‘What will it be”, I thought to myself as the dirty white mini-van chugged along down the interstate. Every rustle in the grass, every flutter out of the corner of my eyes made me jump, and my heart pounded. Would it show up? Would I discover something about myself? Would nature accept me?
I was on sojourn. It was my first, and traditionally, or so I was told, this was the time that you sought for your totem animal. I didn’t know that I believed in totem animals, or magic, or anything at all at that time in my life. However, I knew that I trusted the man who was guiding me, and so I tried to surrender to the experience. And funny thing was, as soon as we hit the road, I was overtaken by excitement and anxiety. I was curious to know what mirror nature would hold up to me, and what signs this journey would give. Surely there would be meaning here. I felt like a little kid, going to his first amusement park. You aren’t really sure what your going to experience, but you know it’s gonna be epic!
Within the system that I was experiencing, knowledge was unimportant. A totem animal was not discovered by looking within oneself and intellectually reasoning which animal might or might not represent you accurately. Rather, it was the raw experience of nature itself that you used. Your guide, or teacher, would cry for visions and signs before you left, and then, while out wandering the roads, you committed to paying attention to the universe around you, and treating the events as significant.
All in a row...
The first animal that seemed prominent was the Buzzard. Of course, my teacher said that in Texas, Buzzards showing up near highways isn’t at all unusual, and totem animals are supposed to be animals which behave strangely around you while on sojourn. However, as the trip progressed, literally HUNDREDS of buzzards showed up. It was pretty scary. And a little disheartening. I mean, afterall, everyone wants to be a glamorous animal. You are the Wolf! Or the TIGER. Or the Hawk. Or even the Coyote or Bear. Nobody wants to be buzzard. And, if totem animal is a reflection of your inner self, what does that say about you? I feed on the carcasses of my friends? I was more than a little dissapointed at that point in my journey. But, my teacher assured me that the journey had just begun, and it was possible the Buzzards were only a messenger, though he did begin to try and relate buzzards to my life, and drew a surprising number of positive correlations.
However, I didn’t discover what was eventually decided to be my Totem animal until we reached the big city. We were walking down a path, when suddenly, out a bush, right in front of my, jumped a squirrel! I was surprised and I froze. The squirrel stared directly at me for a long time, then stood up on its hind legs and showed me its white belly. Then it ran out into the street and away. I felt strangely, and wasn’t really paying attention to the world around me. Immediately I began to rationalize my experience of the out of the ordinary. Maybe that squirrel was like college squirrels, acclimatized to people. Maybe it was as startled as I was, which was why it froze. Maybe maybe maybe. And then, my teacher stepped up behind me, cackled and said, “Thats it!”
Here he comes to save the day!
Since I discovered my totem, I have done alot of processing about it. In reality, for a rodent, it is the most glamorous rodent around. That huge fluffy tail is something that I mirror in my own life quite often with fashion and extravagence. I always want to put on a good show. I also have a very hard time doing two things at once, like a squirrel, who can’t think and run, but pauses at every turn to consider the direction, and the is off like a flash. I am easily startled, close to my family and friend, but rivals with others who are too similar to me, and often get into squabbles with them, like two squirrels chasing each other around a tree trunk. The comparisons go on. The point is, that a totem animal, as I was taught, is supposed to represent an awareness of nature, and a willingness to see yourself in others, and others within yourself. As I was taught, people often have many totem animals, but my primary is squirrel. And, when you think about it, in terms of encountering them, a totem like squirrel or mouse is way more powerful than a totem like tiger. How often do you meet tigers? And if you really WERE like a tiger, wouldn’t that make you kind of an asshole to me around? Just food for thought!
The Significance of Animals in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
“Everything’s got a moral, if only you can find it.” Lewis Carroll as The Duchess
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is considered one of the most beloved books of children’s literature in the modern age. Through various media incarnations, including film, television, parody, and music, this classic tale of a girl’s magical journey through the land of madness is at once didactic and complex. One of the most memorable, if under analyzed, themes running through the book is the constant personification of animals. However, the significance of this consistent usage of our furry animal friends is often overlooked by those more interested in what the characters say than who the characters are. Indeed, while analysts and fans will often memorize a quote or witticism, they seldom look to the identity of the one speaking it. During her encounter with the Caterpillar in Chapter V of the book, Alice is very concerned with identity. The Caterpillar asks her bluntly, “Who are you?”[1] However, Alice cannot answer him, which stymies their conversation. This suggests that Carroll himself was conscious of, and careful in selecting the identities of those who spoke. It is no surprise then that Alice’s struggle for her own identity and the conversation in regards to it, is had with a caterpillar, a creature itself confused about who it is. This passage is made all the more poignant because Alice is talking to the embodiment of transformation. It is careful consideration of both the identity and actions of characters within the book that allow a full appreciation of Lewis Carroll’s mad world. Therefore, particularly in the case of the large number of talking animals, the significance of animals needs to be examined.
From the very beginning of the book, Alice’s journey is typified by movement away from the ordered world of human society, and into the chaotic world of nature. This journey is jump started by a very anxious animal, the White Rabbit. “So she was considering…whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.”[2] However, it is not only the animal itself, but his unique manner that motivates Alice into action. “but, when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet…”[3]. It is worth noting here, that in the world that Carroll creates for Alice, there is nothing to suggest that this White Rabbit is anything out of the ordinary. In our world it might be ludicrous, or even frightening to see a small animal, dressed finely and muttering to itself in human speech, but in Carroll’s world, the suggestion is not that the rabbit is aberrant but that Alice herself has never looked at rabbits correctly before. Also, it is only because it is an animal that Alice pays attention. It is entirely probable that had a strange little man rushed by, whining about being late, Alice would have simply sat bored by the brook and perhaps made a few daisy chains. But, because something out of the ordinary occurs, namely that a rabbit rushed by talking, Alice is motivated to act. It is the promise of a new perspective that sends her forward, and it is her preconceptions, particularly about animals, that she must leave behind.
