor (one of "those general practitioners) telling he and his wife that he was perfectly fine! Imagine all of the men who came back from the war like poor Septimus, unable to get real help. And also sadly, Septimus was one of those irreparable men. Even the great Sir William couldn't get him to the country to recover fast enough before he killed himself... as whispered about at Clarissa's party: "Lady Bradshaw murmured how, 'just as we were starting, my husband was called up on the telephone, a very sad case. A young man (that is what Sir William is telling Mr. Dalloway) had killed himself. He had been in the army.' Oh! Thought Clarissa, in the middle of the party, here's death, she thought."

The connection between these two people, Septimus and Clarissa, is what makes me feel certain I don't like the character of the latter. Throughout the book, I found myself relating to her absentminded thoughts wandering as she ran her errands; her extreme nostalgia; her thoughts on past relationships. I cannot, however, relate to Clarissa's shallow response to the death of Septimus. The stupid woman is upset at the mention of death at HER party. Naturally, in accordance with her character and the stream of conciousness narrative, she continues to think on Septimus' death... but her party draws her away from these thoughts. She's too busy playing hostess to really display any true emotion about Septimus' suicide- things must be kept pleasant for her party; no more mention of death.

hey folks,
i promise to put pictures on here of the weekend and other trips i failed to tell you about... but the blogger site is having image loading issues. promise they'll be here very soon!
love,
s

***The Street***
I currently have enough information on "the street" to fill several blogs! This weekend I had quite an interesting experience: I ended up spending the majority of my weekend by myself in London. Yes, (to the dismay of my parents, I'm sure) I had to rely on my own wits and navigational and people skills. It turned out to be one of the best things I've ever done. To discover that I can indeed learn to use the underground, navigate bus systems, and find my way around was most valuable! The highlight of the weekend was Saturday afternoon. I was supposed to meet up with some Texas kids at noon to go see Les Mis, but they were nowhere to be found. So, I came up with an alternative plan, which was to try to find a music festival happening in southern London somewhere. After some tube confusion, I made it to Clapham Common, which is a lovely park. The music festival was put on by Ben and Jerry's, so there was free ice cream of every flavor (quite a few) everywhere! Ice cream! FREE! Every flavor! Also, there was a CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN. A fountain of melted chocolate, people!
In addition to all the sugar, the music was incredible. One of my favorites, Badly Drawn Boy, played. It was such a cool experience to see someone you love play in a foreign country. In addition to Badly Drawn Boy, Echo and the Bunnymen played, and a variety of others including the Pipettes.... my new favorite girl group!
But even in all of this excitement, I began to feel a little lonely. Miss Independent was ready to make some friends. Just my luck, a tall kid wearing a UT t-shirt walked past me. "Hey, hook 'em!" my dorky self shouted. He turned around with a smile and we ended up sorting out that he was not, in fact, from Texas, but loved Texas and Texans as he had stayed in Austin for South by Southwest music festival with a bunch of Texas guys. I was then introduced to all of his buddies and we all hung out for the rest of the day.
What an absoultely delightful experience! This is exactly the sort of thing I had always hoped would happen on "the street" in England. Beautiful surroundings, good music and new friends. What more can a gal from Texas ask for?

****THE MUSEUM****
On our trip to the Tate Modern in London on Thursday evening, I was completely struck by one particular piece. I'd made my way through much of the museum, and was on my last floor- the fifth. The art on this floor consisted mostly of minimalist art and conceptual art. Most of it was pretty abstract, so imagine my surprise when I came to be standing in front of a sculpture by Edgar Degas called "Little Dancer Aged Fourteen". I didn’t know what the piece was called or who made it before Thursday, but it left quite an impression on me. The reason it was so special for me is because I remember when I was a little girl, my grandfather gave me a very small version of this piece for Christmas one year. Seeing it in person and so much larger was quite an emotional experience. A lot of memories began flooding back of my grandfather, of Christmas, and of the sculpture. At that point in my life, my grandfather was very sick and my grandmother did most of the Christmas shopping for the kids. However, I remember thinking that this gift seemed like something he had picked out and really wanted to give me. It was special for that reason, and I was doing ballet at the time, so I loved the ballerina as well. As much as I love the miniature, it has nothing on the real sculpture! The detail is so beautiful- the tutu is made of the most delicate gauze. The dancer also has a pink silk ribbon in her hair. It's funny, when you look at it from far away, the whole piece looks bronze. When you get closer to it, the details really pop. These more tangible elements are what make the piece so special. It was really the only one on that floor I enjoyed. I'm not a huge fan of most conceptual art, and I especially dislike minimalist art. I was so surprised to see a sculpture that was completely different from everything around it. This piece is probably the most touching sculpture I have ever seen. The details of cloth and silk bring a real human element to the piece. It truly captured my attention and stirred up lot of memories and emotion.

