THE ILLIAD

Women in The Iliad

Homer’s epic poem, The Iliad, considered the greatest and most tragic, is a poetic narrative that offers an account of the tragic course of a war hero Achilles’ rage and his ultimate recognition of human values. The epic begins with the description of enraged Achilles who, after having been stripped off his booty, Briseis, alienates himself from the war and refuses any engagement in the warfare until he has his girl back. Frustrated that Agamemnon, the Greek commander, has seized Achilles’ booty as recompense for his own which he has had to renounce, the latter urges his mother, Thetis, to persuade the supreme God, Zeus, to inflict a crushing defeat on the Argives. Upon massive destruction suffered by the Argives at Zeus’s will, the commander then sends his envoys begging reconciliation with Achilles, which the latter refuses despite the former’s promise to return Briseis and give his own daughter with other valuables. It is only after Patrolcus has been slain by Hector that Achilles readies himself for the war to avenge his dear friend. The warrior then slays the greatest of all Trojan warriors, Hector, in a duel to meet his vow of vengeance and drags the corpse to his own tent intending to throw it to the dogs and scavengers. However, the body is preserved by the divine will and later recovered by King Priam, Hector’s father, who himself visits Achilles and evokes in him compassion and a sense of humanity by reminding him of his own old despairing father back home, in Thessaly.   

Around this very rage of Achilles that is at the heart of the epic, Homer, in fact, seems to be attempting to establish the idea of the permanence of war; heroic glory over family life; impermanence of human life and its creations; and above all, co-existence of violence with humanity and compassion. Nevertheless, along these major kernels of the epic and other implicit issues, one would find the issue of women in The Iliad equally worthwhile for a serious discourse, for it is a woman over whom the entire war is fought.

            The Iliad features in it women of various profiles: from divinities to demigods to common mortals to the enslaved who in their own capacity seem to have their roles, influence and power to change the course of events in the war, thereby affecting its outcome. It would be impossible for us to imagine the Trojan War without Helen’s elopement with Paris, and so would it be to conceive massive devastation in the war without the plague of Apollo upon Cryseis’ captivity and fury of Achilles ignited by his desperation after the loss of Briseis.

            Among the women in The Iliad, the female divinities like Hera, Athena and Aphrodite seem very prominent with the exception of other relatively insignificant goddesses. The divine intervention of most of these goddesses in the affair of warfare is very trivial, for they all seem to be motivated by their individual aims which they seek to attain most often by malice, deception, trickery and by any means available. Hera, sister and consort of Zeus, and Athena, daughter of Zeus, for instance, hate the Trojans for Paris’s embittering past insult of the two and therefore offer whatever aid they can to the Argive soldiers so they may see Troy fall. Despite their divinity, they are not guided by their divine sense of duty towards the mortals; rather, they play foul tricks and look for ways to bring doom to the ones they resent, hence requiring Zeus at times to chastise and warn them:

“One more thing—take it to heart, I urge you.

Whenever I am bent on tearing down some city

filled with men you love—to please myself—

never attempt to thwart my fury, Hera,…” (Fagles 4.46-49)

Here, Zeus, on finding that Hera is head bent on inflicting immeasurable pain on Priam and his subjects against Zeus’s decision to settle the mortals’ conflict peacefully, cannot put up with her intention and therefore warns her not to tamper with his will. He is, in fact, asserting his position as father of all and implying that it is only he who can direct the course of war.

            Hera surely seems very domineering. So much so that she almost challenges the decision made by the supreme God! Yet, she cannot withstand the fury of Zeus and has to resort to deception and tricks. Though easily subdued by Zeus, she still commands respect from other gods; bids them to engage in the battle to serve her interest; and even lashes them when infuriated. Goddess Aphrodite too seems to be pursuing her own aim in sympathising with and defending the Trojans since she does it as a pay-off for Paris’s past judgment of her as “the fairest” of the three, Hera and Athena being the other two. Hence, these goddesses work, in one way or another, to influence the course of events in the war by their vindictive urges or irrational passion so they can win veneration and gratify their petty interests.

