Quote: Cheever on Marriage

 “Liza sent us a wheel of Brie.” “That’s nice,” she said, “but you know what? Brie gives me terribly loose bowels.” He hitched up his genitals and crossed his legs. “That’s funny,” he said. “It constipates me.” That was their marriage then - not the highest paving of the stair, the clatter of Italian fountains, the wind in the alien olive trees, but this: a jay-naked male and female discussing their bowels.

John Cheever, The Falconer

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photo credit: canarygirl

Quote of the Day for a Viper

Why Madame Rawdon “was no better than a vipère”:

She became a perfect Bohemian ere long, herding with people whom it would make your  hair stand on end to meet.

William Makepeace Thackeray, - Vanity Fair

photo credit: ceillac

Ten Everyday Words and Phrases that Originate from Greek Mythology

We Use Phrases from Greek Mythology in the English Language and We Often Do Not Realize it

We use the following phrases, "Achilles Heel," "Between a rock and a hard place," "To have a Midas touch," "To rise from the ashes," "He's a mentor to me," quite commonly in written and in spoken language. But, where do these phrases come from? Did you know that they have a common origin in mythology? Read and find out about ten phrases we use today that owe their origins to the Greeks: 

10 Popular Words and Phrases in English that Originate from Greek Myths

1. Achilles's Heel

Achilles, an ancient warrior, a child of Zeus and protected by the waters of the river Styx, fell to his death by an arrow struck at his heel, his only weak spot.

The phrase has come to mean any weak spot of an organization, a person, etc., who is generally deemed to be strong.

Marvin's brother was the only one who knew that his Achilles's heel was his weakness for gambling the $100 slots at the casino.

Here is an example from an article on cooking apps for the iPad for the New York Times:
“BigOven’s community involvement may be its biggest asset, but it is also its Achilles’ heel.”

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Cassandra warns Priam

2. To Be A Cassandra 

Cassandra was a priestess to Athena in ancient Troy. She warned King Priam that the Trojans should not take in the large wooden horse standing at their door (see, "Beware of Greeks bearing gifts") but no one would listen to her.

"To be a cassandra," in present day language has come to mean someone who proclaims truth, or spreads a message, but no one wants to believe it despite its authenticity.

Another example of environmental Cassandras is a small coastal town that did not listen to the reports from a scientific recommendation to begin creating a buffer zone of trees to protect its estuary from the encroaching ocean waters.

Politicsdaily.com ran a story asking if Kathleen Parker was a Cassandra when she spoke out against Sarah Palin's nomination as the Republican vice presidential nominee in 2008.

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3. Caught Between a Rock and Hard Place

Odysseus learns from the blind seer Tiresias that he must journey through a strait where the path breaks into two; no matter what path he and his crew choose, Tiresias forebodes, the outcome will be equally perilous. For on one side is the Scylla monster who gobbles up his men like chickens and on the other side is a gaping whirlpool with teeth called the Charybdis, which swallows his men alive. The Charybdis' cousin is the sand whirlpool in Return of the Jedi.

We say we are caught between a Scylla and a Charybdis, or between a rock and a hard place, when whichever decision is made, the outcome is hardly good.

A news article from The New Hampshire Keene Sentinel refers to refereeing teen bullying online, as caught between a rock and hard place because the school must choose between peer mediation, which seldom works because the bullying is not happening in school but at home online:
"We’re caught between a rock and hard place, disciplining them for what happens outside the school...”

It was easy to see Simone was caught between a rock and a hard place. If she chose Zack, tall and handsome, she would not have someone to discuss poetry, but if she chose Zed, a recent Rhodes Scholar, she would have to settle for a tepid body.
Et cetera:

It is also possible to use the phrase "Scylla and Charybdis" to mean caught between a rock and hard place, as in a San Fransisco Chronicle on global warming and stopping green house gases as a Scylla and a Charybdis.

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4. Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts

How is Health Care in this cartoon used as an example of "Beware ..."

The phrase originates from Virgil's Aeneid. Laocoon tells the Trojans, "Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts" but they do not listen to him and allow the Trojan Horse to enter the city (see entries on Trojan Horse, Cassandra). After the Greeks sack Troy, as punishment for attempting to warn the Trojans, Laocoon and his sons are eaten alive by a sea serpent.

The phrase is heavily used in political language to describe situations where a particular political action is not as benign as it may at first appear. The expression can be used, however, in any situation where appearances are not always what they seem.

