01-06-2010, 06:03 PM
I had to write this essay for school. And did so rather late at night. It reminded me faintly of a CotH character profile after I sat and looked it over (and subsequently pretended that nothing was wrong with it so I could get to sleep). Still, I think I struck a couple interesting points with the philosophy down towards the bottom. I thought a few of you folks might be interested in reading large blocks of text, so here ya go. If there's any glaring errors or moments of stupidity, my apologies. But I'd love to hear if it spawns any interesting thoughts for you folks.
Of Mice, Men and Monsters
by some chick named Moose
Imagine, if you will, a man. Not just any man--a man whose whole life has fallen down around him, a man who is completely and utterly alone, and a man who has all the power in the world. He is not a handsome man, nor is he intelligent, but he has a pair of fists and a cold stone wall of a face. He is a man that lives within a world created by cynicism and hatred, a world borne of the tell-all herald John Steinbeck; he is a man whose life is charted briefly within the pages of Of Mice and Men. It is said that readers will often hold the greatest fiction close to their hearts, and the greatest characters are included within--but Curley is one man reviled by a great majority of those who come to meet him. The question is not who, but why--why do we, as human beings, naturally require villains to understand a story, and why must we place the blame on the most obvious?
Curley is a small man and slight of frame. It's said by some that small men are jealous of others for their size, and this is often times accepted as truth. The ideal man is tall, broad and athletic, appealing to women and charitable to others--within society's norms, of course. It will never do to find a man willing to extend his hand to the uncouth colored filth that so plagued society; the ones like that are simply out of their minds. Such are the rules for acceptance into the great mass of the world, and anyone who fails to fit the mold will be denied entrance. Unfortunately for Curley, he's been born short and grown up apart from the others--his father a well-to-do landowner, or at least the superintendent of a good-sized ranch. And that never really works when you're talking about children: if there's one thing kids don't like, it's alien behavior. So maybe Curley grows up a little off, a little neglected--no big manager really has time for their kids, right?
That's around the time he starts getting angry. At first, Curley can hide it--he knows what's going on. He knows that other kids get paid attention to, and that other kids don't pay attention to him because he's that pretentious rich kid that doesn't care about any of them. So he finds a way to make them listen--and that way is easy, once he gets down to it. All he has to do is swing a few punches, and he gets good at that, even though he's small. The other kids are laughing at him, but he starts winning the fights he gets into, and then they're not laughing, like they're scared--and then they find out that he's managed to embarass them in front of their peers. They try to get back at him, over and over, but he's too good. Curley is more talented than them; he's gotten into sports and is throwing his anger at whatever he can. Then they lose interest--yeah, okay, so he can fight; what else can he do? They leave him alone, and there he is--alone again. He doesn't know what's happened. He just knows that he's alone, and he doesn't want to be so lonely.
Curley slogs his way through life until he's somewhat older, like a man. And he tells himself that it doesn't matter that no one paid attention to him then, because they will now. He's out in town when he meets a girl, and a very beautiful girl she is--granted he never really does pay enough attention to catch her name. He thinks that she's listening to him and that's all that matters. He takes her out on a date or two, dances with her and brings her flowers. She seems to like him back, and he feels his heart mending, like it was never there before. Like there's someone he can care about. He offers his hand one night, and the wedding is quite a success--you know, all fancy dresses and men in suits shaking hands with everyone around them. The good stuff. But the marriage itself is another story entirely. He can feel her growing distant, like he's not exotic enough for her any more . . . like she wants some kind of other man. He doesn't want to be paranoid, he really doesn't, but how can he help it when he sees her talking in such a flirtatious manner to everyone she can possibly meet? It's enough to drive a man insane. And when she's dead, he knows who done it. Curley knows who killed his wife.
We don't know if the story above is true. Everyone interprets a man differently, and when they're shown little more than his face they make assumptions. Most people would never listen to the sympathetic story of a man if they were only shown his dark side--the evil that lurks beneath the heart and looks so grotesque brought to light. Most people would rather pretend that there's not the potential for bad living inside themselves, and that there's no way they could ever be like that man that they want to hate--so why do they hate him? Is it because he really, truly is evil, or because he's been thrown apart by something he could never control? Everyone grows up differently. Nowadays we live in a world where human life is prized and we try to paint grey pictures in black and white--this man is evil, that man is good. This deed is abhorrent. He was right in doing that. There is no middle ground, and this is what casts so many men and women as villains in the end. Curley is never shown to us as a kind man, or a righteous man, or anything but a paranoid, violent individual who never really finds what he's looking for. Curley is the staple villain, though even he has a story. Everyone has a story, and no one's life is devoted to just good or just evil. You can ask the man who shot Lennie; he'll tell you the same thing.