            In a little lower hierarchy than that of other goddesses is Thetis, Achilles’ mother, a sea-nymph, who, like other deities is equally revered in Olympus. She acts as an intermediary between her mortal son and divine Zeus. It is for the love of a son doomed to brief life and not for malicious reasons that she is obliged to act for his interest, thus also facilitating his way towards destiny that brings glory. Her projection as a humble nymph; an affectionate grieving mother; and a counsellor and aid to Achilles commands admiration and justifies her actions. Zeus himself feels obliged to pledge help when her motherly affection calls for aid:

                        “Zeus, father Zeus! If I ever served you well

                        among the deathless gods with a word or action,

                        bring this prayer to pass: honour my son Achilles!—

                        doomed to the shortest life of any man on earth...” (1.600-603)

            Another prominent woman in the epic is Helen, a mortal daughter of Zeus, a lawful wife of Menelaus, who is deemed the begetter of the entire devastation of the Greeks and the Trojans through her adultery, and subsequent elopement with a wanton prince of Troy, Paris. Her image as an infidel, adulteress, unfeeling mother, and above all, cause of the decimation of Troy tarnishes the epitomizing beauty that identifies her. However, to herself and many others, she is but a victim of fate who is doomed by a Goddess’s reckless decision. This is manifest in her address to Aphrodite: “Maddening one, my Goddess, oh what now? / Lusting to lure me to my ruin yet again? / Where will you drive me next?” (3.460-462). In Troy, she is loved, respected and defended by Priam and Hector despite the war she has supposedly engendered. Besides, her primary resistance to Paris’s invitation for lovemaking bespeaks her restrained passion and hence seems to invalidate her characterisation as lustful. She really seems aware of things around her: she repents; holds herself accountable for the destruction; and even wishes death while she reviews the war scene and addresses forgiving Priam: “…if only death had pleased me then, grim death, / that day I followed your son to Troy, / forsaking  my marriage bed, my kinsmen and my child,” (3.209-211).

            Andromache, Hector’s wife and mother to his son, however, offers to us a different dimesnion of a woman in a family bond who is loyal, loving, and respectful. She knows it well that a soldier has a greater duty to perform than a father or a husband. Yet, her affection for Hector leaves her impassioned to ask him to remain within the Trojan ramparts where he could fight safe. These lines showing Andromache begging mercy sum up her grief while she senses that Hector is doomed to die soon orphaning his son and widowing her:

                        “Reckless one,  

                        my Hector—your own fiery courage will destroy you!

                        Have you no pity for him, our helpless son? Or me,

                        and the destiny that weighs me down, your widow,

                        now so soon?” (6.482-486)

            Like Andromache, Queen Hecuba, mother to Hector, Paris and Cassandra and wife to Praim, too loves her son Hector dearly and hence offers him wine and tries to fill him with revitalized strength when Hector returns to Troy on Helenus’s advice to order preparation for prayers at Athena’s shrine. Later, Hecuba, out of her love for Hector, wails and begs her son to slip into the ramparts of Troy so Achilles may bring him no harm. Her motherly affection is really poignant and is typical of any loving mother. The Trojan women: daughters and wives of the Trojan soldiers, go to temple to offer their prayers for good health and safety of their men. Even Hecuba on Hector’s request leads other older noble women to Athena’s shrine to show their piety to the Goddess so they may keep Troy protected. This bespeaks their importance and underlines their role in Trojan religious prayers.    

Beyond all these apparently normal characterizations of women who conform to their latent dispositions, and perform their roles and exact their influence accordingly, The Iliad also seems to be pronouncing a graver charge at women as a “begetter of evil” as in the later Judeo-Christian religious tradition. In contrast with relatively rational men, the epic portrays all prominent women—divine or mortal—in one way or another being the reason for the war, its heart wrenching atrocities, and massive devastation for no worthy reason. Women like Aphrodite, Helen, Briseis and Chrysies become principal actors in that they either engender the war or complicate it further by causing a greater decimation as they bring about plague and military crisis. Likewise, Hera, Thetis, Artemis and Athena act as media to facilitate the purpose of taking the war to its gruesome end either by participating in the war or influencing the highest God, Zeus, to suit their will. The portrayal of the women, hence, as vindictive, malicious, wilful, beguiling and adulterous underpins the notion that women are motivated by vile impulses and are capable of begetting evil or executing its intentions successfully.

The women in the epic are also shown of little value to men except as sexual objects. Even a powerful king like Agamemnon offers one of his three daughters to Achilles, let alone giving away of other seven women with her. Women like Briseis and Chrysies are owned by Achilles and Agamemnon respectively and promised to be made concubines or lawful wives. Like Helen, both of them have been carried away as prizes by Achilles and Agamemnon and kept for their sexual gratification. Besides, a brief lovemaking of Paris with Helen following his early retreat from the duel with Menelaus reveals to the readers that Paris regards Helen as a mere object of sexual gratification. Hera’s own premeditated sleeping with Zeus to avert his attention from the ongoing war between the Greeks and Trojans also suggests her belief in sex as a surest weapon of a woman to humble male superiority. Hence, the women in the epic seem to have been enslaved, kept as concubines and exploited sexually, or sold and bought as commodities. They either offer themselves for sexual gratification of the males or are compelled by the males through subjugation or enslavement to serve such a purpose. Both men and women in the epic, in this light, seem to acknowledge the worth of women in general as nothing more than that of a commodity whose worth is determined by its use value—there seems to be no higher worth conceived either by men or women themselves.