"I say beware of Greeks bearing gifts," said Troy. "Your parents pay for dinner only when they have bad news!"

Consider a recent article, "Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts," from the Heritage Blog about Hilary Clinton. In the article, the expression is used to warn policy makers about a seemingly benign Central and Eastern European endorsement of the United States in regards to foreign policy.

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5. Herculean Strength

Hercules is a hero from the Greek panoply, famous for his seven labors. Hercule gave Atlas respite by taking a turn to carry the world atop his shoulders.

To say someone has “herculean strength” means they have strength that far exceeds that of a normal person. (E.g., sometimes seen as “herculean effort”)

Ned's ability to juggle three jobs, raise two twin boys alone, while at the same time serving as the Neighborhood Watch chairperson was considered by many in the community as a herculean effort.

Here is an example from an article about Facebook from Mashable, the social media online guide:
... [the] Social web has become increasingly complex — relating the full implications to a broad audience is a Herculean feat.

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6. Mentor

Mentor is the form the ancient Greek goddess Athena takes to counsel the young Telemachus, son of Odysseus. Athena becomes a friendly, man who encourages Telemachus to go find news of his missing father who has been lost at sea after the sack of Troy.

The word mentor has come to mean a professional relationship where a more experienced person gives the necessary skills to a novice. Or it can mean simply an older person who guides a younger one.
In college I had a writing mentor who helped me to write a thesis statement.

The Associated Press uses the word to describe the relationship between the president and his former Harvard professor:

The Rev. Al Sharpton is a "lightning rod" for President Barack Obama on inner city streets, Obama's former Harvard mentor and friend said Saturday at a forum in Harlem.

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7. To Have the Midas touch

In legend, King Midas turned everything he touched to gold. In the legend Midas’ wish is granted: his food turns to gold, even his own daughter. Horrified by his new found skill, he rushes to the river to wash his hands of his gift/curse, which is why gold is to be found in river beds! The original legend was meant to illustrate the folly of the rich man and teach a lesson to rich fools.

But, if someone has the Midas touch today, it means they are skilled at becoming rich, or, just seem to be really lucky. A synonym for the Midas touch could be a “lucrative entrepreneur”. The phrase can also mean someone or something which brings luck or success.

It seemed that Mike had the Midas touch: he had a stunning wife, three handsome children, and a 401k that paid steady dividends. The block was green with envy.

A headline reads “Britain's Got Talent Betting: Simon Cowell's Midas Touch.” Betters hope Cowell’s success on American Idol will bleed over to the British counterpart.

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8. To Open a Pandora's Box

Poor Pandora lives with her family in a state of preternatural bliss but she opens the box she is explicitly told not to touch (similar to Eve eating of the fruit in the garden in Genesis). When she opens the box, corruption enters the world: death, decay, entropy, murder, war - but Pandora closes the box before everything that is horrible escapes and the one thing that is not stolen by is Hope.

Little did the popular girls at Ridgemont High know, uncovering secrets about the new kid in school was to open a pandora's box that neither of them had been able to anticipate.

We use the expression “Pandora’s box” to express an action, an event, an object, or a person that has been unleashed from its shackles and gotten out of hand.

The Huffington post ran an article about the crude oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico as opening a Pandora’s box.

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9. Trojan Horse

In the Aeneid, Virgil recounts how the Greeks were finally able to conquer the Trojans after ten years of brutal fighting. Odysseus, the wily entrepreneur, devises a hollow wooden horse to place Greek soldiers inside of and place it as a “gift” at the walls of Troy. The Trojans. thinking it is a peace offering, take the horse in their gates, celebrate their victory and go to sleep. The Greeks come out of the horse, murder the men and boys and make slaves of the women and children.

To call something a Trojan horse The phrase has been used to describe computer viruses that enter “the back door” of a closed system, veiled as a normal-looking file, but are actually malware hackers use to gain information, delete files, and basically wreak havoc on civilized humankind.

Equipped with walkie talkies, Blake and his buddies decided to inject Lane into the birthday party as their trojan horse to signal to them when it was time to launch the water balloons en masse.

Federal News Radio reports on malware hackers have lured computer users to download onto their PCs from their iPads:

The link in the message leads to a Trojan horse that injects code into Windows' explorer.exe and opens a backdoor for hackers.