In fact, animals in Carroll’s world seem all too eager to question Alice’s preconceptions. For instance, after having fallen deeply into the earth while chasing the White Rabbit, (and experiencing a strange lesson in the dangers of consumption), Alice encounters a mouse. Her mechanical niceties of conversation often cause difficulties between her and the animals she is in the company of, and this mouse is no different. This perhaps begins with her utterance in French, “Ou est ma chatte?”[4] in an effort to communicate with a Mouse she fears may be French. She soon learns that the mouse understands both French and English, though, as the poor creature leaps from the pool of tears they are swimming in with fright and responds, after Alice’s quick apology, “Not like cats!” cried the Mouse in a shrill passionate voice. “Would you like cats, if you were me?”[5] The usage of a small creature, like a mouse in this instance, is an effective way of highlighting Alice’s own uncaring nature. Mice are generally accepted as a weak and vulnerable animal. Alice demonstrates very quickly that she is unable to imagine what it is like to live in the world of the mouse, or indeed, any world but her own. Alice continues the conversation, but stumbles onto the predatory nature of her own animal companions again and again, able only to recognize her error after the fact, instead of preventing her rude utterances to begin with. This seems to highlight Carroll’s underlying theme within Alice’s journey; Alice must learn to empathize with those who are different from her in order to grow up.
Alice’s animal journey continues with her further encounter with the White Rabbit. She finds herself placed in the awkward position of being ordered by the animal, and immediately identifies her preconceptions that animals ought to keep their place. “How queer it seems…to be going messages for a rabbit! I suppose Dinah’ll be sending me on messages next!…Only I don’t think…that they’d let Dinah stop in the house if it began ordering people about like that!”[6] The thought of her cat making requests of her seems absurd. Again, the usage of animals is an effective way of revealing Alice’s inner life. Had a strange man asked her to run a message, she might never have allowed herself to confront her own rebellious and unhelpful nature, but because an animal is making the request it is safe for the young girl to confront her own obstinate opinions on doing for others. Yet, despite her misgivings, she does as the White Rabbit asks and ends up, through her further selfish acts, trapped in the White Rabbit’s house, having grown too large to exit. The White Rabbit, along with a large group of various animals then gather to attempt and expel the giant Alice from the house. Whereas before, Alice has been beseeching the creatures she comes into contact with for help, now that she is large again, her first reaction is intimidation and violence. When the White Rabbit attempts to enter his house, she “suddenly spread out her hand and made a snatch in the air”[7]. And later, she kicks a lizard out of the chimney, after wishing to herself that the animals could help her out of the house. Finally, when they threaten to burn the house down she responds, “If you do, I’ll set Dinah at you!”[8] This is a clear threat of murder. Now that she is gigantic, she feels that the animal’s feelings and inclinations don’t matter at all, and feels free to attack and bully them as she pleases. Again, she finds that she cannot bring herself to empathize with a creature different than herself, and what little empathy she seemed to have developed, through regret of her actions with the Mouse and his friends, quickly evaporates when her dominant size returns to her.
Alice’s journey continues on through many more encounters with animals and their treatment in the world of Wonderland. She encounters a fish and a frog serving as messengers, and rescues a baby that turns into a pig (which she quickly discards). She has a conversation with the enigmatic Cheshire Cat, the only other predatory animal she had encountered, and attends a mad tea party, hosted by both man AND animal.
And finally, she comes to play Croquet with the Red Queen. It is here that Alice encounters the truly uncompassionate nature of mankind. In fact, it is perhaps a pun on Carroll’s part by turning these “human” characters into personified playing cards, inherently small and thin, suggesting that their self serving, self indulgent natures make them shallow excuses for human beings. From their first meeting, Alice is at odds with the Queen of Hearts, whose selfish cruelty is an exaggerated mirror of Alice’s own. “’And who are these?” said the Queen…”How should I know?” said Alice surprised at her own courage, “It’s no business of mine.” The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast, began screaming, “Off with her head! Off with—“ “Nonsense!”, said Alice, very and decidedly, and the Queen was silent.”[9] Immediately, Alice is set up as a sort of foil for the violent and selfish Queen, her own will as strong as the mad monarch’s. After their initial friction, Alice is invited to play croquet, where the presence of animals is decidedly different than their previous incarnations. While the White Rabbit is present and nervous as always, clearly a servant to the court, “the croquet balls were all hedgehogs, and the mallets live flamingoes”[10]. Alice struggles to play the insane game of croquet, growing more and more perturbed at the Queen’s petulant and childish execution edicts and her blatant disregard for the feelings or status of others. Eventually the Cheshire Cat appears and asks, “How do you like the Queen?”[11] To which Alice replies, “Not at all”[12]. The Cheshire Cat seems amused by Alice’s consternation, and unconcerned with the goings on around him. He is the inner anima of Alice’s own predatory nature, and represents one path she could possible take. However, when her friendship with the cat is challenged, Alice quickly retorts to the King of Hearts, “A cat may look at a king”[13]. Rather than remaining unconcerned, and not taking responsibility for what is happened around her, Alice has intervened for the first time in the novel directly, expressing an opinion on the Cheshire Cat’s presence. This is the first time she has stood up for the rights of those who are different than herself. The Cheshire Cat becomes the first “other” that she is able to identify with, and her defense of him causes the entire court to go to shambles in an attempt to kill the cat.
After a strange meeting with a creature called the Mock Turtle, and listening at the end to him sing a song about Turtle Soup, which the Queen of Hearts intends to turn him into, Alice comes to the climax of her first journey. She is taken to the trial of the Knave of Hearts, which is presided over by the King and Queen of Hearts. The jury however consists of an assortment of animals which sit in judgment of the man. Alice is able, over the course of the trial and observing the selfish injustice of the human in power, to finally “grow up”. Quite literally she becomes enormous, refusing to accept the heartless actions of her human kin. And in doing so, she is able to throw off the selfish blinders of her childhood that keep her insensitive to the diversity around her. In the end, she declares of the Queen and her court, “’Who cares for you?” said Alice (she had grown to her full size by this time). “You’re nothing but a pack of cards!”[14] She acknowledges that the cruel and heartless way these heart covered “people” act is inhumane and uncomfortable, and her epiphany returns her to the real world, though she is forever changed.