Among many other women issues in the epic is also an issue of women subordination which seems to have its undertones in the Homeric verses. For women, particularly mortals, wars and their heroic values are far-fetched things, which only men take care of or delight in. The women hence keep off the gruesome battles and rejoice in assuming their family roles. Women like Hecuba and Andormache serve as mothers and wives, go to temple to pray for the health of their men, and remain within the four walls of their houses. Helen has no space of her own and is now dependent on Paris without any significant role to assume, thus being defended by the Trojan army of men for her own cause. And, Chrysies and Briseis are slaves to their male masters. Among the divinities too, the subordination could be seen in their relationship with the male counterparts such as the relationship between Hera and Zeus.    

All in all, without the women that feature in The Iliad, it is really hard to assume that the epic could have boasted of its being in any form other than this. The roles of women are as integral to the narrative progression of the epic as it is in Homer’s conception of the Greek and Trojan political, social, religious, and family life, not excepting, of course, his view of the then Greek gods. Particularly, the dichotomies underlying the characterization of women as influential and subordinate; revered figures and sex objects; affectionate, humble and loyal, and unfeeling, wilful and adulterous offer a fairly intriguing and critical image of women. The epic, hence, in incorporating women not only makes their presence felt in the verses but also underscores their roles—good or bad—in the making of a civilized society.

THE GREAT GATSBY

The Great Gatsby: A Subjective Reader-Response Approach

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby pledges a generous scope for the application of myriad critical theories and, hence, multiple views concerning the representation of its fictional world as envisioned in the work. As such, with an apparent conviction that any quasi-natural or -personal interpretation is always necessarily predicated on some theoretical insights, The Great Gatsby, too, acknowledges the exploitation of such theoretical tools in its interpretation, which is characteristically subjective. Moreover, these tools are described generally as “overlapping, competing, quarrelling visions of the world rather than as tidy categories” (Tyson 9-10; ch. 1) as may be defined technically. It is, hence, for this disposition that any piece of work is manifestly equipped with the potential for accommodating all reasonable outlooks towards the world of representation and beyond. Among such theories of intriguing nature is also included a simple reader-friendly theory: the subjective reader-response theory, which is but a “coherent, purposeful methodology for helping” readers “produce knowledge about the experience of reading” (164; ch. 6) and assumes that “there is no literary text beyond the meanings created by readers’ interpretations” (163; ch. 6). In lines with these principles then, the readers could experience The Great Gatsby as a novel projecting Jay Gatsby, the protagonist, as a tragic individualistic figure who grows to become a social misfit amid the moral and ethical corruption of the people, and then finally meets his destiny of inevitable doom.

This outlook toward the novel laid as a summation of the whole impression results not only from a rationalised judgment of the incidents but also from the readers’ sensibility. The Great Gatsby, in fact, leaves the readers with a mixture of various emotions: celebration, fascination and proud satisfaction on the one hand and contempt, rage, pity and fear on the other. The individualistic principles the protagonist upholds against the corrupt world in his dissociation from it surely excite the readers for celebration of this heroic ideal, fascinate them greatly and leave them with proud satisfaction. This emotion is also manifestly effected by the fact that the protagonist does not seek co-existence with the corrupt people around him but resists the temptation of such life so much so as to become a misfit. That the protagonist becomes a misfit, however, also fills the readers with contrasting emotion: the contempt for the society in which he lives and rage against its corrupt inhabitants. These non-conformist principles of the protagonist and his helpless struggle to survive the monstrous ills of the ruthless, unthinking people around later foreshadow his tragic destiny, which prompt the readers to pity him and fear such a precarious possibility of their own doom.

The Great Gatsby’s impressive depiction of Jay Gatsby as an individualistic figure feels tempting throughout the novel as the readers develop a growing contempt for the world outside that of the protagonist’s and identify themselves with him like Nick, the judgmental narrator. The readers may see Gatsby’s lone individualism symbolized in Nick’s first physical description of the former’s colossal mansion “with a tower on one side” (Fitzgerald 14; ch. 1) whose owner Nick did not call, on one occasion, “for [Gatsby] gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone” (28; ch. 1). Gatsby is also frequently shown “standing alone on the marble steps” (52; ch. 3) or “on the porch” (58; ch. 3)—perhaps a symbolic posture suggesting his observance of the personal code of conduct, his elevation of himself and his disinterest in socializing with the others. Therefore, even amid “the laughter and the sound of his still glowing garden” full of the party people “a sudden emptiness [seems] to flow…from the windows and the great doors, endowing with complete isolation the figure of the host who [stands] on the porch, his hand up in a formal gesture of farewell” (58; ch. 3). This isolation of Gatsby bespeaks his chosen predicament of life, which he must live by his own principles while the “gesture of farewell” could be a symbolic affirmation that he does not belong to the world of the other people around him.

