(Im)Possibilities

** preface – this is about the inability of language to accurately capture and convey ideas, which really comes through in the writing of this post, so please bear with me**

As I sat in my political science class discussing postpositivist international relations (IR) theory, I was struck by the similarities to the conversation that we had on Wednesday about the inability of language to capture concepts/beliefs/ideologies. Continue reading “Interdisciplinary Connections on the Limits of Language”

I’m going off of a lesson on Inferno when I took Hum I back in the summer of 2014, but I feel this is an interesting aspect worth sharing.

Dante is big on numbers throughout The Divine Comedy, especially with the number 3 and the “Perfect Number” (100). Almost everything is in sets of 3. The Divine Comedy is split into 3 books (Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso), each consisting of 33 cantos (With the exception of Inferno, which has 34, but I’ll get to that in a moment), with each canto made up of lines in sets of 3. That’s 99 cantos overall, and with the aforementioned introductory canto of Inferno, which, as it’s only an intro and doesn’t technically count as a part of the whole, existing almost outside of the work, the count is brought to 100.

One of the most surprising aspects of this, however, is the syllable count. Every line of Inferno was 11 syllables (That’s 33 syllables for every set of three lines now) and the translation (At least the Mark Musa one I had at the time) was respectful of this. That being said, the trend seems to be less prevalent in Paradiso, and I’m having some trouble finding reliable (Not on Wikipedia) information to develop this further. If anyone knows anything else about this, feel free to chime in. I found it fascinating, and I haven’t really had a chance to study it since the last two years.

In any case, it highlights Dante’s meticulousness when it comes to language, which we mentioned in class. I’m also curious if we’ll see anything similar in Morrison’s Paradise–specifically with numbers, as the attention she pays to words is startlingly apparent throughout her work.

While reading the first nine Cantos of Dante’s Paradiso, I was reminded of shades/ombras/shadows by the contrasting lights.

When he spoke with us, Dr. Herzman referenced the biblical Paul’s letter to the Romans, how it mentioned that God left traces of himself in the universe to lead us back to him. With this, we were discussing the first few lines in the first Canto:

The glory of the One Who moves all things
penetrates all the universe, reflecting
in one part more and in another less. Continue reading “Shadows and Lights”

In my discussion group, we entertained the question of Morrison’s trilogy. Why are these three works considered her trilogy, as opposed to her other works? Did she intend for them to be a series from the outset? Did she introduce them as a trilogy or was it her editors? I did some searching, and I couldn’t find out when the term trilogy was first introduced to these three works, but I did find an interview in which Morrison calls them the trilogy (at this point, she was still working on Paradise.) In this interview, Morrison provides some insight into her writing process, as well as her perspectives on writing Beloved and Jazz. Among many very insightful and clarifying statements from Morrison, I found an excerpt about Jazz that I found particularly interesting in relation to the last chapter of Jazz. Continue reading “A Morrison Interview and a New Take on Jazz”

I like the connection Daisy (https://morrison.sunygeneseoenglish.org/2016/10/19/jazz-and-listening/) makes between the reactions based on listening made between musicians on this bandstand and between the characters in Jazz.  Harris highlights that this conversation between artists on a bandstand sometimes stems from what some people perceive as “mistakes”.  He asserts that “the only mistake is if… each individual musician is not aware and accepting enough of his fellow band member.  If we don’t allow for creativity”.  This creativity results from individuals’ ability to listen and react to people they are with.  Violet’s decision to stay with Joe is, in part, a response to a (violent, harmful) mistake he made.  Through her interactions with Alice, she gains awareness and accepts her fellow band member, Joe, resulting in the creativity in their relationship that the reader sees at the end of the book.  I wonder what other meaning we can make if we see Jazz and Jazz as a conversation between musicians (lovers?) which invites creativity.   Continue reading “Jazz music and “Jazz””

This weekend, Geneseo’s Student Athlete Advisory Committee–of which I am a member–received training on relationship violence prevention through the One Love Foundation. That this seminar took place the very weekend following our completion of Jazz was purely coincidental–but my recent analysis of Violet and Joe’s possessive dynamic added greater depth and context to the seminar.

The theme of the seminar was escalation, and it generally focused on a more reactive approach: recognizing the warning signs of an emotionally abusive relationship and preventing it from intensifying to the point where it could be dangerous. In this regard, I felt it was an appropriate response to the fact that many college students might not know exactly what signs of domestic violence look like. However, a large component I felt was missing from the session was the entire cultural aspect of it: the idea that relationship violence is, to an extent, normalized in a culture obsessed with property–something we have discussed in depth with regard to Morrison’s Jazz.  Continue reading “Relationship Violence in a Culture Obsessed with Property”