*****THE NOVEL*****
The Picture of Dorian Gray is a truly fascinating piece of fiction. Of all the books we've read for class, it is my favorite by far. Watching the turn of the main character, Dorian, from a naive, well-meaning, impressionable young man into a horrible, evil person concerned solely with himself was what I found most interesting. The reader can pinpoint exactly where Dorian begins to change into a different person in chapter seven. A night out to the theater to show off his new love, the young actress, Sybil Vane, turns out to be disastrous on many levels. First, Sybil is awash in her love for Dorian and no longer has the desire or ability to act with the same brilliance as she had before. Thus, she embarrasses Dorian in front of his friends. This is where we see the sudden and drastic change in our main character: he goes backstage and tears the girl apart with quotes such as "you have killed my love"; "you are shallow and stupid"; "you have spoiled the romance of my life"; and the best of all: "what are you now; a third rate actress with a pretty face." These harsh and cruel words, so uncharacteristic of our sweet young Dorian thus far, were such a quick about-face that I hardly even believed he was serious. Sadly, he was, and the young Sybil ended up killing herself because of it.
Now the book really becomes captivating. Dorian goes home on this night, after behaving so callously, so brutally. He takes a look at the painting Basil Hallward made of him and notices the most subtle change in his smile.... a cruelty is present. This is my favorite part of the book. After first being so struck by Dorian's behavior, then seeing the result in the painting, bringing in the horror element to the novel- it's deliciously terrifying! We think that maybe it's all in Dorian's imagination, but we continue to read and see that indeed it's not Dorian going insane, but some mystical, ghastly thing that has happened to this painting, exchanging Dorian's youth and beauty for his soul's tarnish.
There has been much debate in this class as to whether or not the book is gothic, or filled with ideas of realism. In hindsight, after reviewing chapter seven of the novel, I feel that whatever people may glean from reading the novel in present day, Oscar Wilde was writing this for the purposes of producing an excellent story, like a gothic fairy tale. I compare it to a fairy tale because they both have the element of the moral element to the story, and the consequences faced by those who do cruel deeds. The evil characters always get it in the end, so to speak, and my opinion of Wilde's gothic intentions are reinforced by this analogy.

more pics- sorry but this only lets me do them five at a time.
top: a pond at Stourhead in the rain- try to see the raindrops, they were so pretty! next: a marble statue down in a grotto, also at Stourhead. next: me plus new friend sheena on the way there. next: me in front of massive redwood tree at Stourhead- these kinds of gardens were famous for importing plants and trees from all over the world, and the architecture was done in classic Greek and Roman styles. bottom: temple of Apollo- our first view of it! we made our way through the grounds with various views of temples and the like as it is a picturesque landscape garden with the goal of making little pictures in openings of trees and such. As you can see, I LOVED it. More pictures to come this week of more urban/London stuff. let me know what you think of these! what do you want to see more of and hear more about? love, s

some more random pictures! top: view of chapel from my bedroom window here at Brasenose in the evening- gorgeous! next: view of some of Stourhead from Temple of Apollo- this place is VAST! next: Stonhenge, yay!
next: a record store here in Oxford. the entire upstairs is full of vinyl for one pound apiece! I bought a Sam Cooke record. bottom: me as Kiera Knightley in Pride and Predjudice. The only thing missing is Darcy. :) Really tho, this is where the film was shot!