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10. To Rise From the Ashes

As this detail from the Aberdeen Bestiary illustrates, the Phoenix is a mythic bird who every one thousand years immolates itself and is then born again from its own ashes. In everyday speech, we use this phrase to indicate a major life change or total makeover in a person's life. One could say Bill Clinton rose from the ashes to become a post-presidential celebrity despite the scandal of Whitewater and Monicagate.

Tip: Don't try this at home, kids.

After thirty years in the working world, Hannah decided to rise from the ashes and return to school to get a nursing degree.

A post on the Consumerist claims that the once defunct electronics chain will rise from the ashes:
Circuit City to Rise from the Ashes!

And another article from a life coach promises readers to learn how to change their lives and start anew:
Et cetera: How To Rise From The Ashes Like A Phoenix

Go to my Teacher's store to buy a ready-to-go educational resource on words and phrases from Greek Mythology.

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Note: I will add to this post as I begin to compile more examples.

Find a supercharged lesson plan on allusions to  Greek myths here 

Repost: The Shortest Story Ever Told

Never worn. For sale. Baby shoes.

-Ernest Hemingway
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Haiku in Honor of National Poetry Month

Trees staring upward
Like tops spinning in circles
Empties our love out

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Notes on "On Some Motifs in Baudelaire"

Explore Benjamin's take on Proust's madeleine, Lacan's objet petit a, and how poets unlock involuntary memories, shocks, desire, and hidden chance.

Walter Benjamin on Marcel Proust on the Madeleine
I remember Walter Benjamin's writings on Marcel Proust's madeleine, the moment, in Proust's novel In Search of Lost Time, when an avatar of Proust bites into the pastry, memories of his childhood flood into his brain, what Proust calls a memoire involuntaire; but, I never noticed before this statement Benjamin (writing about Proust) makes about the search for an object related to a lost memory:

"As for that object, it depends entirely on chance whether we come upon it before we die or whether we never encounter it" (Benjamin Illuminations 158).

Lacan's Objet Petit A
This comment reminds me of Lacan's objet petit a.

It's Lacan's psychological concept for the lost object. The object of desire responsible for obsession and deranged fantasy. It is that object of desire that drives the desirer mad in search of it.

The object of desire, in the symbol of the madeleine, is a marker for that object that we may chance upon, involuntarily, or may never have at all. I think about myself, here, and my desires. If there is a "madeleine" for me, I may taste it, or I may not; the memoire involuntaire is totally necessitated by chance; I happen upon the object, the memory comes flooding in like an impressionistic painting. But, I may never come upon this memory, locked forever in some lost object of desire.

Is the Job of the Poet to Hearken Back to Lost Memories?
If it is the poet's job to unlock these memories, then I applaud the poet. If it is a poet who can open up a madeleine of lost memories, let's laud him with a crown of laurel.

I am sure there is a poem hidden in a taste yet to be eaten.

Am I hedonistic to wish for such a bite?

Proust entrances his reader with the opportunity to invoke memories through the senses. It is the poet who puts these sense impressions into language. Cognitive science confirms Proust's intimation that the senses (e.g., smell and taste) trigger a memory. Proust is right.

Proust Via Benjamin Via Lacan Are Onto Something
The memory Proust, and I think Benjamin is onto something, is alluding to is not a factual memory stuck at a particular moment in time. The memory is much broader than a recollection. Baudelaire (via Benjamin) uses the term shock - an expression meant to suggest a memory linked to trauma. The shock is a sense impression outside of some romantic notion of memory, and instead of a memory of the crowd.

I put away silly notions of private memory. The artist does not pull from something deep inside of him to produce art. It is not a private string of emotions the artist must articulate so others can understand. The memory the artist exposes is already there, involuntary.

Works Cited: 

Benjamin, Walter. Eiland, Howard, et al. Gesammelte Schriften. United Kingdom, Belknap Press, 1996.

Benjamin, Walter. Illuminations: Essays and Reflections. United States, Mariner Books, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2019.

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Video Repost: Is this the End of Publishing?

I  thought this video was thought-provoking. I presented the video to my classroom with mixed results.

Some comments from ninth grade students:

• "I get distracted when I read. It's not ideas I don't like, it's reading."

• "I think it's ironic they posted it on Youtube."

• I get it but it's hard to explain." 

• "Well, I don't read but I'm still smart."

• "I read in magazines what Lady Gaga's wearing, does that count?"

• "Oh, it reverses!"

• "They say 'Lady Gaga" with an "R" sound." 