Gatsby’s sophisticated personality, steadfast aim to recover Daisy, and persistent isolation from the crowd portray him as what he would see as an ideal figure, “his Platonic conception of himself” (94; ch.6) with “a big future in front of him” (158; ch. 9). In individualism, persistence, motivation and destiny, he seems not to rate below Homer’s Achilles. Both cut off from the people around, they leave their homes because “there [is] a reason for it”: they are led by “an instinct toward future glory” (94; ch. 6). Further, Gatsby’s boyhood “schedule” and “resolves” stand as a testimony to his aspiration for an ideal life and his attempt for his reinvention of Jay Gatsby out of James Gatz who has his past of bitter relationship, hardship and necessity. And in reinventing himself, Gatsby, thus, redefines his existence affirming the values he chooses and setting himself apart from all in his existential voyage in a world of little meaning.

Gatsby’s individualism in the light of his boyhood commitment to inventing an ideal figure; his seclusion from the world of the corrupt; his persistent, singular sacred quest for Daisy’s love; and his ownership of rare moral propriety all seem inspiring to the readers though it comes with an appalling destiny. In particular, the Nepalese readers may see this projection as characterizing the conception of their society where being individualistic would mean cutting oneself off humanity. Though this society seemingly extols the moral propriety as a desirable virtue, it is still at discomfort with the individuals who own it; for they threaten its collective hypocrisy. Next, while the persistent singularly quest for attainment is confined only to spiritual fulfilment and is not extended beyond to exploration of one’s potentials, the commitment like that of Jay Gatsby’s is a far-off thing, not generally seen among the Nepalese lot that survives on ancestry. In this light, hence, the Nepalese readers may regard the protagonist, despite the corrupt world he must live in, as a non-conformist individualistic figure overriding the entire society in moral correctness and whom they must emulate.

Another important facet of Jay Gatsby’s personality as a misfit in a morally and ethically corrupt society, as the readers notice, owes to the fact that he does not conform to the standards of pseudo-moral and –ethical principles that others around him abide by in earnest. These two polarities of opposing codes of conduct in social discourses of morality and ethics push Gatsby into confrontation with other members of the society; largely, if not completely. Nick sure identifies himself with Gatsby with some cautious misgivings when he sadly declares: “[he] found [himself] on Gatsby’s side, and alone” (150; ch. 9), and when he shouts beamingly across to Gatsby: “[Gatsby’s] worth the whole damn bunch put together” (142; ch. 8). This alignment is significant in a total understanding of Gatsby and his relationship to the rest of the world with which he must co-exist unless he defies it at the expense of his own life. The Nepalese readers in particular must find it heroic in its stance both in its co-existence and in defiance.

The readers also see Gatsby surrounded by hypocritical party-people who come uninvited, amuse themselves, indulge in distasteful gossips about the host and go without having met him. The mansion is full of young Englishmen, prosperous Americans, actors, directors, doctors, and people of modest means and of all circles whose only concern is amusement, not the host. The readers soon realize the absurdity of these people’s presence and their non-existence as real humans as their names and surnames quite suggestively ascribe them animalistic or inanimate qualities thereby showing their predatory or parasitical nature that survives on Gatsby. The equivocal names like Wolfshiem, Leeches, Blackbuck, Civet, Stonewall, Whitebait, etc. abound in the novel and hence show the immensity of corruption and exploitation that pervade its society. The parties these people attend and other luncheons including the funeral of Gatsby at the end of the novel show their behaviour and so-called moral values that disappear at the face of adversity.

Despite some necessary lies Gatsby tells in his attempt to redefine himself, he is not depicted as explicitly amoral like the others around. After all, “a truly rational morality of social regimen has never existed in the world, and is hardly to be looked for” (Durant 500; ch. 11). Given this fact, Gatsby has his place distinct from all others. Unlike Nick who wants to “pick out romantic women from the crowd” and “[follow] them to their apartments” (Fitzgerald 58; ch. 3), Gatsby seems to have “[known] women early and since they spoiled him” he has become “contemptuous of them” for their ignorance and hysteria (94; ch. 5). Gatsby’s patient and persistent pursuit of recovering Daisy’s love further enhances this image of Gatsby, like a saint in quest of spiritual attainment, for whom the wanton relationship with women is profane and that with Daisy, sacred. In like manner, Jordan appears as an amoral golf player who is rumoured into “[moving] her ball from a bad lie in the semi-final round” and who “instinctively [avoids] clever shrewd men” and is “incurably dishonest” (59-60; ch. 3). Tom, on the other hand, gives the readers an impression of the most notorious character that is self-indulgent, promiscuous, disloyal and racist. He even exploits the sexual relationship with the women of modest means and sends a naïve and frenzied man like George Wilson to murder somebody he despises. Not least, Daisy, too, falls into the same domain. She has been born into affluence, “[her] voice…full of money”; and conducts herself as if she were “the king’s daughter, the golden girl” (112; ch. 7). She does not keep her vow of love, and is a faithless wife and self-centred woman who readily retreats to safety by making others take the responsibility of her crime. She and her husband Tom are the kind who “[conspire] together” (135; ch. 7) to wipe others off their way. “They [are] careless people…they [smash] up things and creatures and then [retreat] back into their money or their vast carelessness…and let other people clean up the mess they [have] made…” (164; ch. 8).