It is perhaps not readily apparent what Carroll wishes to teach us through the mad fancies and strange series of events presented by Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, but for the modern reader who considers not only what is said, but by whom, a strong moral becomes apparent. Though Alice begins her journey selfish, and unable even to consider the feelings of other before speaking, through her experiences with the diverse creatures of Wonderland, most significantly the personified animals, she is able to learn empathy, and to recognize the shallowness of those who exhibit unrestrained cruelty to those around them. It is the promise of new perspectives that draw Alice forward into her adult nature, and transform her literally into a giant among men. The identity of the speakers, most often animals that teach her the lessons she must learn to mature is a key aspect of the tableau of the world. The humanization of the animals in the story does not serve to water down their impact, but rather it is Carroll’s (perhaps unwitting) message about the universal nature of suffering. Carroll does not invite Alice (and us) to learn human lessons from animal mouths, but rather to consider that animals might ALWAYS have had a voice that we have neglected to hear. Alice must learn that whether animal, man, or object, all creatures must be treated with value.
These readings, particularly the first one by Ritvo were interminably boring. However, I found the phenomena they were discussing to be very intriguing. It seems that this semester is the semester of Victorian Culture for me, and I must say that this is an interesting facet of it. Now that I have “awakened” to something resembling a sense of compassion or even moral integrity, I can freely admit that I find the sport hunting of animals to be one of the few truly reprehensible treatments of animals in the world. I found “The Most Dangerous Game”, a famous story about a man hunted by another man on a deserted island to have a great sense of poetry to it. The plundering of Africa and India and the subsequent endangering of so many majestic and awe inspiring creatures has been one of the most tragic and resounding proofs for the ever expanding impact that the progress and ignorance of humanity can have on our planet. While I do not think it is possible for us ever to “destroy” the planet, I think we certainly could make it entirely inhospitable to life of any form we are accustomed to. In his essay (?) Ritvo states “they (animal trophies) were constant reminders of the hunting expeditons during which they had been procured, a symbol of the force and power that supported and validated the routinezed day to day domination of the empire” (Ritvo 415-16). The brutal declaration of the atavistic and unerring dominion of the British Empire that was represented by the rampant sport hunting and obsessive adventure seeking of well-to-do nobility and look-to-prove military meant that an entire ecosystem was unbalanced, and entire generations were denied encounters with vital members of our ecosystem. I am a believer that animals have a spirit, and that they have lessons to teach us. I agree with Derrida that it is through the next closest organisms to ourselves, animals, that which move and breath and eat and sleep and even love, that humanity can peer into the genuine mirror of existence. Yet our intention, particularly for the sake of amusement of spectacle, seems to be to shatter that mirror, and to ignore what is suggests for us as creatures. I do believe that it is right, and natural to eat animals, but I believe that this must be done with the full capacity of compassion and gratitude that we possess. That too is natural.
However, I also acknowledge humanity’s humanity. It is agreement by which we live our lives; agreement on laws, agreement on norms, agreement on tastes, agreement on every facet of our world. And more often than not a man cannot alter the agreements into which he is born, and the thought that he might change his world does not even enter his mind. Few are Ghandis. And indeed, society might not even function if we all were. Orwell highlights this, and helps to add an understanding view to the imperialist and amusement obsessed nature of most humans. He says “I perceived in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys” (Orwell 441). It is the agreements he creates that bind a man to a fate. And more often than not, I think that cruelty is not born from moral weakness, or malicious intention, but the abject terror each person lives their lives in. Orwell later adds, when considering doing the “right” thing and not shooting the mad elephant he has been called to deal with, “The crowd would laugh at me. And my whole life, every white man’s life in the East, was one long struggle not to be laughed at” (Orwell 441). Though Orwell is relating us to what the reality of English Imperialism was for most men, not the hyper-masculine, hyper-competent charicatures that strutted about the lecture circuit in Ritvo’s essay, but the simple man, trying to live life in extroidinary circumstances. This is the man whom must be reached. This is the man that must be taught what respect for life is.
The above clip is from the film “Spirited Away”, a film heralded as a modern day “Alice in Wonderland”
“Everything’s got a moral, if only you can find it.” Lewis Carroll as The Duchess
The Mad Tea Party
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is considered one of the most beloved books of children’s literature in the modern age.Through various media incarnations, including film, television, parody, and music, this classic tale of a girl’s magical journey through the land of madness is at once both didactic and inscrutable.Perhaps one of the most memorable themes running through the book is the constant personification of animals.However, the significance of this consistent transmogriphication is often overlooked by those more interested in what the characters say than who the characters are.Indeed, while analysts and fans will often memorize a quote or witticism, they seldom look to the identity of the one speaking.During her encounter with the Caterpillar in Chapter V of the book, indeed, Alice is very concerned with identity.The Caterpillar asks her bluntly, “Who are you?”[1]However, Alice cannot answer him, which stymies their conversation.This suggests that Carroll himself was conscious of, and careful in selecting the identities of those who spoke.Therefore, particularly in the case of the large number of talking animals, the significance of animals needs to be examined.
I'm late, I'm late!
From the very beginning of the book, Alice’s journey is typified by movement away from the ordered world of human society, and into the chaotic world of nature.This journey is jump started by a very anxious animal, the White Rabbit.“So she was considering…whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.”[2]However, it is not only the animal itself, but his unique manner that motivates Alice into action.“but, when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet…”[3].It is worth noting here, that in the world that Carroll creates for Alice, there is nothing to suggest that this White Rabbit is anything out of the ordinary.In our world it might be ludicrous, or even frightening to see a small animal, dressed finely and muttering to itself in human speech, but in Carroll’s world, the suggestion is not that the rabbit is aberrant but that Alice herself has never looked at rabbits correctly before.
Ou est ma chatte?