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Handout: Invocations Inspired by the Odyssey of Homer

A little handout of made up invocations for the Odyssey (with apologies)

credits: odysseus, penelope, telemachus, athena   text: greig roselli © 2010 with apologies to the muses and to homer.

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Literary Tropes: Into the Woods

In this post, I point out features of literature that attend to the trope of going into the woods.

• The woods are a dark and scary place in fairy tale legend.  Out of a tale in Grimm's stories, Carol Anne is sucked through her TV into the Otherworld in In Poltergeist. The woods lie at a space between goodness and evil, light and dark, good and nice, deception and honesty, justice and wrong. In the woods, characters are inextricably changed forever. Lucy in C.S. Lewis's novel The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe enters through a wardrobe, not so scary as a monster television, into a wood called Lantern Waste in Narnia. She meets a friendly faun and is forever changed; she becomes a queen, rules the land, but returns back through the wardrobe to the real world, restored to a little girl once again. But, the woods can be simply a place of an obstacle, like Hagrid, the hefty groundskeeper in the Harry Potter series, leads his pupils into the woods to accomplish the task of pulling out mandrakes from the soil, or learning to tame a hippogriff. As a side note: in the film, we get to see the CGI splendor Harry in flight and Malfoy's almost fatal encounter with the creature. In the woods there are fauns, giants, monsters, vampires, wolves, fauns, and humans too. In "woods" stories, the hero undergoes countless obstacles, like Odysseus on his twenty years journey -- a long woods moment -- he didn't want to leave his family and son to fight in Troy, similar to our young men fighting in Iraq or Afghanistan. Odysseus is us. We didn't ask for the odyssey of crazy, absurd adventures, asked to eat of the Lotus flower, which makes us forget the purpose of the journey - to return home. And Odysseus does return home, eventually, restoring his home, wresting it from the inhospitable hands of the suitors.
• The woods are like portals. In Celtic mythology, the woods are cracks in the space/time continuum, as in the Subtle Knife (His Dark Materials, Book 2) by Philip Pullman; the protagonist Will slices through London air with a magical knife to enter another world. Going through the woods, we leave our world for a time, to return, changed. Like Thomas Covenant Unbeliever, in Stephen R. Donaldson's epic fantasy saga about a man ridden with leprosy in our world, crosses over into an otherworld (The Land) and appears as a powerful warrior.
• A popular woods motif is taken from William Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream: young lovers run away into the woods, only to be shaken up by the fairy boy Puck who daubs lotion into their eyes, switching identities, transformations are made, all hell breaks loose (don't you get confused reading this story?). I still cannot remember who fits with who in the Hermia, Lysander, Demetrius, Helena quadrangle. One thing is for sure: a guy gets turned into an ass and Helena is quite a dog! It is in the woods chaos reigns. The woods lie at boundary lines; we enter into the woods, and come out again, back into life.

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Teaching Journal: A Nonsensical Rant on Teaching Ancient Literature to Ninth Graders

Uncredited Photograph of a Road

Why None of My Students "Dig" Homer (Or Virgil) 

I finally figured out why none of my students likes the Odyssey or the Iliad, or the Aeneid (except in an anti-nostalgic, oh yeah, my parents read that in High School, kind of way; or oh yeah, I am supposed to like this story because my grandfather read it in the original Greek, or oh yeah, someone told me it was good; I'm supposed to like it, like I am supposed to like Catcher in the Rye because my English teacher read it as an adolescent).

There are better narratives to pursue. That’s why. 
I would love to teach Six Feet Under as an epic - or Angel the Vampire with a soul - or even heck, Mio, my Mio by Lindgren. I am flipping tired of Odysseus. He was an unlikeable twat. I really don't like him anymore. Why do we stick to the tried and true "classics"? Folks are swayed by better narratives that fit their current milieu, but we still drill them with Macbeth and Julius Caesar. Here I am teaching about the rage of Achilles where most kids have figured that out living with themselves nowadays is tantamount To Achilles’ rage. I don’t need to teach an ancient greek epic for them to figure out their own narcissistic tendencies. Now, granted, as a ninth grader, I loved the tale of the Odyssey, but my teacher was unique. She did not care if we actually “read” the book. What she would do is weave stories in class based on the epic story relating to events in real life. For example: Penelope. She would talk about the plight of the single mother—something we could relate to in the classroom, because a majority of us came from single family homes. But, even the kids who didn’t read got the gist of what my teacher was saying and passed the tests. Here I am teaching the Odyssey, about a man longing for home, but most kids don’t have a home (at least in the metaphysical sense of the word) so the story is lost on them in the reading, only to come alive when I mention that perspective.
 

