Crab Canon

I started to write this blog post about Wuthering Heights' recent plot developments-- but I thought about it, and if I did that, I'd just make some lackluster comparison to LotR.

So, instead, let's talk about the use of language.

Wuthering Heights has some great imagery and word choice in it. There is a certain art to fitting together words and sentences to form a coherent whole-- and I must admit that Emily Brontë is a master of the art.  Joseph's indecipherable dialect aside, she produces sentences such as:

One time, however, we were near quarrelling. He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness — mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side, and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze; and woods and sounding water, and the whole world awake and wild with joy. He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive, and he said mine would be drunk; I said I should fall asleep in his, and he said he could not breathe in mine. (237)

Brontë's skill clearly exceeds my own.  She has good control of a reader's response and the flow of the writing; by using a long list of birds for Catherine's heaven and a simpler one with more gradual phrases for Linton's, for instance, she influences the reader's mood and impression.

However, I think it would be fascinating to consider what Brontë could do in a different writing environment.

This is a piece called Crab Canon, by the renowned graphic artist M. C. Escher, also known for such gems as Waterfall and Drawing Hands.  It may have been inspired by a Bach piece of the same name, one of the Musical Offerings:

This piece is interesting in that it is completely reversible; indeed, the reversed part may be overlaid on the first part to create harmony as well.  In addition to showcasing Bach's musical talent, this piece also presents the foundation for a certain type of literary challenge, also called a crab canon.  A crab canon is a piece of literature which can be read in either direction and present a coherent story.  It is usually presented as a dialogue, as in the original literary crab canon, but can also be presented in other forms:

Authors like Emily Brontë tend to be comfortable with the manipulation of phrases, sentences, and tone.  They've clearly demonstrated what they can do in the framework of a novel-- but, at the same time, I believe that writing within constraints can show entirely different facets of a writer's talents.

For instance, though they can be frustrating to write, haikus are some of the most expressive poems; the feeling that ordinarily would be spread across many verses must be compressed into a mere 17 syllables.  Meaning must be overlaid, implied, and hidden.  The same could be said for the six-word stories we discussed in class.  And although a crab canon does not necessarily need to hide meaning-- Hofstadter's doesn't-- the form lends itself to the reinforcement of certain themes, and the Lost Generation video certainly takes advantage of that.  Given the many past / present parallels in Wuthering Heights, perhaps Brontë could have done the same.

What do you think?  Would her literary talents be wasted on a restrictive form of writing?  Or would the restrictions create a more intriguing and lasting piece?

Wuthering Heights and the Enterprise

One of the most notable features (at least, to me) of Wuthering Heights is the near-complete lack of interaction with the world outside of Thrushcross Grange, Gimmerton, and the titular estate.  It is a phenomenon shared by Jane Eyre, with only a small number of characters involved throughout the plot, and has been conjectured to be due to the Brontë sisters' isolation.

However, upon some pondering and investigation, it occurred to me that this is one of several features that Wuthering Heights shares with many science fiction and fantasy series.

For instance, Star Trek.  The one common denominator between episodes is the setting-- the starship Enterprise.  There are few significant characters (with many red-shirts filling in the background) and, for all intents and purposes, those characters and settings not directly associated with the Enterprise are quite transient.  Like Wuthering Heights, the ship is an isolated bubble containing (or at least directly associated with) all important events.

Though Heathcliff and Cathy may not be learned in starship navigation, they do recall some archetypes of sci-fi (and fantasy) characters.  Many fictional genres rely upon general categories of understandable, relatable stock characters, and, in some ways, so does Wuthering Heights.

Heathcliff is proud, aloof, and rude; he is often classified as a Byronic hero, but on a simpler level, I interpreted Heathcliff as a somewhat-immature man who acts based on his individualistic ideas and strong affection for Catherine.  He doesn't wish to be controlled and follows his instincts, but also doesn't like to show his feelings, seeing them as soft.

Catherine seemed very similar.  She is spirited and passionate, feeling a full range of emotion, from love to jealousy.  When frustrated in her desires (as when Heathcliff begins to court Isabella and Nelly tells Edgar she is faking a fit), she flies into a rage and even occasionally becomes sick; like Heathcliff, she doesn't want to be controlled, and is certainly impulsive, but also puts consideration for her future over her love for Heathcliff, ultimately resulting in the unhappiness of an entire generation of Wuthering Heights inhabitants; the next generation redeems itself, however, by --spoilers--.

This theme of one generation's mistakes being fixed by the next (or a later generation in general) is a common one in science fiction and fantasy as well.  A few examples might include Dune, Star Wars, and The Lord of the Rings.  Arguably, this is a common theme throughout all literature, though it seems more proliferate in sci-fi to my mind.

In sum, I noticed a few common traits between Wuthering Heights (and Romantic literature in general) and sci-fi.  While they are usually quite different in purpose, the two categories share motifs and character types, and while sci-fi is much more enjoyable to me than WH, I have to admit that perhaps-- just perhaps-- there are some deep underlying traits that make E. Brontë's novel similarly interesting.

Day 44

When I was in elementary school, my family went fishing every so often.  My father loved to get out the fishing rod [ true facts: I accidentally typed "fishpole" ] and try to land a few.  He always threw them back, and occasionally let me reel in the smaller ones.  I always admired his patience.  Sitting in the summer sun and waiting for the line to twitch is not exactly something that I excel at.  Nevertheless, even when I waited with him, I never seemed to land a single fish.

Five years later, I learned that [ surprise! ] different sizes of hooks catch different sizes of fish.  I had always randomly picked a hook out of the tackle box, not noticing the difference.

This is very similar to how I often dealt with literature in those days: casually, carelessly, and cursorily.  I skimmed through books without paying attention to the oceans lying beneath the waves.

At some point in middle school, I began to dip my toes in the water.  For the first time, I analyzed books and short stories in class; I vaguely remember being impressed by "Harrison Bergeron".  Perhaps it also helped that my teacher was a huge fan of Star Wars, the Lord of the Rings, and several other franchises that I also approved of.  By connecting literature basics such as the hero archetype to the familiar stories that I had grown up with, I learned to step back and take a look at what I was reading.  Soon, I was seeing underlying techniques in everything-- so much, in fact, that I entered a somewhat-involuntary phase of literary snobbishness.  Nobody had ever warned me about overshooting and crashing into the bottom of the ocean!

After three years of pretentiously flaunting books such as Anna Karenina and Atlas Shrugged, I had an epiphany.  Not anything too literary-- but I realized that the books that I was reading, purportedly full of deep meaning, were honestly not that enjoyable.  Beginning to read commercial fiction again was like surfacing after diving; turning the first page of the urban fantasy thriller that I would have shunned before was like taking the first breath of sweet, fresh air.  Soon, I was able to find a healthy balance of engaging commercial fiction and more exploratory and historical literary works.  Fortunately, learning to appreciate both worlds is like learning to tread water; you never quite forget, and I certainly haven't stopped enjoying the ride.

Admittedly, there are some books that I still can't seem to get into.  Ulysses is one [ sorry, Mr. Mullins! ], and Gravity's Rainbow is another.  I have no doubt that Finnegan's Wake is worse.  Maybe I just don't have a penchant for the exploratory genre-- but Pynchon is definitely not up my alley.

But even now, I sometimes pause to wonder whether my interpretations are short-sighted.  After all, sometimes what appears to be a pond is really a deep, majestic ocean.