In fact, animals in Carroll’s world seem all too eager to question Alice’s preconceptions.For instance, after having fallen deeply into the earth while chasing the White Rabbit, and experiencing a strange lesson in the dangers of consumption, Alice encounters a mouse.Her mechanical niceties of conversation often cause difficulties between her and the animals she is in the company of.This perhaps begins with her utterance in French, “Ou est ma chatte?”[4] in an effort to communicate with a Mouse she fears may be French.She soon learns that the mouse understands both French and English though, as the poor creature leaps from the pool of tears they are swimming in with fright and responds, after Alice’s quick apology, “Not like cats!” cried the Mouse in a shrill passionate voice. “Would you like cats, if you were me?”[5]Alice continues the conversation, but stumbles onto the predatory nature of her own animal companions again and again, able only to recognize her error after the fact, instead of preventing her rude utterances to begin with.This seems to highlight Carroll’s underlying theme within Alice’s journey; Alice must learn to empathize with those who are different from her in order to grow.
Alice’s animal phantasmagoria continues with her further encounter with the White Rabbit.She finds herself placed in the awkward position of being ordered by the animal, and immediately identifies her preconceptions that animals ought to keep their place.“How queer it seems…to be going messages for a rabbit!I suppose Dinah’ll be sending me on messages next!…Only I don’t think…that they’d let Dinah stop in the house if it began ordering people about like that!”[6]The thought of her cat making requests of her seems absurd.Yet she does as the White Rabbit asks and ends up, through her further selfish acts, trapped in the White Rabbit’s house, having grown too large to exit.The White Rabbit, along with a large group of various animals then gather to attempt and expel the giant Alice from the house.Whereas before, Alice has been beseeching the creatures she comes into contact with for help, now that she is large again, her first reaction is intimidation and violence.When the White Rabbit attempts to enter his house, she “suddenly spread out her hand and made a snatch in the air”[7].And later, she kicks a lizard out of the chimney, after wishing to herself that the animals could help her out of the house. Finally, when they threaten to burn the house down she responds, “If you do, I’ll set Dinah at you!”[8]This is, to her mind, a clear threat of murder.Now that she is gigantic, she feels that the animal’s feelings and inclinations don’t matter at all, and feels free to attack and bully them as she pleases.Again, she finds that she cannot bring herself to empathize with a creature different than herself, and what little empathy she seemed to have developed through regret of her actions with the Mouse and his friends quickly evaporates when her dominant size returns to her.
Alice’s journey continues on through many more encounters with animals and their treatment in the world of Wonderland.She encounters a fish and a frog serving as messengers, and rescues a baby that turns into a pig (which she quickly discards).She has a conversation with the enigmatic Cheshire Cat, the only other predatory animal she had encountered, and attends a mad tea party, hosted by both man AND animal.
Better than Disney!
And finally, she comes to play Croquet with the Red Queen.It is here that Alice encounters the truly uncompassionate nature of mankind.In fact, it is perhaps a pun on Carroll’s part by turning these “human” characters into personified playing cards, inherently small and thin, suggesting that their self serving, self indulgent natures make them shallow excuses for human beings.From their first meeting, Alice is at odds with the Queen of Hearts, whose selfish cruelty is an exaggerated mirror of Alice’s own.“’And who are these?” said the Queen…”How should I know?” said Alice surprised at her own courage, “It’s no business of mine.”The Queen turned crimson with furty, and, glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast, began screaming, “Off with her head!Off with—“ “Nonsense!”, said Alice, very and decidedly, and the Queen was silent.”[9]After their initial friction, Alice is invited to play croquet, where the presence of animals is decidedly different than their previous incarnations.While the White Rabbit is present and nervous as always, clearly a servant to the court, “the croquet balls were all hedgehogs, and the mallets live flamingoes”[10].Alice struggles to play the insane game of croquet, growing more and more perturbed at the Queen’s petulant and childish execution edicts and her blatant disregard for the feelings or status of others.When the Cheshire Cat appears, he asks, “How do you like the Queen?”[11]To which Alice replies, “Not at all”[12].Then, when her friendship with the cat is challenged, Alice quickly retorts to the King of Hearts, “A cat may look at a king”[13].This is the first time she had stood up for the rights of those who are different than herself.The Cheshire Cat becomes the first “other” that she is able to identify with, and her defense of him causes the entire court to go to shambles in an attempt to kill the cat.
Off with their head!
After a strange meeting with a creature called the Mock Turtle, and listening at the end to him sing a song about Turtle Soup, which the Queen of Hearts intends to turn him into, Alice comes to the climax of her first journey.She is taken to the trial of the Knave of Hearts, which is presided over by the King and Queen of Hearts.The jury however consists of an assortment of creatures, which sit in judgment of the man.Alice is able, over the course of the trial and observing the selfish injustice of the human in power, to finally “grow up”.Quite literally she becomes enormous, refusing to accept the heartless actions of her human kin.And in doing so, she is able to throw off the selfish blinders of her childhood that keep her insensitive to the diversity around her.In the end, she declares of the Queen and her court, “’Who cares for you?” said Alice (she had grown to her full size by this time).“You’re nothing but a pack of cards!”[14]She acknowledges that the cruel and heartless way these heart covered “people” act is inhumane and uncomfortable, and her epiphany returns her to the real world.
It is perhaps not readily apparent what Carroll wishes to teach us through the mad fancies and strange series of events presented by Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, but for the modern reader who considers not only what is said, but by whom, a strong moral becomes apparent.Though Alice begins her journey selfish, and unable even to consider the feelings of other before speaking, through her experiences with the diverse creatures of Wonderland, most significantly the personified animals, she is able to learn empathy, and to recognize the shallowness of those who exhibit unrestrained cruelty to those around them.The humanization of the animals in the story does not serve to water down their impact, but rather it is Carroll’s (perhaps unwitting) message about the universal nature of suffering.Alice must learn that animal, man, or object, all creatures must be treated with value.