But, I am being hyperbolic. 
Both the Odyssey and the Iliad are vibrant tales. Home, loss, anger, curses, fathers, mothers, sex, honesty, revenge, you name it. The issue isn’t the brilliance of this ancient epic, but rather, the children I teach are already subsumed in their own epics. I know I am going to get fire for saying this, but TV shows nowadays—if you scan through them — have their own brand of epic tonality that beats the Ancient Greeks. Take for example Skins — a brilliant TV series from the BBC. The beginning scenes of its first episode about a Telemachus named Tony— the shenanigans of a British teenager—beat out the tumultuous fatherloss of Telemachus in the first four books of the Odyssey. Like I said, it is not that the ancient epics were not good—but heck—I am trying to teach a beautiful epic here, where kids are completely toned out. They won’t read the thing, save for a few of them, who are secretly bitter that they are the only ones reading. I have too much to compete with: Madea, Fuel, Adult Swim, American Idol (okay, here I will say the ancient epics are paramount). I am not sure anymore what makes a narrative great. I am not sure anymore about the CANNON.
 

I will parse my argument out better here: 

... take the epic of the Odyssey. What do we want to teach when we introduce this story? Home? Right? Isn’t that the core of the story? the return home? Why the Odyssey? Why can’t we teach the same theme with something like Skins? I really don’t understand. It is funny: because an epic is more than a thousand years old, it’s legit. But, god forbid we teach a story that is only a few months old. The naysayers will say the ancient epics are better written. But, I say that is a bunch of bulls*&^. I could create a lesson that teaches everything I already teach using film and popular culture: heroes, antagonists metanoia, epiphany, journey, inner journey, archetype, you name it. I think if I teach Ancient Lit again, I am going to only teach the Odyssey, Gilgamesh, and Oedipus Rex as primary texts. Everything else will be excerpts, mixed in with television: Angel, Six Feet Under, Dexter, and Welcome to the Dollhouse. 

What do you think? How do I teach the themes of Ancient Literature? Is it still relevant? Post your comments.

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The Problem of the "Innocent Child" (Thanks, James R. Kincaid)

Shirly Temple 
image credit: movieactors

The notion of the “innocent child” is a powerful narrative in the West, so much so, we forget it is even a narrative to begin with. The Romantic child (boy or girl) historically has been around since the Greeks, immortalized by Sappho and also the Greek epigramists. This image of the child, unmediated and innocent is typical of the poetry of William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience and William Wordsworth’s child of spontaneous, overflowing emotion in the “Prelude” but also, the image, at least partly, of Thomas Mann’s Tadzio in Death in Venice and Nietzsche’s Romantic depiction of the child as the pure child and bringer of a new philosophy in Thus Spoke Zarathustra. But, it was Jean Jacques Rousseau who made the claim that the child exists a priori in a state of innocence “in nature” which in time, through puberty, is corrupted a posteriori by the mediating forces of “society.” Rousseau famously advised nannies to allow children to wear loose-fitting clothes (or no clothes at all) so they would not be constricted by anything other than their unmediated innocence. Rousseau wrote controversially that children are not inflicted with Original Sin but are born innately innocent and pure. He made the then radical claim that Original Sin is an erroneous doctrine. Taint is not inherent on the soul of a newborn, but, the soul becomes corrupted by a misguided society. For Rousseau, the innate innocence of the child must be preserved through careful education. Education is what maintains innocence along with the child’s developing consciousness. For Rousseau, then, there is a general suspicion of nurture. In Rousseau’s Romantic (and I use this word purposefully, and critically) political vision, the good state is inscribed within a social contract that works to protect and preserve the inherent goodness of children.  It is an unguided introduction to society that corrupts the child and separates it from nature, thus distancing the child from an original innocence, its true and unfettered state.