***The Street***
post 2

My favorite encounter with "the street" came last Tuesday on our second trip to London for the Oscar Wilde walk and the Museum of London. Not only was I extremely excited to see places featured in The Picture of Dorian Gray, I was really looking forward to just spending some free time wandering around in the city. Both of these things turned out to be really rewarding. The Wilde walk took us up and down the Strand, seeing some famous hotels and theaters. The Strand all on its own is fascinating enough; when you have some sights in particular to add to the history of the place, it's the museum meeting street!
Our other wanderings took us to the Texas Embassy for happy hour. This experience was hilarious. Probably one of my favorite moments of the day was walking in with our group and seeing another kid from the trip, Doug, sitting in there alone drinking a frozen margarita! I don't know why this was so hysterically funny to me, but it was. We enjoyed some crappy Tex-Mex together and had margaritas. It was interesting to see what the English think Tex-Mex is- not very good, but the tortilla chips and salsa were enough to make us happy!
We then continued on and found Chinatown, which was really interesting. I mean, I didn't even know London had a Chinatown. Do all big cities have an area like that? Anyway, Doug and I split off while the rest of the group ate Chinese. We got a little lost, but it turned out to be a good experience. Neither of us had a map, so I had to ask directions quite a few times; mostly to try to find Soho. I was given incorrect directions twice, which took us to some interesting areas of town. In getting a little bit turned around, I had the pleasant opportunity to see a free glockenspiel performance in a Swiss square. It was delightful!
Eventually, we found the part of London called Soho- a cool part of town central to gay culture. I hope to go back there the next time I'm in London and spend a little more time looking around because by the time we found it, we only had about 30 minutes to check it out. We then made our way back to the meeting point at Covent Garden. This ended up being my favorite part of the whole day- the last 20 minutes or so before I had to be back on the bus. This proves my theory about myself that my favorite times in a new place are always the random ones that occur; they're never planned, and they always involve people-watching! Anyway, we were walking back to the bus through Covent Garden, and there were several musicians playing in the square. One was a man playing "No Woman, No Cry" by Marley, all by himself. It was an otherwise quiet evening in the square and there were a few people listening calmly. There was an old gray rasta man sitting at the bottom of a gorgeous ionic column, quietly singing along and bobbing his head. It was such an awesome experience. As we moved a little farther away, there was another musician, a guitarist, playing what sounded like an adaptataion of "Minor Swing" by Django Reinhardt. Really, it's times like these that make me glad I'm studying ethnomusicology, but make me sad I don't have my own recording equipement! Talk about a scrapbook! How fantastic would it be to be able to take those sounds and memories home? I really didn't want to walk the extra 200 feet to get to the bus; I could have stayed right there all night. However, I know I won't forget that calm moment in the square listening to these two men play as it has proved to be one of my favorite "street" experiences thus far.

***The Novel***
post 2

So finally, our class has reached the end of Bleak House. I felt like we'd never get to the end of it. As long as the novel is, I feel like it was a good choice to coincide with our travels to London and gardens elswhere. I don't intend to focus on one passage in particular here, but rather on the conclusion of the novel as a whole.
After finishing the book, I've come to have a deeper appreciation for Dickens. As the novel drew to a close, he had to wrap up many loose ends. I hadn't realized while reading the book exactly how many characters he had written in. There are over 50. The great thing I've noticed about Dickens in hindsight is that he had an amazing ability to keep up with all of the characters, and to give them each such color and life that you feel like you really know them well, even if they only appeared in the novel for a short time. I realized this as in the last few chapters, he (through Esther's narrative mostly) tells us how characters such as Sir Leicester, Charley, Caddy and Mr. Turveydrop end up. What's interesting is that we as readers actually even care to know. That's what I mean when I say he has given these more minor characters color and interesting qualities so that even the most minor person deserves a small conclusion to their role in the novel.
The other main thing I noticed in finishing Bleak House was the continuance of shattered child/parents relations, which we also discussed in class. Dickens starts us off with the sad story of young Esther, having never known her mother. We then progress to the scene in which Esther is reestablished with her mother, yet she is told she can never see her again. Finally, Volumina dies and Esther is truly motherless in every sense of the word. Other examples include Charley and her brother in their lack of parents, Caddy's completely emotionally absent mother in her life, and Jo's lack of parents. The closest thing he had to a father figure was probably Captain Hawdon, who died as well. Then we have the sad and irritating story of Rick and Ada and their child. I've never been so irritated with a character in a novel as much as I was with Rick; Dickens led me to expect more from him initially. What a disappointment, and thus he continued this strain of ruined parent/child relations by leaving his unborn child fatherless. I will say that the only really successful relationship of the sort is between Mr. Jarndyce and Esther. We all thought it was to be ruined as well with their marriage looming in the distance. I think most people who read the book were disheartened by the idea and we didn't want things to change between Jarndyce and Esther because they have such a good and honest dynamic- one of the only honest ones in the novel, aside from Esther's love for Woodcourt. However, he knew he well enough to figure it out, and Mr. Jarndyce certainly pulled through as my favorite character in the novel when he made the surprising twist in giving Esther to Allan Woodcourt. He truly did have her best interests at heart, and it truly did make him happy to see her happy.
Again, in conclusion I now appreciate Dickens' ability to have so many characters and to have so many interestin connecting points between them. His interweaving of the story between characters from the city and the country is masterful and touching, and I'm glad to have read this novel.

