Author Archives: Christene

Not Math

math

English is not math. When reading literature there is not one way of looking at things, analyzing characters, situations, or entire texts. If there was a definitive answer to all things literary, then  most scholars would be out of business. And our papers would not have an argument, but rather regurgitate the same thing as every other paper ever written on any one subject. Why write a paper at all then? Just photocopy a research article and be done with it.

When I tell you of all the ways something could be read, don’t ask me what the right answer is. I am not trying to give you the right answer but offer you opinions so you can come up with your own. Yes, there are “wrong” ways of reading texts. But don’t worry about that right now. As long as you are not trying to tell me the Canterbury Tales were unfinished because Chaucer was abducted by aliens, you will be fine.

And let’s not even mention the times authors intentionally leave things ambiguous, demanding multiple interpretations. Oh yes, this is not some sort of invention scholars came up with simply because they had nothing better to do.  And as long as you are using the text, there are probably dozens of arguments you can make about every line. Some more far fetched than others, and some more easily accepted, while others totally improbable. But don’t worry about that right now.

I wish I could tell you that if you read line 3 and line 93 you will find the absolute meaning of the text. Or that if you read the fifth stanza you will know the character’s motives, and the seventh stanza will reveal the author’s intentions. But English is not like math – there are no formulas, precise equations, or absolutes.

Part VI

Thus far I have spent the last few sections of this discussing the integrity of Fragments IV and V, attempting to demonstrate their completeness as one unit. As you can tell if you have been reading along, my progress has slowed. The problem is, I am running out of resources. I have digital copies of some manuscripts, and pictures of various parts of others, but the problem with independent research is that I have no access to massive data bases. If I was only doing a literary analysis that would hardly be a problem, but the nature of this project relies heavily on visualization, meaning that until I can get a better idea of the original works, I am a bit stumped.  Even within this section I will be focusing more on traditional literary analysis, with fewer references to the manuscripts.

After my argument for combining Fragments IV and V, I will refer to my previous (and brief) mention that several stories within these sections must follow the Wife of Bath, meaning that both Fragments must follow her as units. Further, Fragment III, containing the Wife, must remain intact as is, comprised of the Wife, Friar, and Summoner. As I inquired in the previous section, why? Part of the answer is very simple, and I will address this first.

Immediately preceding the Wife’s Tale the Friar and Summoner break out into an argument that will find it’s way into the prologues of the other two tales within this fragment, serving as the link between all three tales. Several other tales have endlinks or interruptions that introduce another character or form a connection, but here, among all three tales (four if you count the Wife’s Prologue, as I will do), it is always the same characters, binding not just two stories together, but an entire fragment from beginning to end. Yes, as was seen in the Merchant’s, Franklin’s and Squire’s prologues and endlinks, scribal insertions often occurred, but when they did, there were generally brief, lacking depth  and hardly adding anything to the stories. This is an argument that does add (albeit not to the stories themselves) to the overarching theme of the tales; commentary among members of the pilgrimage gave the frame narrative of a journey a certain three dimensional quality as opposed to a linear prologue-tale-prologue-tale mechanical organization. It also serves to remind the readers that there were other characters there. Much like the Host acts as an active audience member to the pilgrims’ stories, so too do the commentaries prompt us to reflect on what we have read.

On the topic of scribal insertion/authority, in the few places where the scribes interchanged the names of the pilgrims within endlinks or prologues (Merchant, Squire, Franklin), the disparity between who was being named and their statements made it immediately apparent that something was not right. With a little digging it was generally ascertained where the error occurred, especially when there was an absolute lack of contextual support for a revision of what may have been the original, and which made most sense.

Also, importantly, these three tales have never been separated from each other in any of the manuscripts. While manuscript consensus is not necessarily indicative of an absolute ordering, it does strongly imply that copies of these tales have never been received in a different order and quite possibly as one long piece making it impossible to recopy them in any other way. As scribes shuffled loose stories around, none would amend a continuous portion of text.

Moving away from the physical aspect of the quires containing the tales, I want to focus on the structural similarities within Fragment III, much like I had done with the components within Fragment IV and V. Since the Wife’s Prologue is quite lengthy (even more so than some of the tales), I will treat it as a tale, especially in light of the contextual parallels that are found between it and the three tales in this fragment. What I hope to present at the end of this is an illustration of four quarters that not only complement each other in completing the fragment through structural similarities, but remain in constant conversation, tying all the stories, including the Wife’s Prologue, together.

Unlike the tables I have tried constructing in previous posts, with four pieces it would be impossible, so I will outline the structure step by step.

Wife’s Prologue: WBP          Wife’s Tale: WBT          Friar’s Tale: FrT              Summoner’s Tale: SumT

The first set of similarities is among introductions, and obviously most tales and prologues throughout the Tales  have introductions, making this first section appear superfluous. However, I want to draw attention to the endings of each introduction where the similarities between these four segments are strictly characteristic of Fragment III.

WBP: Alisoun introduces herself in her infamous “experience, though noon auctoritee” speech.  Before she begins her list of husbands and marital vignettes, she attacks the institution of marriage as it is preached (not practiced), and the traditional conventions associated with it. Marriage, a beautiful concept when taken more loosely, is the subject of her harangue in its strict state that prohibits any joy a woman might have.

