The Ties that Bond

Relationships are a complicated, but essential, part of life. Who can say what brings two people together, whether in the bonds of friendship or love? In “The Old Order” by Katherine Anne Porter, I found myself pondering these questions all the more, as I saw Sophia Jane and Nannie’s relationship unfold.

Sophia Jane, later known in the story simply as “Grandmother,” was raised in a seemingly typical upper class Southern house. Her family’s living revolved around the two quintessential pillars of Southern life: land and slaves. Nannie, on the other hand, was a sickly African American, born into a family of slaves. And at a very young age, her life became forfeit when she was sold for a mere twenty dollars to a white man. So how could two people so seemingly different form a lifetime bond of friendship and mutual respect?

When Nannie is first brought to the farm owned by Sophia Jane’s family, Sophia Jane is just a young girl herself. And in her childish state, Sophia Jane begs her father to allow Nannie, “the monkey,” to be her playmate. Here, the father apparently agrees to allow such a friendship. While this may not have been so uncommon, as often younger slaves were put in charge of the care and amusement of plantation owners’ children, what was strange was that this initial bond that was formed as two innocent children did not wane with the years. I found myself mystified at this; how could these two women overcome social rules and barriers to maintain such a loving friendship? And what’s more, why did Sophia Jane’s parents not put a stop to it after she had grown up? This did seem to me to be a very rare occurrence.

Even though this is a fictional account, I cannot help but involve myself in further musings as to why and how this friendship worked. Surely Sophia Jane did not escape public questioning for her friendship with a slave; what made her stand against society and defend her friendship? And all of the other slaves on the farm surely must have been jealous, and possibly even upset, with Nannie. After all, she was being treated much better than any of the other slaves. So how did their friendship withstand the test of time?

I believe one of the biggest things that kept these two unlikely souls tied together was that they both felt a sense of being out of place with the rest of the world. They were both strong, opinionated women, who were not content to simply fulfill their feminine duties. Neither of them was happily married, they both though ill of their children, and they were both fiercely independent. In the early South, these two characters must have stuck out like a sore thumb. They were rebellious to the Southern ideals of what a woman should be. I think this drew them together in a way that nothing else could. They were lone figures, standing amidst a sea of people, and once they were brought together, they were forever bound to each other in a friendship that was so powerful nothing; no person, rules, or regulations, could tear them apart.

The Gradual Decline of the Grandeur of the South

When I first read “Dry September” by William Faulkner, I found myself slightly lost in the midst of all of the characters and dialogue. But after beginning to discuss the story in class and looking over the story again, I found myself pondering not so much the direct narrative, but rather, the picture that Faulkner paints of the South as opposed to the picture that we had gained of the South from our previous readings.

The first paragraph of “Dry September” opens with an incredibly vivid, and not altogether flattering, description of the setting. Faulkner begins, “Through the bloody September twilight, aftermath of sixty-two rainless days, it had gone like a fire in dry grass—the rumor, the story, whatever it was … none of them, gathered in the barber shop on that Saturday evening where the ceiling fan stirred, without freshening it, the vitiated air, sending back upon them, in recurrent surges of stale pomade and lotion, their own stale breath and odors, knew exactly what had happened.” This paragraph struck me, and I found myself coming back to it again and again. Faulkner invokes such a negative picture, forcing our senses to come alive. You can almost smell the foul scent of sweaty men on a hot summer’s day. There are no descriptions of green, fertile land or grand plantations. Quickly, you realize that this is one Southern town you might not want to visit.

As the story continues and you learn more about the town, the place just becomes more and more unappealing. The whole place is in an uproar over Minnie Cooper’s accusation that an African-American man had done something to her. What he has done, no one even knows. All they know is that she claims something happened to her and they are convinced it was Will Mayes. The entire ordeal sounds very fishy, but that doesn’t matter to the bored, racist white people at the barber shop. They have had nothing to do, and now that this fire has begun to burn, they have quickly allowed themselves to get caught up in it. Again, this provides us with a rather unpleasant image of this town.

I began to wonder as to why Faulkner’s writing about the South was so different from most of the other pieces we had read. Why would he portray the South so negatively when most of the other writers were building up this glorious image of the South, whether directly or indirectly. What was so different about Faulkner’s time that caused him to write such a piece? There was one major difference: Slavery had been abolished.

Without slavery, plantations and the lifestyle that had revolved around plantations quickly declined. No longer could men afford to live the lavish lifestyles that had grown accustomed to; no more free labor to work their lands and bring in the cash flow that was necessary to live in the lap of luxury. Instead, men began to have to work for themselves; make a living for themselves, which involved the need to hire help and decrease their acres. And seemingly, the end of slavery did bring an end to the Southern lifestyle.

These thoughts really began to disturb me. And I thought of Fitzhugh and his argument for slavery. Was he right in saying that basically, without slavery things would fall apart? The comparison between the writings we read before slavery was abolished and this, which is after, is shocking. It goes from this beautiful, romantic landscape to this horribly dry, stale town. As this is one of the first readings we have read post-slavery, I don’t know if I can accurately draw any conclusions. But I truly hope that some of the other readings will still find the South alive and well. Because it would be a terrible thing if people believed that the South was doomed to fail after slavery was abolished, and instead of attempting to make changes, simply contributed to this downward spiral of the South.

A Woman’s Voice on the South: Kate Chopin

Unlike all of the other readings we have done for class thus far, Kate Chopin’s work provides a unique perspective on the South; a woman’s perspective. Chopin’s work not only emphasizes themes that the men did in a new, distinct way, but she also incorporates fresh themes, seemingly untouched themes by the male writers we have read. That is why I found her work to be so interesting—she had something completely new to say.