This affirmation also largely characterizes the rest of the people except Nick, the owl-eyed man in Gatsby’s library, the Lutheran minister, and a few servants who still take it to be their duty to attend the funeral of the lone dead man who could not survive the ills he had to live amid. It is not in living amidst the corrupt people but in his attempt for consistent isolation from them and resistance to the temptation of a corrupt life that the readers see Gatsby as representative of one of the two polarities that alone extols moral propriety. And it is this singular ownership of moral propriety and his heroic non-conformity that together makes him a misfit to live in such a contemptibly superfluous and meaningless world.

There is no wonder for the readers, therefore, that the novel must end up with Gatsby’s death; for by any standard, he could not have lived within such folly and dishonesty to attain his incorruptible dream and come out unscathed. His death is not his extinction but martyrdom and, hence, a symbol of his victory over vice. “He [turns] out all right at the end” (12; ch. 1). Yet, the readers largely find it tragic and sense this dread of the doom looming over the protagonist throughout the novel as Nick’s narration goes about foreshadowing this. Gatsby is recurrently projected as a “lone figure” and as “bidding farewell” to others, which gives to the readers a ghastly symbolic indication of his possible doom. Just before he encounters Daisy at Nick’s, Nick finds him “pale as death…glaring tragically into [Nick’s] eyes” (83; ch. 5); and after he is confronted abusively by Tom in the city, Gatsby gives up defending against the accusations and “only [his] dead dream [fights] on as the afternoon [slips] away, trying to touch what [is] no longer tangible…” (124; ch.7). Gatsby is also more than willing to be tried for Myrtle’s death sacrificing himself for his faithless beloved; and Nick sees Tom and Daisy “conspiring together” and feels that “[he] had something to tell [Gatsby], something to warn [Gatsby] and morning would be too late” (136; ch. 8). These forebodings have no sooner been over than Gatsby becomes victimized in “the holocaust” (149; ch. 8) contrived by Tom and, hence “[pays] a high price for living too long with a single dream” (148; ch. 8)—the dream of recovering his lost love.

The readers’ sense of tragedy does not consist as much in the fact that Gatsby dies as in his right as a deserving human to exist; even if that involved the extermination of others. Surely, his life is explicitly incompatible with that of the other corrupt and unthinking members of the society depicted in the novel. Yet, this is where the readers identify with him in his choosing to become an outlaw and a non-conformist. Gatsby seems more like a redemptive figure who alone could offer the hope for rebuilding a society founded on righteousness, loyalty, trust and love. And when this hope and faith in the protagonist dies with his physical extinction, the symbolism of all moral propriety, loyalty, perseverance and love is destroyed too. The readers see its flawed but awe-inspiring protagonist meet its destined extinction and with that any forlorn possibility for conceiving such a figure in their own society. As such, readers cannot help despairing at the loss, pitying the death of their hero they have identified with all along and fearing a similar destiny of their own.

In essence, The Great Gatsby, with its insurance for the application of variant critical theories and, hence, multiple worldviews, offers to us a standard example of a literary piece wherein the subjective reader-response theory successfully executes itself. Engaging the readers to judge what aspects of the text affect them during their experience of reading and in what ways and for what reasons, the practice offers the readers the liberty to project their own meanings by characterizing the overall response, identifying variant responses and determining their cause. And, it is in lines with these principles, the readers use both their rational judgment and sensibility in accounting for the meaning of their interpretation. There is no surprise that it holds large possibilities for varying interpretations depending on readers’ own unique principles of reasoning, sensibilities and above all their identification with certain ideals. The cultivated readers, hence, in their experience of the novel, could find it justifiable to see its protagonist as a tragic individualistic figure that struggles to survive the ills of a corrupt society and dies a defiant misfit.