“My troubles are all over, and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple trees” (Black Beauty 213). I won’t lie. I cried when Joe recognized Black Beauty, and I knew that he was finally home, to peace and rest after a life full of such noble sacrifice and valor. And then I recall the reading from earlier in this semester, “Am I Blue?” by Alice Walker, and the stark difference between the polite bow that “Black Beauty” puts on the end of the story, and the sobering “realism” of Walker’s tale. The last mention of the horse in that story reads, “Blue was like a crazed person. Blue was, to me, a crazed person” (Walker 245e). In Black Beauty, the ending we want, the ending that makes our hearts soar, is given to us, no matter how unlikely it may be. Beauty is recognized as valuable and loved, and given an easy and loving end to his life, in a quiet meadow. In Walker, that same meadow is a prison, isolated and crazed for companionship. Is that a more “realistic” end? Can Horses, or animals at all, find peace in the world human’s create for them? Or will they always be crazed by our treatment, no matter how compassionate it may be? And again, we come to the extreme humanization, in both tales, of the animal. We project our emotions and our thoughts and our experiences onto the animals in these stories, and look at them as though they were a sort of mirror to us. But do we ever see the animal itself? What is the identity of a horse, or a dog, or a cat? In most stories they are loyal companions, or sly tricksters, or noble heroes. Never are they “horse”. Do we even know what horse is?
Is this what we see when we look at animals?
However, I can say that I know animals respond to stimulus in ways that suggest understanding. Like William, the young boy at the end of the book, whose insistence saves beauty, notices, “Poor old fellow! see, grandpapa, how well he understands kindness” (Black Beauty 207). Perhaps it is noticing this that is most important. It is not our enslavement of them, but our cruelty. There is an order to things, perhaps, and as the point was made in class, many animals would not even exist save for our insistence on them. Yet, as the woman who convinces Beauty’s driver to take off his bearing rein points out, “we have no right to distress and of God’s creatures without a very good reason; we call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel but they do not suffer less beacuse they have no words” (Black Beauty 199). I find that, though I think I will always believe it is natural to kill and eat other living things, and to shape the natural world around us as humans, I also think I am coming to believe that perhaps with our power comes a certain obligation, to empathize and to do what we can to ease the suffering of the creatures around us. It is not a black and white choice. It can be a process of degrees. And certainly political action is a necessary step. Hmm…perhaps I have a heart? Who knew.
As I read this story I am reminded of a friend who once told me that, after reading “Black Beauty”, all little girls fall in love with horses. I find myself moved by the narrative voice of Beauty, however as I have read more and more of this tale, I find myself wondering whether I am learning to identify with the real and obviously significant plight of the working horse, or with aspects of my own humanity I am projecting onto the horse, or enjoying the authors projection of at any rate.
A horse gallop
“I gave a loud shrill neigh for help; again and again I neighed, pawing the ground impatiently…” (Black Beauty 96). “I needed no whip or spur for I was as eager as my rider” (Black Beauty 96). Both of these quotes come from a passage of the book in which Beauty has seen a young rider, Lady Anne, stolen away by a frightened horse at full gallop. Beauty, recognizing this, desperately wants to save the young girl. His noble character and wise action save the girls life, though she is briefly injured, and his reputation, the author tells us, is established in the household. Again, Black Beauty is shown to be of exceeding nobility in the very next chapter, when a man with an alcohol problem rides him, without one shoe, down a rocky road and ends up severely injuring Beauty, and causing a fall that results in his death. Beauty however reacts strangely. “I could have groaned too, for I was suffering intense pain both from my foot and knees; but horses are used to bear their pain in silence. I uttered no sound but stood there and listened…I could do nothing for him nor myself, but, oh! how I listened for the sound of a horse, or wheels, or footsteps” (Black Beauty, 104). These are wonderful events, and perhaps even could be true (I have never seen a live horse that was not in a parade, so I don’t know), however as I read the passages, cheering for Beauty, and wondering at his nobility, I found myself sitting back and wondering to myself what the value of such fictionalized humanization of animals is. What good does it do an animal to tell a story like this? I know that there are many an unwanted dog purchased becaue of movies like “Old Yeller”, and many an unwanted pig that owe their unhappy lives to “Babe” or “Charlotte’s Web”. I wonder if the same is true of Black Beauty? How many young girls, starstruck by the quiet dignity of the fictionalized animal, blind themselves to the work and real nature of horses, and obstinately demand “I want a pony” for Christmas or Birthdays? On one level I understand that the humanization of animals allows us to think about ourselves beyond our own egos, and that often a moral tale can be imparted to us through the medium of an animal, that we would not recognize for the sake of our pride, if it were about humans. However, when considering things from the point of view of an animal, what good does it do to humanize them unrealistically? Or is it realistic? Do horses have consciousness of the order of Beauty? Do they feel and understand as Beauty does? Or is it cruel to treat them as though they can, and be frustrated when they don’t? I’m not certain.
I am including below a photograph I took of a horse and buggy that was one of about 2 dozen waiting in a square at the bottom of the Spanish Steps in Rome, Italy over spring break. I can remember thinking to myself, why is this servitude even necessary anymore? Is it because of stories like Black Beauty, which have romanticized the animal, that those two dozen horses, forced to pull loud heavy tourists around busy Roman streets all day when two dozen taxi cabs could do just as well? Interesting thoughts.
Poor horsey...one in the back even has as stupid hat!
So, yesterday I found the place where Satan’s Halo landed. It was in Amsterdam. On the facing of a bar called “The Cock Ring”. I have a photo of myself, worshipping at this fallen astral relic. But that isn’t the beginning of my story.
The story begins at around 4:00 in the afternoon, standing in the check-in line at DFW airport with Elizabeth. We were behind a family from India, and we’re not talking polo wearing, jeans and flip flops kinda Indians either. These were wrap-wearing, card carrying, carpet cleaning beard sportin’ Indians. We were fascinated, of course. And we really felt it was a great omen when the little old Indian grandmother that was with them, took a huge chunk of her dress in hand and flung it over her shoulder, smacking Elizabeth dead in the face. It felt like a sign that things would go right.
And right they did go. Or, as right as they can go on a plane ride for 8 hours with a bitch and a hyper-active elf. Of course, there was a small moment when a petulant spawn was squalling their lungs out, tiny bratty voice cracked with fear and anger, when I thought to myself, “Children are not for force-choking”. But that was a passing moment, I assure you. It was a moment repeated continuously over and over again anytime the plane made noticeable movement. But then we were in Amsterdam!