Kate Chopin led a very uncommon life for a Southern woman during the 19th century—she was married, but her husband passed away, leaving her to raise six children on her own. Instead of remarrying, Chopin threw herself into a full time relationship with her writing. Here, she explored themes that largely revolved around woman and the way love and passion influenced, or even at times took control of their lives.

In the first works we read by Chopin, "At the’Cadian Ball" and "The Storm," we are introduced to Chopin’s style of writing—local color fiction, in which she uses details of the culture surrounding New Orleans to provide a strong sense of place. Chopin uses even the tiniest details, such as names, types of food, and dress, to clue us into the differences between people; whether they fall into the class of creoles or Cajuns. Chopin also used dialogue to convey a sense of a characters dialect and standing in class. I found this sort of detail to be refreshing. Chopin did not choose to hit you over the head with facts; instead, she expertly weaved a background around her characters in order to give the reader a sense of time and place. And by doing this, she envelops the reader, instead of alienating them.

Another way that Chopin helps the reader to feel at ease reading her works is the way that she does not present a case; she doesn’t present a mission or a cause. Rather, she simply brings the reader into her world, to experience the South as she knows it. She invites the reader to love her world, and yet question it at the same time. But never does Chopin make the reader feel intimidated to have their own thoughts. Chopin simply allows the reader to take it all in and process it as they see things. I appreciated that.

In all three of the works we read by Chopin, "At the ’Cadian Ball," "The Storm," and "Desiree’s Baby" examined the broad themes of love and marriage, class, male and female relationships, and happiness. But each work had a unique twist. Chopin herself was a rather independent woman, so it was interesting to see how she portrays woman from one story to the next. In The Storm we see how Calixta’s character has evolved from "At the ’Cadian Ball." While she was a free spirit in "At the ’Cadian Ball," she still ended up “falling into line,” marrying Bobinot, the man she was supposed to. But in "The Storm," Chopin reveals Calixta’s innermost longings for Alcee and allows them to take control of her. She is no longer a helpless woman, being ruled by a man in a man’s world, she is a free thinking, independent woman, doing what she wants. But then in "Desiree’s Baby," we see the lead female character of Desiree once again dependant on her husband for her happiness and well-being. And when he shuns her, she goes and kills herself. I found this sort of back-pedaling intriguing. Why did Chopin take one step forward for women, and then suddenly take two steps back? It seemed strange to me.

But overall, I found Chopin’s work to be a nice respite from all of the male, ego-driven works we have read so far.

Knowledge: Enlightenment for the Good and the Bad Alike

Reading Douglass’ narrative, I was struck by the huge role knowledge played in the South. This may seem like an obvious statement, but something about the way Douglass wrote and the way he presented things made me see things in a whole new light.

The first time I noticed this shadowy character named Knowledge was at the beginning of Chapter Six. Douglass is explaining how when he first moved to work for Master Auld’s family, his wife was very kind and compassionate, even going so far as to say, “I was utterly astonished at her goodness” (186). This seems a very strange way to describe your slave mistress; the person who has bought you to work for them until they have no further use for you, at which time they sell you to another person, passing you as if you are an object, not a human. But Douglass continues on to explain how his mistress began to teach him the ABCs, again a very peculiar thing for a mistress to do. And just as you begin to feel hopeful that Douglass will live a happy existence at the Auld’s house, Knowledge rears its ugly head, shattering Douglass’ world.

When Master Auld discovers that Mrs. Auld is trying to educate Douglass, he quickly reprimands her, using his “knowledge.” He explains, “If you give a nigger an inch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey his master—to do as he is told to do. Learning would spoil the best nigger in the world” (186).

After Mrs. Auld’s eyes are opened to this “knowledge” she changes into a vastly different person, becoming even worse than her husband. Douglass says of her: “In entering upon the duties of a slaveholder, she did not seem to perceive that I sustained to her the relation of a mere chattel, and that for her to treat me as a human being was not only wrong, but dangerously so. Slavery proved as injurious to her as it did to me. When I went there, she was a pious, warm, and tender-hearted woman. There was no sorrow or suffering for which she had not a tear … Slavery soon proved its ability to divest her of these heavenly qualities. Under its influence, the tender heart became stone, and the lamblike disposition gave way to one of tiger-like fierceness” (188). Knowledge of her power and her role in the mistress-slave relationship corrupted her. She became a new person; and a very less likeable one, at that.

In these same chapters, I again saw Knowledge creep up onto the scene. But this time Knowledge played an entirely different role. He was not there to corrupt, but to bring wisdom, and at the same time, discontent. This time Knowledge came to wake Douglass from his complacency and to show him where he could gain strength. Douglass explained that after hearing Mr. Auld’s fierce reaction to his wife educating Douglas, he “understood the pathway from slavery to freedom” (186). This pathway was education. And suddenly Douglass realized that he must work by all means to educate himself to read and write. Douglass said, “In learning to read, I owe almost as much to the bitter opposition of my master, as to the kindly aid of my mistress. I acknowledge the benefit of both” (187).

Knowledge opened Douglass’ eyes. But Knowledge did not bring instant gratification; it also brought a bitter struggle, for Douglass realized what he was missing. He had to daily fight for his education and freedom.

This passage really made me think about Knowledge in a whole new way … Knowledge has great power, both for the good and the bad. It has the power to corrupt, and the power to heal. It has power to enslave, and the power to bring freedom. It is all in the way you use it.