So and So as Somebody from Blankety Blank

The Kenwood House collection, which I went to view on its stay at the lovely Milwaukee Art Museum, hosts several works that feature individuals of note engaged in sort of what you may call a predecessor to cosplay.  Of note to me was a piece by John Hopper, Miss Jordan as "Viola" in "Twelfth Night."  It's not so much the work that intrigues me, as lovely as it is, or the practice of real individuals dressing and posing as popular characters for paintings.  Rather, it is the nature of the work Miss Jordan chose to indulge and the character she poses as from it.  Viola, as I've come to understand given Twelfth Night is one of a few Shakespeare works I've yet to become familiar with, is a woman posing as a man in the story.  Not really an uncommon thing, it's almost a running gag in the Bard's romantic comedies.  What distinguishes this particular character though is that the romance seems to develop between her and the love interest while he thinks her a man.  This leads me to wonder just how such a plot element would be regarded, not only during the time of the Globe and the Bard, but also during the Romantic era when this portrait was made.  Homosexuality as an identity wouldn't really take form until late in the Victorian era, before which it was regarded among the classifications of sexual acts which would often be called sodomy.  Given this notion, during both periods the romantic action between the two would presumably be played off as something morally bankrupt and wrong.  This post is done both as a commentary regarding the work, as well as something of an expression of sudden interest in the work, to see precisely how it is in fact played off.  If the presumptions are proved incorrect, then that certainly creates a scenario in which many more questions regarding the nature of the work might form.

Solomon and the Five-shilling Wager

One of the biggest problems with the film version of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is it does little to explain the literary origins of its characters.  Even the familiar ones, like Dr. Jeckle and Mister Hyde or the Invisible Man, are known more for their notoriety in contemporary culture then their actual source.  The biggest for me, however, was the nature of the Sean Connery character in the film, one Mr. Allan Qatermain.  I had never even heard the name before, let alone having any knowledge of the literal influences; a severe detriment to the story as for all intensive purposes HE WAS THE MAIN CHARACTER.

So just who is Allan Qatermain?  As it turns out the source of the character was from a certain popular adventure novel entitled King Solomon's Mines; an interesting work that upon its release in 1885 was hailed on posters and billboards as "the most amazing book ever written."  An interesting declaration in today's context as few in contemporary culture have ever heard of it, and made doubly interesting by just what had motivated the writing of the book.  It was written because of a wager between the author, Sir H. Rider Haggard, and his brother, who bet him five shillings he couldn't write a book half as good as Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island. 

So now the question must be asked; who really won the bet?  Certainly at the time Haggard would have seemed to, as the book had trouble printing enough copies to sell once published; it was a smash hit.  Yet in comparison today to the other book targetted in the wager it's rather obscure.  King Solomon's Mines has no major motion picture versions, unlike Treasure Island which has two disney versions (one in space and one with muppets) as well as other variations, and is the framework for most other popular pirate stories be they of the Caribbean or other knock offs.  All Haggard's novel leaves us with a legacy is one character in a popular graphic novel that was made into a flop film who's origins only english majors really know (aren't we awesome?)  Admittedly, the bet was to be half as good; anyone have a calculator?

Rushdie and the Legacy of Akbar

Salman Rushie has, over the course of the past year, become something of a man after my heart.  By this I mean a kindred mind, someone I've come to admire for the perspective he provides and how he presents it, be it in novels like Midnight's Children or in essays like "Is Nothing Sacred?".  In realizing this growing admiration I've also realized something else; what I respect in Rushdie is very similar to the elements that lead me to respect another character in history who shares a common ancestry as well as regional affiliation.

Jalal-ud-din Muhammad Akbar was the third Moghul emperor.  For those unfamiliar, the Moghuls were the dominant power in India, Pakistan, and Afghanistan for the centuries prior to British occupation.  They were responsible for much of the architecture associated with northern India today, namely the Taj Mahal.  Akbar the Great, as he has come to be called, stands out in this empire's history not for his great conquests; although he did have them; but because during his  reign he invoked a degree of religious toleration, co-operation, and harmony the likes of which had not been seen before him.  Akbar not only managed to convince the innumerable religious sects and factions of the indus value to co-exist (islam, hindu, christianity, judaism, jainism, sikh, sufi, buddhism, and zoroastrianism were all represented) but took the effort to learn and argue with all representative leaders of each faith so as to learn from them as well.

Rushdie, whose legacy is born in the region of Kashmiir connecting him to the Moghuls, has proven to have acquired a bit of this inheritance from Akbar.  In works like "Is Nothing Sacred?" he argues the notion that asserting the fundamental truths of one set of language; such as it contains and determines the beliefs and experiences of one group over another, as a prime set of such is folly; that the modern condition is the rejection of totalized explanations.  Thus matters dictated by language, such as religion, should be held as private matters.  In a way what he is arguing is similar to what Akbar argued years ago. "Now it has become clear to me, that it cannot be wisdom to assert the truth of one faith over another.  In our troubled world so full of contradictions, the wise person makes justice his guide and learns from all.  Perhaps in this way the door may be opened again whose key has been lost."  Such was an accounted quote in the Akbarnama, a work that was something of an autobiography by the emperor.

Dolled Up Romantics...with or without nuts

            There is something of a duel nature in our perception of dolls.  On one hand those sometimes carefully crafted pieces of porcelain and fabric with their painstakingly detailed faces are works of art, a testament of the craft of their maker.  Even those factory-born by a factory toy maker share a strange ideology of what perfection is to the human eye.  On the other hand, they can be disturbing creatures, in essence playing the part of soulless echoes of the human beings they are meant to mimic. 

            In some ways, the method by which women in Romantic era Britain are represented bears much resemblance to those porcelain dolls.  Quiet submissive daughters and wives, beautiful to look upon, their motions and actions dictated by husbands and fathers.  To those patriarchal eyes they are objects, unable to think or move on their own, at least in a figurative sense, and they love and treasure them ever careful not to damage or break their fragile bodies.  Even if they do, surely it was not their fault.

            Yet even the through the objectification and painted faces, there still stares a pair of eyes, windows through which quite clearly shine a human soul.  There lies the disturbing element to this portrayal, disturbing not for the lack of soul a doll has, but because of the opposite.  With dolls we are able to disconnect because of the lack of a life behind them, but when that spark is there in something we’ve tried to dismiss and objectify like a doll, all we find is the shame of that sin staring right back at us crying with pity.

            Anne Elliot in Jane Austen’s Persuasion certainly could relate, as early in her story she seems content to play the part of a doll.  Rarely leaving the house and being often overlooked by a father for whom “vanity was the beginning of the end” and whom the more physically lovely sisters held more value, she nevertheless allows her actions to be dictated by not only her father, but others involved in the lives of her family, even going so far as to break off a wedding because the family advisor, Lady Russell, thinks it not a good match for her.

            Yet there is something remarkable to this doll named Anne, she grows, and in doing so becomes too much for the puppet strings binding her to the will of others, and becomes a human being.  How she comes to this self-determination and breaks free from the porcelain shell she was trapped in is a remarkable feat in itself.  It requires on her part a realization of the flaws in the people she loves but who through her love try to control her; her father’s vanity, Lady Russell’s well-meant but often blind advice, the true face behind the mask of the man everyone around her adores and feels she should marry, and also most importantly what is it in herself that has been limiting her and where her love truly lies.

Also in the name of perpetuating a running joke, no nuts were ironically picked from their trees during the writing of this entry.