Now, I have never been to Amsterdam. So, I was amazed. Trains, and tourists, and all sorts of pastries abounded! This was a welcome change from the plane, who had none of the above. We were at least four hours early for the meeting with Elizabeth’s friend, Sterling, so we started out the day on a wander-fest.
I was in the lead, and just following the flow of the energy. I found for myself the giant phallic monument in the middle of Dam square, and a place that sold both maple and chocolate covered waffles, as well as a Japanese man to converse with. And then I felt called, a constant nagging pull to my left side. Wherever I went, I wanted to go left. So, left I went, past ditches and puddles and bicycles and locals, until at last, just beyond a church with a monument to the respect for sex-workers standing outside of it, I found the giant glowing silver ring of sin which marks the beginning of the gay sex district.
With no guidance, no prompts, no concept of the way the city is laid out at all, my feet carried me straight to the doorstep of one of the largest gay sex pits in the world, which stands at the head of one of the largest gay fuck streets in the world. Which is different, I might add, than most “gay-berhoods”. These places, more common in the states, are multi-purpose bastions of liberalism. They have clothing shops, and little cafes, and non-profit organization headquarters on them. No no, Amsterdam has one of these also. I found myself standing on the dedicated streets where only filthy, amoral, no holds barred homosexual copulation occurs. All on my own.
Europe, the Overlord has arrived.
So I thought I might start out with a nice cliche picture of the perfect horse; a Black Beauty, as it were. I had never read Black Beauty before this class, nor seen a film adaptation. However, I have heard it said that all children, but especially girls, who read this book at a certain age, or a certain time of the month, become enamored with horses. Thusfar, I am unimpressed. Beauty’s master says, “God had given men reason, by which they could find out things for themselves, but He had given animals knowledge which did not depend on reason, and which was much more prompt and perfect in its way, by which thay had often saved the lives of men” (Sewell, 48). However, I did not find much of this “perfect knowledge” shining through into the characterization of the animals. Rather, they seem almost meticulously humanized, even learning over time to understand our language. I wonder at how much projection man does onto the animal. Now, mind you, the argument that animals have no feelings or rights is one that is used to exact horrible cruelties on animals, however, the practice of projecting HUMAN emotions and rights onto them seems equally self-serving. It seems strange how desperate we are to find that animals have a deep understanding, which may resonate with our own. I don’t know if that sort of fantasy is true, let alone productive. It seem like projecting emotion onto a situation almost always distorts it, driving it either one way or another, and that in desperation to reconcile bad emotions, a man can be driven to almost anything, if he is unaware. However, I would agree with the schoolmaster of the boys who are being talked to after one of them has been caught pulling the wings off of flies, “Then he talked very seriously to all the boys about cruelty, and said how hard-hearted and cowardly it was to hurt the weak and the helpless; but what suck in my mind was this, he said that cruelty was the devil’s own mark, and if we saw anyone who took pleasure in cruelty, we might know who he belonged to” (Sewell 52). While the fear mongering of that statement is a little nauseating, cruelty seems to hurt everone it touches. What is the appropriate response to the presence of cruelty? At times it feels like being upset that human beings are cruel is like being upset that it rains. And perhaps, I wonder, cruelty, like rain, serves a purpose in the renewal of the world around us. Love, however, seems infinitely important. As John suggests, “there is no religion without love” (Sewell 52) Love and Cruelty, perhaps they are like rain and sunshine.
LOOK! We're finally in harmony with Nature! YAY!!!
I lived in the city all my life, so when I began to work with a peronal growth group that was partially wilderness based in Navasota, Texas there were alot of new experiences to have. One that seemed to resonate with today’s readings was an encounter I had two summers ago. I was outside, in the woods, participating in what is loosely termed a “vision quest”, the details of which are irrelevant. The point is, that I was to spend a night alone in a somewhat less developed forum than I was used to. I was sleeping under the stars, as it was. So, I set up my supplies, hunkered down, and set about “experiencing” nature. I expected, perhaps, to see some birds, or perhaps a squirrel or two, and I feared the incursion of ants and bees, however, as I was settling down, I went a few feet further into the forest to relieve myself. I suddenly had the distinct impression that I was being watched. It was an eery feeling, like the hackles on the back of my neck rising. And I turned around quickly, to see an enormous web to my right, with the largest spider I had ever seen in my life roosting in the center. If I hadn’t already been peeing, I would have started! It was an enormous affair in black and yellow, the body alone nearly the size of my fist, and I had the distinct impression that IT was watching ME. It was as if I had sensed when it had become aware of me, and I felt as though I was the one hunted. The world felt slow then, the rush of my own blood the only sound I could hear. I didn’t move for a long time, and then the spider moved a leg, as if dismissing me, and I retreated to my sleeping bag, afraid suddenly for the darkness.
This is the odd sense of animal division that I felt resonating today, particularly in Harrigan’s readings. It was fascinating to me, the contrast between Blake’s trite, sickeningly religious simpering couplets, all concerned with safe fuzzy animals and the taming of the predators, and the sharp visceral narratives of Harrigan’s experiences with “unsafe” animals. As I met the gaze of that Spider, I felt the same fear that Harrigan introduces during his recollection of the tiger attack; “The idea of being hauled through that tiny space by a tiger had an almost supernatural resonance–as if the window were a protal through which mankind’s most primeval terrors were allowed to pass unobstructed” (Harrigan 174/366). Even Costello acknowledges this fascination with the predatory indirectly. The poem she references as an example of potent animal imagery in poetry is a poem about a Jaguar.