some random fun pictures for your viewing pleasure:
top: Shakespeare's birthplace in Stratford-on-Avon
next: pub in stratford with Doug, Erin, and Josh
next: Sheena+me in Hyde Park, London
next: Sheena, me, Lauren, Kindi, Ann in Bourton-on-the-Water (random village in England on the way to Stratford, said to be the prettiest in all of England)
bottom: me in front of the Royal Shakespeare theater in Stratford during intermission of Henry IV! It was so cool!
More pics to come of monuments without me in front of them... sorry but I like pictures of people better than just a monument. :)

***THE MUSEUM***
Our first trip to London took us to several museums- The Dickens House Museum, The Victoria and Albert... even Harrod's, in some respects, is a museum, if you think about it. I found the V&A to be the most fascinating. As an avid collector of all things old, whether it be clothing, hats, books, posters or antique furniture, the museum in general appeals to me. One exhibit in particular really caught my attention- a selection of vintage clothing, mostly women's fashions. Looking over the years of Dior and Versace, I found myself salivating over organza, tulle, silk and beading on evening gowns, particularly one number from 1955. As a sucker for the color pink and elaborate beading, this one drew me to it immediately. It was made by Givenchy; haute couture of the 50s, out of the most gorgeous material- embroidered silk. There was a small train at the back; it was made to measure. In contrast to many of the other items in the exhibit which could very easily be found in a vintage shop, or even a thrift store, this one's value shone out from behind the glass. Displayed like all the rest on a simple mannequin, it was special; it seemed alive. I could easily see myself wearing it somewhere fancy, feeling exquisite, and I wanted so badly to get it out from behind the glass and try it on. It looked like it would fit me perfectly. In this sense, the museum is trapping a beautiful work of art that need not be kept out of life. Yes, yes, it's keeping it from the danger of ruin and decay, but I feel strongly that this dress ought to be worn! And maybe someday it will be, by some rich young starlet attending the premiere of her latest film. When they ask her who she's wearing, she'll have the pleasure of replying "vintage Givenchy, 1955. Isn't it fantastic?"

***THE STREET***
There's a lot to be said about wandering the old streets of London, seeing all the old Dickens-related places and all that.... but what have really interested me most are the old streets and buildings and people here in Oxford. The history astounds me; every picture taken looks as picturesque as a postcard or something taken by a professional photographer. Every building has a story; history is ingrained even in the stones of the streets themselves. A cross remains uncovered on the cobblestone streets where martyrs were burned during the reign on Bloody Mary. History is more highly valued here than in the US, I think. Aside from all of this, my favorite thing about any place is always people watching. Yesterday as I wandered in search of a cheap lunch, Oxford was really alive and bustling. Evidently, Saturdays are the days when all manner of street performers get out and do their thing. I saw a hippie playing the bagpipes (rather well, I think... but not like I'd really know the difference), a man pretending to be a statue, and an old woman playing the violin in a really quiet area of town. She was playing a sort of haunting melody which seemed completely appropriate for the place- right next to an ancient church. All of these things aside, my favorite street experience yesterday was watching a band playing in the good old style of American mid 1950's rock and roll. They were called "The Very Same", I guess because they completely ripped off their sound and weren't ashamed to admit it! They were a three piece band, guitar, bass, and drums. They had that old timey sound I adore, and it made me miss home a little bit for the first time. I really wanted to go get a good old American cheeseburger and a milkshake and watch them play... but there aren't any good old American cheeseburgers here. It was so interesting to hear them play and watch people's reactions. I heard a lot of "are they Americans?" and "oi, are these guys Brits?" in reaction to the sound. Some people were too busy to stop for a second and watch, others danced around a bit. A group of teenage boys proceeded to dance around in a circle which was wildly entertaining. This gem of an experience is not one that can be found in a guidebook. These sorts of things occur when you're not looking for them, when you happen to wander into them. These are my favorite sort; watching that band and feeling nostalgic yet excited to be in England, watching the English, watching the tourists... all of these things culminated into one of my favorite moments of the trip thus far.