A PSYCHOANLYTICAL APPROACH TO "THE GREAT GATSBY"

The Great Gatsby: A Psychological Drama of Dysfunctional Love

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby impresses on the readers normally as a novel on a youth with poor beginnings who is in a headlong  pursuit of the American Dream and through it love and social standing. Despite this capacity, however, the work fascinates its readers more by its characters’ intriguing romantic and sexual relationships doomed ultimately by a tragic outgrowth. In this light, therefore, the appeal of the novel seems to  ensue not from its mere narrative progression but largely from the dramatization of the psyche of the characters who are engaged in the relationships devoid of genuine emotional attachments—and loyalty at times. This emotional dysfunction in fact seems to be ascribed implicitly to the characters’ inability to survive and outgrow the unresolved conflicts latent in them, thus making way for tragedy to surface. And, it is for this reason why many critical readers—especially those rejoicing at psychoanalytic reading of the novel—view The Great Gatsby as a psychological drama of dysfunctional love.

The Great Gatsby in fact features almost all of its prominent characters, along with the less significant: Myrtle, Jordan and George, in some romantic and sexual relationships in various strengths. Such relationships in psychoanalytic terms are actually believed to be the re-enactment of initial unresolved conflicts that once occurred in the family and were repressed at an early age. These conflicts that operate between id, ego, and superego, remain always unresolved and tend to be checked primarily by defence mechanisms while at other times they arouse anxiety and dredge up the repressed, thus being repressed again on both occasions. The repressed, hence, must be negotiated by ego so they may release themselves in non-destructive behavioural patterns lest they evolve into a crisis.

Seen in this relation, Gatsby and Daisy, the principal characters, do not seem to be living up to this idea of coming to terms with reality. Gatsby has selective memory and maintains denial as he hides about his past and tells Nick that his parents have died and that he came to inherit the great wealth after their decease. These defence mechanisms seem to be working also in his explantion to Nick in which he implies about his relationship he had with Daisy some five years back: “You see I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me” (Fitzgerald 66; ch. 4). In fact, if he remained lonely, he feared, he would feel the desertion of him by Daisy which he knew he couldn’t bear now. So he distracts himself from the reality and goes about repressing his wounds thus keeping himself amid strgange people though he hardly bothers to mix with. Besides, the fact that he “[buys] that house so that Daisy would be just across the bay” (76; ch. 4) implies that he has had some fear of abandonment. When his unfaltering and unrelenting pursuit to win back Daisy’s love finally brings them together, Gatsby confidently tells Tom that Daisy had married him only because the former was poor then and argues that Daisy has never loved Tom but him since her marriage. This probably allows both Gatsby and Tom to re-enact their own unresolved sibling rivalry. However, despite all loyalty and perserverence, Daisy’s assurance of returning her love, and seeming elimination of obstacles posed by Tom, Gatsby is still left totally confused while he discovers that “[Daisy] did love [Tom] once—but [she] loved [Gatsby] too” (123; ch. 7). This confusion later deveops into his fear of Daisy’s abandonment but before it grows into some kind of anxiety, Gatsby meets his tragic death.

As for Daisy, her personality seems much influenced by her low-self esteem which is manifest in her ironic distaste of having born a girl child: “‘I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool’” (25; ch.1). This in fact is Daisy’s acknowledgment that she also shares the same fate and probably an implication that her marriage is insecure. Further, her preference for a boy child like Myrtle’s preference for a male dog, and Jordan’s assertive malelike position could also be a manifestation of penis envy latent in them.Though Daisy’s obsession with Tom in her early marital relationship indicates her intimacy with him, this attachment soon unconsciously trasnsforms into her fear of intimacy, which is reflected in her easy acceptance of Tom’s relationship with other women and her own renewed romantic relationship with Gatsby. That she has been living at an emotional distance with her husband may also be observed during Gatsby’s presence where she claims “[her daughter] doesn’t look like her father” and that “[s]he looks like [Daisy]. She’s got [Daisy’s] hair and shape of the face” (110; ch. 7). Daisy’s relationship with Gatsby too is devoid of genuine love as she admits before both Tom and Gatsby that she loves both of them. She actually exploits her relationship with Gatsby to distract herself from her painful and insecure marriage, at the same time protecting the marital bond. Her extramarital attachment with Gatsby is founded on his affluence and pseudo-social standing which soon crumbles as she lets him take the accountability for the mortal accident and “[vanishes] into her rich house, into her rich, full life, leaving Gatsby—nothing” (138; ch. 8).

Tom, unlike Daisy, seems to have had various extramarital affairs, most recently being with Myrtle, a married woman. To look at it from Oedipal dynamics, he seems to have been replaying his unresolved Oedipal attachments with these women who he may characterize as bad-girls and therefore keep a temporary relation with so he may forget the woes of his own marital life. Here on the one hand, Tom, through ego which is symbolically embodied by the women, tries to gratify his urges of the repressed while, on the other, by keeping off his matrimonial bond, he shows his fear of intimacy and represses painful past experiences further deep. However, when he realizes that his wife, Daisy, is involved in an extramarital affair with Gatsby and that Myrtle too is leaving for West with her husband, he has fear of abandonment. All defence mechanisms seem to be breaking as his anxiety grows bigger and bigger with the fear that “[his] wife and his mistress, until an hour ago secure and inviolate, [are] slipping precipitately from his control” (116; ch. 7). This anxiety later prompts him to send George to kill Gatsby and negotiate reconciliation with his wife.