We are fascinated as humans, touched on a primal level by the experience or the memory of being hunted. The utter acceptance that there are creatures older and more ferocious than us, who live their lives in an ancient cycle that we often believe to be wiser than our own, is something I wonder at often. How different an experience Blake’s lamb is, when he coos, “Little lamb,; Here I am,; Come and lick; My white neck;; Let me pull; Your soft wool; Le me kiss; Your soft face;” (Blake 354), than Harrigan’s snapping turtle, who, “sensing a little slack int he line, it lunged forward with such force that its front legs cleared the ground. Paralyzed with awe, I stood and watched as it lumbered hissing toward me, its reptile eyes fized on mine, its neck coiling and strikeing, I remember thinking, It’s coming to get me!” (Harrigan 192/368). The sheep does not touch the deep places of souls like the tiger, or the spider, or the shark. There is power and mystery to them that we marvel at. As Harrigan adds, “a snapping turtle was still a kind of nightmare creature, and a part of me did not want to accept the idea that it was as vulnerable as the rest of creation” (Harrigan 195/369). I wonder if it is not the mirror to our own predatory nature that touches us so deeply. As omnivores, and even as “conscious” beings, we are plagued by an almost incurable division of ourselves. Human beings alone in creation are fractured beings, torn by our very reasoning minds into smaller bits, tossed hither and yon by tides of emotions we can barely weather. And yet, when we look into the eyes of a tiger, do we not see a being, whole and complete? Is it the claws that still our hearts, or the teeth that stop our breath? Or is it a resonance, somewhere deep within us, of the power and presience of the predatory parts inside each of us? Is it the tiger that scares us, or ourselves?
“I know what you need”, she exclaimed suddenly, “Pussy!” She laughed maniacally amused by the suggestion that I would need, or want anything from the female genitalia. I shot her a glare across the living room, “Isn’t it you that told me I didn’t have to eat anything I didn’t want to?” I was being clever, but the truth was, until I met her I had never even considered the fact that my preferences, for food and for men, might be ok just the way they were.
I was gay.
And more than that, I was beginning to be ok with it for the first time in my entire seventeen years of life.
I grew up in an environment that was less than sympathetic to my orientation, and from my earliest years I had displayed certain leanings towards the stereotype. Of course, none of this might have mattered if my own father hadn’t decided to leave my mother when I was 10 years old for the company of other men. But he did, and I suppose, looking back now, I can’t really blame my mother for her exaggerated response to her son “falling victim” to the same predispositions as her husband.
But this story isn’t about my childhood.
It isn’t about religion though I’ve always had strong faith. In my early years, I believed in Christ and all the trappings that non-denominational, “seeker-friendly,” neo-Baptist, mega-churches could offer. From the time I was very small, people said that I had a “gift”; that God had touched me. Frankly, when I think about it now, I have to laugh. It seems now that they were only responding to the ability I had developed at a young age to string my thoughts together into sentences.Or maybe they were moved by the tremulous and impassioned recitations of scriptures I gave every week at Sunday School.Whatever the reasons, my deep faith in Christ was another reason why, at 17 years of age, I had hated myself since the 3rd grade.(That was when I had kissed my first boy.) Christ it seemed, accepting the fact that he had travelled around the idyllic natural world of biblical Israel trailed by twelve men of questionable origin (whom he often reclined under Olive trees with) was staunchly against the desire of men for men. While he had always been strangely silent on the subject, his followers had a lot of disparaging things to say. And I paid attention to those things, because the truth was, I was in love with Christ. In fact, it’s possible that he was the first man I ever loved.
This story isn’t about my relationship problems with a crucified carpenter, either.
This story isn’t even about that infamous woman; the red-headed, firecracker mother of three whose family had adopted me.She had been like a savior to me when, prompted by a few complicated revelations that had come to me in recent years, I had decided that my own home was toxic to me. And my mother, saint that she was, felt similarly. So my mother and I had parted ways a year earlier than most families do, and that woman had taken me in.
Shirley.
It was a rocky beginning to be sure, and beyond all other things, she had to contend with a deep and abiding self-hatred that coiled around inside of me like a serpent, “Crushing the life out of your eyes,” as she had a fondness for saying in those early days. She wanted so desperately to teach me what it meant to love myself. However, I had closed my ears to the reasoning of human voices a long time ago. I knew what I knew, and my intellect held me hostage to my preconceptions.
So she said, “You need a pussy!”
Of course, she hadn’t meant anything to do with a woman. She had meant a companion, a dependent even. She wanted me to get a kitten. I was skeptical. “I’m allergic to cats,” I said by way of dismissing the suggestion. “Some things,” she said, “are more important than runny noses.” I didn’t understand what she meant, but as usual, I went along with whatever half-baked idea she presented.
The following Saturday, she took me to a flea market. She had heard that there would be breeders with all sorts of dogs there, and naturally, if I was getting a feline, she had to get a canine. She said she was revisiting her childhood. I thought she was revisiting ways to make my life more complicated. Honestly, a puppy and a kitten at the same time? It would be madness. Then again, her whole house was madness. The two new additions would fit in just fine.
So I found myself, alone among a sea of unfamiliar faces, jabbering back and forth in unfamiliar languages, searching an old K-Mart parking lot for a pussy. Shirley had disappeared immediately to seek out her own companion, declaring, “These things have to be done alone!” And I was alone. I wandered aimlessly for awhile, nothing catching my eye. There were countless nick-knacks and bric-a-brac, and $2 souvenirs, but no cats. It seemed hopeless. I was in a “stall”, which really only consisted of three long tables arranged in a boxy sort of u-formation. I was pawing through a basket full of tiny cloth dolls, about to leave in defeat, when I heard that first mew. I turned around quickly, almost startled by the unmistakably organic sound I had heard. In fact, it was the first word I’d heard all morning that I thought I understood.
“Over here!” it seemed to say.
But I didn’t see anything. I heard it again then, and knelt down by one of the tables lifting the skirt. I was confronted by a pair of bright yellow eyes, staring fixedly up into my own, and peering out of a fluffy ball of dryer lint. A kitten had called me.