Curley is portrayed as a man who's always looking for someone or something, however. He is never in the same room as his wife, yet the both of never seem to be doing anything beyond seeking out each other. As shown in his scrapped-together backstory, he may be looking for love and acceptance rather than his wife--she has no name, she has a very faint personality, and her actions are often picturesque of the 'perfect' tramp. By searching for his wife, he may be looking for acceptance and not finding it--he tries hard for her, too. Curley keeps his hand in a glove full of vaseline to keep it soft just for her, if he could only find the woman that he's looking for--he waits and waits, he looks and looks, but he never finds what just won't come to him. Is it because he's rich? Some women will only see him as a way to get money, and surely he can tell. But she isn't one of those. She's sad, he thinks, but he can't see further into her because he's too busy trying to find her. He can't understand what's wrong until he sees the problem--and, ironically, he never does.
Our understanding of things is inevitably altered by the events we are presented and the point of view from which we are told them. When we see an unfortunate event through the eyes of a small child, we are far more inclined to press the title of monster onto someone besides the speaker. Yet when we see the same event through the eyes of the accused, we can know what he is really saying and thinking--and our view is altered. No longer do we believe that he is the villain, but we require a villain somewhere within our minds. You have read the story of Curley were it imagined through his eyes, through his heart and soul--and do you see him as the villain, when you are able to understand what goes through his mind? Chances are, you've been thinking of him as a sympathetic, if unforgivable hero. And you've been thinking of the other kids as evil, or possibly his wife--yet when you look back in the story and read the plight of Curley's wife, certainly it isn't her that's so terrible. The children are innocent; you can't blame a child for doing what its parents have impressed upon them at such a young age, can you? If they have grown up in poverty and another has not, jealousy breeds. Everyone has done their wrongs, but everyone has something to justify themselves. It is all a matter of who tells the story.
In terms of morals, humans cannot see the color grey. They can see shades of dark and light, but everything must have a value beyond neutral. True neutral is something that we cannot comprehend, for all things must have a motive, and some variety of reason. If they do not, we label them as mad--for we have a word for everything in order to quantify and categorize it and seal it away with our obsessive little minds. Anything that acts beyond its realm of normality is a lunatic, and we are naturally inclined to consider such things evil. But insanity is only a label that we affix to anything that fits our fancy, something many may have attached to Lennie during the Depression. He doesn't act like they do, thus he can't be sane--they're the normal ones. But he isn't necessarily bad, just a child--and though he wreaks havoc, we want to see him as good and innocent.
We see Curley as the villain not because he has done bad things, but because he has done bad things to the one who is telling the story. When we hear thoughts and feelings, we automatically connect with whoever is recounting their experience. We can't have that connection with anyone else in the story, only the speaker--and if we see the speaker as evil, then that would imply that we, ourselves, have something in common with a monster. No one wants to be a monster . . . yet everyone can be a monster--it all depends on whose story you're telling.
Of Mice, Men and Monsters
by some chick named Moose
Imagine, if you will, a man. Not just any man--a man whose whole life has fallen down around him, a man who is completely and utterly alone, and a man who has all the power in the world. He is not a handsome man, nor is he intelligent, but he has a pair of fists and a cold stone wall of a face. He is a man that lives within a world created by cynicism and hatred, a world borne of the tell-all herald John Steinbeck; he is a man whose life is charted briefly within the pages of Of Mice and Men. It is said that readers will often hold the greatest fiction close to their hearts, and the greatest characters are included within--but Curley is one man reviled by a great majority of those who come to meet him. The question is not who, but why--why do we, as human beings, naturally require villains to understand a story, and why must we place the blame on the most obvious?
Curley is a small man and slight of frame. It's said by some that small men are jealous of others for their size, and this is often times accepted as truth. The ideal man is tall, broad and athletic, appealing to women and charitable to others--within society's norms, of course. It will never do to find a man willing to extend his hand to the uncouth colored filth that so plagued society; the ones like that are simply out of their minds. Such are the rules for acceptance into the great mass of the world, and anyone who fails to fit the mold will be denied entrance. Unfortunately for Curley, he's been born short and grown up apart from the others--his father a well-to-do landowner, or at least the superintendent of a good-sized ranch. And that never really works when you're talking about children: if there's one thing kids don't like, it's alien behavior. So maybe Curley grows up a little off, a little neglected--no big manager really has time for their kids, right?
That's around the time he starts getting angry. At first, Curley can hide it--he knows what's going on. He knows that other kids get paid attention to, and that other kids don't pay attention to him because he's that pretentious rich kid that doesn't care about any of them. So he finds a way to make them listen--and that way is easy, once he gets down to it. All he has to do is swing a few punches, and he gets good at that, even though he's small. The other kids are laughing at him, but he starts winning the fights he gets into, and then they're not laughing, like they're scared--and then they find out that he's managed to embarass them in front of their peers. They try to get back at him, over and over, but he's too good. Curley is more talented than them; he's gotten into sports and is throwing his anger at whatever he can. Then they lose interest--yeah, okay, so he can fight; what else can he do? They leave him alone, and there he is--alone again. He doesn't know what's happened. He just knows that he's alone, and he doesn't want to be so lonely.