***THE NOVEL***
In chapter 22 of Bleak House, I came across a particularly depressing section. Mr. Bucket and Mr. Snagsby have gone to Tom-all-Alone's to find Jo, and while they are looking for him, they come across two women. They are the wives of brickmakers from Hertfordshire, two destitute women, one with a newborn baby. Bucket notices the child, and asks how old it is, the answer; three weeks. Bucket asks whose child it is, and a very disturbing quote emerges: "'I was the mother of one like it, master, and it died.' 'Ah, Jenny, Jenny!' says the other woman to her; 'better so. Much better to think of dead than alive, Jenny! Much better!" Now this disturbs Bucket as well as the reader, and he questions the woman about it. Her reply in summary is that she is scared of how the boy is to be brought up in such a horrible environment, with an abusive father, and what good kind of life could he possibly have? She knows his life will be hard, and he will become hardened by its roughness. She loves the child so much that she wishes for him to not have to experience this harsh existence, an existence very similar to Jo's, I would imagine. In this passage, we see how the novel is threaded in a way that Dickens sheds light on the plight of the poor. It's a topic we discussed in class; the hopelessness of the poor in London at that time. From the very beginning of the book, Dickens described the never-ending fog, the black sooty flakes falling from the sky, the mud, the ash, the filth- it's a recurring theme throughout the novel. I think Dickens was perhaps trying to do something to help by describing an awful place like Tom-all-Alone's. The passage I have described is so sad; it pulls at the heartstrings that this woman would rather have her child die than have him experience his life as a poor child out on the streets of London. She doesn't mean it literally, of course, but it strikes the reader to the core- at least it struck me that way.

hello all!
sorry it's taken such a long time (again) but more internet issues afoot. Things are going quite splendidly! After Stourhead on Monday, we had another trip Wednesday to London! It was my first time to London (other than the airport), and it was so exciting. We're reading Bleak House for one of my classes, so we took a Dicken walk through the old law courts and such as well as the Dickens museum, where he and his family lived for a couple years. We then found a pub and had a beer whilst waiting for the coach to come and take us to Harrod's. On the way to Harrod's, we were able to see the more metropolitan/swanky side of London with more shops, etc.... Harrod's was amazing! I felt pretty much like a pauper in there; everything is insanely expensive except for maybe the food. We all got "take away" and took it with up to Hyde Park to eat, which was delightful except for the part when I was opening a bottle of lemonaide and it was apparently highly fizzed and spewed all over my pants. I dried out eventually. So post lounging in the park, we wandered over to the Royal Albert Hall and the memorial across from it.... pics to come i hope... and then on towards the Victoria and Albert Museum. I LOVED the V&A. Loved it. The fashion/vintage clothing exhibit was so interesting, as well as old British stuff, and the Raphael exhibit. I intend to go back sometime while i'm here- there just wasn't enough time because it's such a huge place. Ummmm, everything else is going fine. I still adore Oxford, even more so than when I arrived. Saw Pirates of the Caribbean II last night which was an interesting experience. I loved the movie, yes, but seeing it in and English theater was funny as far as previews and such are concerned. What else... today am seeing Henry IV at the Swan theater, should be cool. Possible trip on Saturday to London, possible trip Sunday to Cambridge. It's only 20 minutes away and there's a castle there. Promise I'm going to figure out the photo thing eventually... just hard to do in this lab cause it's crowded and people are waiting to use the computers. FYI, also, this blog is going to be used for one of my classes, so be expecting some slightly more formal entries on things I've seen here, perhaps a little more concise and detailed bits on a particular thing I saw at a museum or in a novel we're reading, or just an experience on the street. I'll probably put some sort of mark like this : *____* to signify such entries. Or perhaps I will allow you to just figure it out on your own. I'm off now, hoping Richard the "scout" (english speak for cleaning person but more highly respected?) is finished "sorting" my room and "hoovering". :) Oi!