As soon as I laid eyes on it, it began to jabber at me, mewling repeatedly and grinding its impossibly small body against a wire cage that separated us. I was startled when a raspy voice in broken English choked above my shoulder, “$30. You want the cat man? It’s noisy as fuck. We put it away, it’s so noisy.” I turned around to find a tubby little Mexican man grinning at me. I pointed to the cat, repeating, “You want $30 bucks for…this?” I motioned to the wiggling ball of dark gray fluff and the man made a wet rasping sound in the back of his throat, which I suppose was what passed for a thought process in his world, and said, “Ok, $25.” I hadn’t meant to haggle, just to clarify, but the kitten in the cage yowled loudly, and I turned to him, already annoyed, “Alright, alright.” I fumbled with my wallet, pulled out the wadded bills and watched that grubby Mexican shove his arm into the cage, grip the kitten fully around the neck and pull it out by the head, limbs flailing and mouth hissing. I snatched the creature reflexively and tucked it into my coat, glaring at the man who laughed as I turned and walked away.
‘How horrible…’ I thought as I trudged back towards the car. From within my jacket, there was a sudden mewl of agreement, followed by what seemed like the sound of a motorboat cranking to life. The kitten purred happily until we were back at the car.
Shirley was waiting for us there, a black, bowling ball sized ball of fur peaking out of a milk crate at her feet.
Like the Flea Market, complete with creepy old man![5]
She crossed her arms, tapping her foot and said, “Well?” I pulled out the kitten then, careful not to hold it by the neck, and it yowled a greeting. She clapped her hands together and launched into the normal litany of cooing and codlings, before she said, “C’mon, get in the car and be sure to kill those ticks before you sit down!” I looked down, horrified to find that my shirt was crawling with about six eight-legged blood suckers, each searching for a place to feed. I yelped and smashed at my shirt and then brought the kitten up close to my face glaring at it accusingly. It kissed me.
The first week was a major adjustment. Between frequent trips to the pet store for beds and food and toys and sweaters and, most importantly, flea and tick remedies, it seemed like life revolved around a small dog and a noisy ball of dryer lint. The kitten, now known to be a he, was quarantined while we waited for the results of feline leukemia tests and tick killing. I don’t know that I’ve ever spent so much time in a pantry before. It was like an addiction, him to me, and me to him. He had “bonded” Shirley assured me. And it seemed true. Whenever I was gone, he yowled, and when I was there, he purred. I can still remember the first night, that tiny little furball howling at the top of his lungs, keeping the whole house awake until I took a blanket and a pillow into the pantry, laid down, and sang to him.
And when he curled up onto my chest, vibrating with approval, I felt something strange happening.
I think it was that I couldn’t argue with him. Not really. That’s what started it all. He wanted me, and no one but me, and he wouldn’t be dissuaded. I felt like telling him I was dangerous, damaged. I wanted him to understand the tremendous weight I had to bear, and how easily I might hurt those around me. I wanted him to recognize my perversion, and be cautious. But he wasn’t. And I couldn’t make him see. Or rather, perhaps he made me see. Those large yellow eyes would stare at me, expectantly, until I sat down for some lap time and a song. And he would talk to me, wandering around the cupboard for hours, playing with balls and string, playing with his world, and demanding I share it with him. And then he would sit on my chest, asleep, and it was the heaviest weight I had ever felt before, that tiny fluffy ball of dryer lint, vibrating on my heart, reaching into me and stripping me bare. He knew a language deeper and more powerful than the words I used to guard my heart with. And it melted me. To sit alone, experiencing love, can drive a person mad.
There was no answer to it. No reason for it.
He loved me, and I could do nothing about it.
I was loved, and I felt trapped. It felt like being in the crosshairs of a sniper rifle every time I opened that pantry door to his tiny gaze. Yet I couldn’t stop being near him. He needed me, and I had to comply. Resistance, as they say, was futile. And slowly, I felt that love begin to creep out of the deep places he had touched, and into my skin.
Then, one day, when I was walking out of the pantry, smiling to myself, Shirley was standing there, baking chocolate chip cookies, and she looked at me for a long moment and said, “There you are! I knew your eyes would be pretty.” I blushed, feeling caught. From the pantry, as if mocking my melodramatic nature, the kitten meowed.
Not the right age, color, or lighting, but similar emotion[6].
A week and a half after I rescued him, I named him. Cyrus Pythagorean Daniel. I had insisted that he needed something to grow into, and a name seemed as good as anything. Soon enough he joined the family proper, and learned to love a puppy named Josephine whom had come into our lives on the same day. Together, those animals became a representation to Shirley and me, I think. They represented the impartial, unyielding nature of love. They were love that didn’t require any movement. There were no conditions, or precursors. There was no change this love urged. It wanted us to play and laugh and sing and dance. And perhaps, most uniquely of all, it seemed to love us, not in spite of our flaws, but because of them. No one could have really liked my off-key singing, or my lumpy belly, I thought. But Cyrus did.
And no one could have loved my bruised spirit. But Cyrus did.
We went through a lot together. He survived a back alley castration from a fat Asian nurse; the brief if unforgettable addition of a rescued greyhound to the family; a two-year, two-state separation in which he lived with my “saintly” mother; and three notebooks worth of adventures with Josephine, personified as an archetypal Holmes and Watson, solving mysteries together in a fantastic world created by us, their humans, for them to play in.
And then, one day, he disappeared. I didn’t notice at first, because he was often in and out of the house. Then a week went by, and then two. He stopped coming to my song. I could sing that strange song anywhere in our neighborhood and he would come running, meowing his own harmonies and rubbing against me. But he didn’t come. The neighbors said that coyotes must have gotten him. And the little boy down the road said he saw some gray furry road kill near the highway. But I never knew for sure. He left in the way he had come, at the time of his choosing.
I think now, seeing where my life has gone from that time that he knew he needed to leave. I had become addicted to him, and the feeling of utter acceptance he made me feel. I confused the origin of that emotion, and forgot to love myself.Or perhaps he knew, that I couldn’t let him go, and that I needed to in order to move forward with my life. I had to come home, to places that didn’t accept cats, and live the life of someone who loves himself. I had to live as though I had permission to enjoy myself. Instead of crawling, I needed to fly. And perhaps, he knew before I did, that cats can’t fly. They stay on the ground, in the pantries of our lives, sitting with the darkest places inside of us, and listening to our song. That is the power of an animal; the ability to completely forget themselves, and in so doing, to cause us to remember who we are. That is the gift that Cyrus Pythagorean Daniel gave to me.