Myrlte is another character besides Gatsby who dies a miserable death due to her inabilty to negotiate between id and superego through ego. In other words, Myrtle is an embodiment of id, with all her libidnal desires and other instincts, who, jealous of Jordan whom she assumes to be Tom’s wife riding the car along with Nick, breaks her way through his husband’s barricade, superego, and gets herself killed. She has never liked her husband since marriage and therefore is involved in the extramarital affair with Tom, of whom her sister Catherine says: “ Neither of [Tom and Myrtle] can stand the person they’re married to” (38; ch. 2). For Myrtle, the affair serves as a comforting distraction from her hateful marriage, promises financial security, and if wedded, gives a superior social status. On the contrary, George’s loyalty to his wife is not returned and his attempt for emotional intimacy is not reciprocated either. It is for this reason he fears Myrtle might abandon him and thus locks her in an upstairs room. Yet while she really escapes and meets her death, he is traumatized and thereby driven with thanatos (death drive) to kill Gatsby and himself.

Another romantic relationship relatively insignificant and restrained in the novel is that of between Nick and Jordan, which does not surface so clearly like that of many other characters. Nick could particulary be characterized as fond of women as we see him walking up Fifth Avenue fantasizing about them. His concealed but well-measured intention to obtain their romantic attachments and other fantasies explain why he seeks a relation with Jordan. Further, while Jordan says teasingly that she hates careless people and therefore likes Nick for his cautious nature, it does not take long for him to announce to himself his love for Jordan: “…, and for a moment I thought I loved her…, and I knew that first I had to get myself definitely out of the tangle back home” (60; ch. 3). This declaration reveals to us that Nick is not in a consistent romantic relationship with anybody. He goes about breaking relationships, like he has broken the two former romantic bonds, once  they become stronger and come into others’ knwoledge—a very sure sign of fear of intimacy. There is also a manifestation of denial and avoidance in his treatment with women as he shifts his relation from one to another and goes about discounting the past separation. In this light, his breaking up with Jordan is no surprise though he blames it on Jordan for the scorn he has for her living with people like Tom and Daisy: “…I’d had enough of all of them for one day and suddenly that included Jordan too” (132; ch. 7).

Jordan’s personality as hinted earlier gives us a masculine impression, who Nick describes as a “balancing girl” whose “self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from [him]” (17-18; ch. 1). Her male-like projection of  personality could be a manifestation of penis envy which she attempts resolving by living in a malelike fashion. She seems mostly occupied with her sports, fellow sportspeople, and some social interactions, all of which keep herself from building any intimate relationship. Her later so-called romantic feelings for Nick too are kept at an emotional distance, which helps one assume that she fears intimacy. Her distance as such from any serious romantic relationships could also be attributed to her attempt for avoidance with which she represses her painful past experience further. Despite some brief moments of her intimacy with Nick, she feels painfully abandoned at last while she is discarded on the telephone and is provoked to say: “[She] [doesn’t] give a damn about [Nick] now but it was a new experience for [her] and [she] felt a little dizzy for a while” (163; ch. 9). This, sure, makes her experience the world of reality in which she is made to relive her past painful abandonment through active reversal.

Hence, almost all romantic bonds in the novel, even Tom and Daisy’s, either manifest a hollow emotional attachment or have worn out miserably since the characters fail to relive the painful experience of the unconscious, break down all defence mechanisms to release the repressed, and exploit the scopes of gratification offered by ego, the world of reality. The unresolved conflicts in the characters’ psyche in the novel, in this sense, therefore, bespeak the work’s consideration as a psychological drama of dysfunctional love.

A CRITICAL RESPONSE: "THE EROTIC LANDSCAPE"

Terry Tempest Williams’ Self-characterization and Physical/ Geographical Setting in "The Erotic Landscape"                     

Terry Tempest Williams’ "The Erotic Landscape" underscores the author’s idea of uninhibited, undistorted eroticism that urges us to engage passionately into a profound physical and spiritual dialogue with nature, thus sharing and in turn complementing each other. To Williams, “eroticism relates to all the highest and finest things of life”; it “calls the inner life into play”; and it serves as a “source of power and information” (29-30). Nevertheless, the author fears that the suppression of true erotic feelings or fear to express them may dissociate us from nature leading the both to abuse each other neglecting the importance both reserve for one another. Such abuse, to the author, corresponds to “pornography” that emphasizes on “plasticized sensation” and denies the “power of the erotic” (29).