One of my favorite cultural critics who explored further the idea of innate innocence is James Kincaid. He wrote a book called  Erotic Innocence: The Culture of Child Molesting. In this book he argues once "adults" name the child innocent, such naming empties the child of a meaningful signifier. "Innocence," then, becomes a metaphor for an empty container, a blank face, devoid of substance which can be filled in by the adult’s desires. The innocent child is the “present” child — the ubiquitous Shirley Temple — who by being shed of experience, of sexuality, is in fact made to be molested. It seems in the West we are at odds with the binary of erotic/innocence. We cannot seem to reconcile ourselves with this strange pairing. Kincaid argues that the very construct of "innocence" is paradoxically warped to mean "protection" against experience but also, simultaneously, a disavowal of the child as inherently erotic. He uses some great examples from popular culture: the Home Alone kid: both cute, cunning, but utterly innocent. Shirley Temple, of course. Jean Bennet Ramsey. Poor thing. She was made both to be erotic and innocent. You can't have your cake and eat it too, kids.
I guess we could blame it on our Judeo-Christian heritage but, it does not take long to look into "recent" history: just look at the Genesis account of Adam and Eve (or at least how it has been interpreted). We were once innocent, until some dame messed things up for us. We were happy naked and in union with God. We got knowledge and now we're screwed. Seen from the view of the Fall, we've been trying to get back to the garden ever since (thanks Joni Mitchell). What a perfect scapegoat is the child (and the woman). They look kinda cute: a perfect face to throw all of our hopes and insipid wishes for innocence on them - poor, innocent creatures! So what has been created as a sort of compromise?! Well, adolescence of course. At first we were happy with merely the child/adult dyad, with the emphasis on the adult. It could be argued that the only truly human being in the West for thousands of years was the blue-eyed, blond hair man. The child? Not even considered as subject. The supposed invention of the child, as distinct from the adult, apparently is an eighteenth century invention that did not exist even as recent as the Middle Ages, according to the cultural historian Philip Ariès in his book, Centuries of Childhood. So, we go ahead and create the child three hundred years ago and then, to add insult to injury, create the adolescent. An even further blurring of the lines. It is no wonder that we are wee bit confused. But, that is fodder for another discussion.

The Good Son: the duality is brought out ad absurdam in the film, The Good Son (1993) also starring the kid from Home Alone, in a complete role reversal. From cutesy kid to serial killer. Mark, a boy of about nine or ten, played by Elijah Wood is sent to stay with his Uncle and Aunt in Maine after the death of his mother.  He quickly learns that his cousin Henry (Culkin) is in fact evil. He shoots dogs, wears a spooky paper-maché mask, drowns his brother, almost kills his sister, and attempts to push his mother over a dangerous precipice.  The movie, with cute child actors to boot, is almost certainly playing on the innocence/experience duality, the virtuous, innocent boy versus the abject opposite, an evil child, with no apparent explanation to why he does the cruelty he does — and why, no one, except Mark, Elijah Wood’s character, realizes his evilness. It is as if the child has to be either completely one or the other: any venture into the gray is taboo.
    Mark, the good child, is all-knowing and incredibly intuitive.  When his mother dies in the first scene, he is literally committed to the belief that she will not leave him, and, almost immediately, transfers the mother image to his aunt, as if he knows this must be the case.  We do not agree with his logic, perhaps, but we cheer his innocent intuition and allow it to endear him to ourselves, thus creating a convenient matrix to explain the Mother/Aunt Son/Nephew bonding.
    The evil child is also all-knowing and incredibly intuitive, but he uses his “gifts” to curse, convince people to fly, smoke cigarettes (the epitome of evil?) — and we are made to revel in this only as a ploy to convince us that he really ought to die!  Both boys, consequently, are inverses of each other: Culkin is blonde, blue-eyed and light, the other, Wood, is brown-haired, blue-eyed and darker complexion. In the movie’s final scene, as James Kincaid brilliantly observed (and I am ashamed to say I have capitalized on his argument), the mother dangles both boys from a Maine precipice in the hopes of saving both children, ostensibly her sons.  Her strength is not enough to hoist both children up, so she has to let one of them go to save the other or risk losing both.  What would you do?  Do you destroy the good child or the evil child?  As James Kincaid notes, audiences cheered when she destroyed the evil child (159-60) and we thought nothing of it, deeply satisfied she did the deed. It is as if the film is stating not quite subtly, we can now wash our hands of the problem once and for all.  We have saved the good child from obliteration and we somehow seem sated by this fact.
Is there an alternative narrative? I wonder, is there a narrative out there that does not fall into this duality Rousseau set up for us so long ago? Is there a way out? In the present narrative, the child is discarded (like the Wild Child of Averyon) or is the child beatified (the child of innocence)? Kincaid suggests at the end of his book that to free ourselves from the current narrative we must free ourselves from suspicion, from repression, from nonsensical legalities and the like that threaten to blind us from the child qua child. Stay tuned. Peace.

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