Curley slogs his way through life until he's somewhat older, like a man. And he tells himself that it doesn't matter that no one paid attention to him then, because they will now. He's out in town when he meets a girl, and a very beautiful girl she is--granted he never really does pay enough attention to catch her name. He thinks that she's listening to him and that's all that matters. He takes her out on a date or two, dances with her and brings her flowers. She seems to like him back, and he feels his heart mending, like it was never there before. Like there's someone he can care about. He offers his hand one night, and the wedding is quite a success--you know, all fancy dresses and men in suits shaking hands with everyone around them. The good stuff. But the marriage itself is another story entirely. He can feel her growing distant, like he's not exotic enough for her any more . . . like she wants some kind of other man. He doesn't want to be paranoid, he really doesn't, but how can he help it when he sees her talking in such a flirtatious manner to everyone she can possibly meet? It's enough to drive a man insane. And when she's dead, he knows who done it. Curley knows who killed his wife.
We don't know if the story above is true. Everyone interprets a man differently, and when they're shown little more than his face they make assumptions. Most people would never listen to the sympathetic story of a man if they were only shown his dark side--the evil that lurks beneath the heart and looks so grotesque brought to light. Most people would rather pretend that there's not the potential for bad living inside themselves, and that there's no way they could ever be like that man that they want to hate--so why do they hate him? Is it because he really, truly is evil, or because he's been thrown apart by something he could never control? Everyone grows up differently. Nowadays we live in a world where human life is prized and we try to paint grey pictures in black and white--this man is evil, that man is good. This deed is abhorrent. He was right in doing that. There is no middle ground, and this is what casts so many men and women as villains in the end. Curley is never shown to us as a kind man, or a righteous man, or anything but a paranoid, violent individual who never really finds what he's looking for. Curley is the staple villain, though even he has a story. Everyone has a story, and no one's life is devoted to just good or just evil. You can ask the man who shot Lennie; he'll tell you the same thing.
Curley is portrayed as a man who's always looking for someone or something, however. He is never in the same room as his wife, yet the both of never seem to be doing anything beyond seeking out each other. As shown in his scrapped-together backstory, he may be looking for love and acceptance rather than his wife--she has no name, she has a very faint personality, and her actions are often picturesque of the 'perfect' tramp. By searching for his wife, he may be looking for acceptance and not finding it--he tries hard for her, too. Curley keeps his hand in a glove full of vaseline to keep it soft just for her, if he could only find the woman that he's looking for--he waits and waits, he looks and looks, but he never finds what just won't come to him. Is it because he's rich? Some women will only see him as a way to get money, and surely he can tell. But she isn't one of those. She's sad, he thinks, but he can't see further into her because he's too busy trying to find her. He can't understand what's wrong until he sees the problem--and, ironically, he never does.
Our understanding of things is inevitably altered by the events we are presented and the point of view from which we are told them. When we see an unfortunate event through the eyes of a small child, we are far more inclined to press the title of monster onto someone besides the speaker. Yet when we see the same event through the eyes of the accused, we can know what he is really saying and thinking--and our view is altered. No longer do we believe that he is the villain, but we require a villain somewhere within our minds. You have read the story of Curley were it imagined through his eyes, through his heart and soul--and do you see him as the villain, when you are able to understand what goes through his mind? Chances are, you've been thinking of him as a sympathetic, if unforgivable hero. And you've been thinking of the other kids as evil, or possibly his wife--yet when you look back in the story and read the plight of Curley's wife, certainly it isn't her that's so terrible. The children are innocent; you can't blame a child for doing what its parents have impressed upon them at such a young age, can you? If they have grown up in poverty and another has not, jealousy breeds. Everyone has done their wrongs, but everyone has something to justify themselves. It is all a matter of who tells the story.
In terms of morals, humans cannot see the color grey. They can see shades of dark and light, but everything must have a value beyond neutral. True neutral is something that we cannot comprehend, for all things must have a motive, and some variety of reason. If they do not, we label them as mad--for we have a word for everything in order to quantify and categorize it and seal it away with our obsessive little minds. Anything that acts beyond its realm of normality is a lunatic, and we are naturally inclined to consider such things evil. But insanity is only a label that we affix to anything that fits our fancy, something many may have attached to Lennie during the Depression. He doesn't act like they do, thus he can't be sane--they're the normal ones. But he isn't necessarily bad, just a child--and though he wreaks havoc, we want to see him as good and innocent.
We see Curley as the villain not because he has done bad things, but because he has done bad things to the one who is telling the story. When we hear thoughts and feelings, we automatically connect with whoever is recounting their experience. We can't have that connection with anyone else in the story, only the speaker--and if we see the speaker as evil, then that would imply that we, ourselves, have something in common with a monster. No one wants to be a monster . . . yet everyone can be a monster--it all depends on whose story you're telling.