In this relation, hence, the author seems opposed to the conventional notion of “eroticism” that draws its essence heavily from what is regarded as “pornography”. She idealizes the erotic as a force reconciling both body and soul and characterizes herself as advocating this ideal. In her visit to a museum in Copenhagen, Denmark, she witnesses the erotic being silenced, objectified into a “vase”, “bronze statues”, or a “wax tableau” and put up on display within walls; and she criticizes it: “I wonder what walls we have constructed to keep our true erotic nature tamed” (28). She also finds herself “confronted” with a six-foot golden phallus erected on a pedestal, which, she says, she “refrained” to touch, for it did not appeal to her. Besides, her description that visitors are “assaulted” with a montage of pornography showing on television screens tells us how sorry she feels to find the erotic being aligned with the pornographic (28).

On the other hand, however, her account of a visit to a country in southern Utah bespeaks how she feels the “magnetic pull of [her] [body] toward something stronger, more vital than simply [herself]”. She feels this pull to be yet stronger while she sees a juniper in the clearing and has an urge to climb into its arms—no different from the affectionate human arms—and to “dance with longing”: “With both hands on one of its stronger boughs, I pulled myself up and lifted my right leg over the branch so I was straddling it, then leaned back into the body of the juniper and brought my knees up to my chest, I nestled in [...]”(29). The preceding quote characterizes the author as seeking a refuge in the arms of a juniper tree from the growing heat, thereby longing to reconnect her wild self to the natural world where she originally belongs and feel literally erotic by participating herself.

The author hence sets out to settle the differences the dichotomy of “eroticism” comes with and upholds the idea of the erotic as being in a physical and spiritual dialogue with nature just in the way it has to be with another body. Williams’ visit to a museum disillusions her from the perceived notion of eroticism, which since old times has objectified and tamed our true erotic nature mistaking “pornography” for “eroticism”. This disillusionment thus prompts her to defy the conservative eroticism and advocate that which brings a human into relationship with nature, within and without, and that which comes from direct, unchecked experience. To the author, to revel in watching others experience the erotic is “voyeurism” in which one rather than engage in the sexual act oneself delights in watching others do so. And in this view, she finds onlookers or photographers who seek to capture a fragmented feature of nature no different from voyeurs who “distance [themselves] from natural sources” (29).

Further, whether it be the author’s detailing of a naked woman draped in a fabric that cascades over her breasts corresponding to the natural landscape outdoors or her shrewd employment of the setting in two different spaces, it helps one see a plausible relation to what she attempts establishing. The museum set up in an urban locale, Copenhagen with artificial walls to tame the erotic spirit objectified into a statue, tableau, or a golden phallus underlines the fact that we fear expressing the erotic explicitly through our own experience. We suppress our true emotions and look for them in objects. It also shows us a true picture of the distance that intervenes between us and the wild, in effect promoting “voyeurism”.

Notwithstanding, Williams’ use of another setting in a canyon of southern Utah is a means to bring us all into nature and get us to imagine and long for the same emotions she has while she listens to the enchanting songs of coyotes, watches an awe-inspiring dawn, and seeks refuge in a juniper nestling in to hide from the heat. This is what she upholds as “eroticism” that identifies her instinctually and emotionally with nature. Similarly, she also details a desert where her friends gather at the confluence of the Little Colorado and the Colorado rivers in the Grand Canyon on a June day. They sink themselves waist deep in the river, turn and roll over, paint themselves in mud, bake in the sun with the fantasy of becoming lizards, and later dive into the river in their erotic engagement with the wild to meet their urge: “In time, they submerge themselves into Little Colorado, diving deep and surfacing freshly human […] laughing, contemplating, an unspoken hunger quelled (30).”

 The dichotomy of “eroticism”, in the essay, hence, decidedly invites the readers’ acknowledgement of the true erotic urge and the denouncement of the pornographic: “We need a context for eros, not a pedestal, not a video screen.” Besides, the self-representation of the author partly owes to her reluctance to disengage from nature. Probably, relating others’ experience of true erotic moments means nothing but “voyeurism” to her and thus offering her own account of both the distasteful, weary experience of the pornographic and the exciting, rejuvenating experience of the erotic in the wild, she temptingly calls for our physical and spiritual interaction with nature. The representation thus, in effect, is authentic and compelling, evoking our suppressed feelings of eros to embrace the wild as the author puts it, “to be in relation to everything around us, above us, below us, earth, sky, bones, blood, flesh, is to see the world whole, even holy.” Williams, in fact, sees connectivity where there is a seeming dualism disconnecting the self with the other, and the human with nature.