WBT: In her tale the Wife introduces the Knight, and immediately tells us of his conundrum, namely that he raped a maiden and is about to have his head lopped off. Interestingly that entire part gets glossed over and instead the Wife narrates a grievance against the imposition of chastity.

FrT: The Friar in his tale introduces his two main characters, the Archdeacon and Summoner. Unlike the Wife’s Prologue, and Tale in which she railed against concepts (as outrageous as they may be), here the Friar directly offends the Summoner to the point where the latter interjects.

SumT: The Summoner retaliates against the Friar and tells a bawdy tale involving the humiliation of friars to where the Friar interjects (which conveniently brings me to my next point).

Once all four tales have had their introductions, before the body of any tale, there is an interruption. Yet unlike the other tales where interruptions halt the tales completely, here the story tellers continue on either on their own or with encouragement from the Host.

WBP: The Pardoner interrupts the Wife’s tirade against the sanctity of marriage. Even though he only does so to praise her words, she advises that he has not heard all she has to tell (and indeed she has about 700 more lines before she even begins her story).

WBT: After she harshly reprimands the Pardoner for interrupting her prologue no one else dares stop Alisoun in her story, however, at one point (as several others have also pointed out in their criticism), she uncharacteristically steps out of the role of narrator. After introducing her Knight in King Arthur’s court she uses the first and second person pronouns for the brief section. This is the only point in the story where this appears, and only continues for a few stanzas. While it is not an interruption per se, and not even very distracting (often not caught on the first read), it is an intrusion into her narrative.

FrT: As the Friar and Summoner are on a retaliatory path, as the Friar introduces his lecherous summoner, the pilgrim Summoner interjects. He does not openly show offense, but if we learned anything from the Miller and Reeve previously, we can already deduce what tale the Summoner will tell. Also, if the Host had not called for “pees” the two may well have gone back and forth over the depiction of summoners.

SumT: Yes, the Summoner begins a tale about a corrupt friar, and the Friar interrupts his tale. Once again the Host calls out for “pees” and the tale resumes.

The third set of structural similarities is concerned with each character’s pursuit. Unlike several other tales that simply tell a story, or convey a moral, here each one is actually in search for something whether tangible or not.

WBP: Alisoun makes it clear that despite having had five husbands at church’s door, she is in search for number six, and uses her marital stories to illustrate what she is and is not looking for in a mate.

WBT: The Knight of this tale is in search for the answer to the question of what women want. In a sense this is almost a direct answer to the Wife’s Prologue; if all of her previous marriages were combined, her ultimate goal, much like the Knight tells the queen, is sovereignty.

FrT: The summoner travels around looking for money and how to obtain it from people.

SumT: The friar goes from home to home, much like the summoner in the previous tale, searching for monetary gain. Even as the means are different (here people give money out of charity and perhaps due to trickery, but for the previous summoner it was out of fear), the end is the same.

Once the tales are told each has an ambiguous conclusion.

WBP: After telling the audience all about her husbands, especially those who were cruel, the Wife claims she has obtained “by maistrie, al the soveraynetee.” However, in the last few lines of her prologue she relates what a “trewe” wife she was to her husband, kinder than any woman from “Denmark to Inde,” which seems a complete negation of her previous sentiments.

WBT: In her tale, practically a parallel to her prologue,the Wife asserts that the Knight was taught a good lesson about the “governance” women hold. And the woman in the story, much like the Wife, chooses to use her power in the end to make the man happy and surrender to his desires as the old crone turns into a beautiful maiden and swears loyalty to the Knight.

FrT: The Friar ends his tale with his summoner being taken off to Hell and a brief reminder that we should not sin lest we also end up there. However, the lesson that is more apparent (especially when regarding the Friar in terms of how he was introduced in the General Prologue, along with keeping in mind Chaucer’s propensity for making unstated commentary) is that there is a difference between verbalized speech and actual meaning. Much like the man with the cart who the devil would not haul away because he did not mean it when he sent his cart to Hell, the old woman does mean it when she sends the summoner to Hell, but under this same premise we are invited to analyze the sincerity of the Friar’s words as he preaches virtue in the ending lines. As the Friar endeavored to defame the Summoner with his tale, he managed to draw attention to himself.

SumT: The Summoner’s tale is a bit more subtle in the secondary meaning. While the Friar is obviously attacked as a charlatan taking advantage of a grieving family, the Summoner finishes by praising Jankin, a churl, for his wit and rhetoric comparable to the likes of “Euclide or Ptholomee,” and much like the Friar had done at the end of his tale, the Summoner draws attention to himself; he not only applauds those traits that the Friar feels belong to him, but puts them onto a man who’s other attributes (that are far more disagreeable) parallel the Summoner instead.

When looking at the stories piece by piece their structures overshadow their disparity in genre and superficial style. Fragment III, unlike any other fragment is a mini tapestry that weaves the Wife, Friar and Summoner in and out on too many occasions to argue against their coherence. So while on the surface it is difficult to see why these characters might be so right together considering they come from different social classes, tell tales of different genres, and the Wife’s Prologue stands out more so than the others, they remain intact on the page because they were clearly written together. As for why they were written together, there are many theories, and I have one myself, but in truth, only Chaucer knows.

So far I have managed to cover four out of the ten fragments. Some, like Fragment I, don’t necessarily warrant explication in the sense of ordering as I can’t imagine anyone disputes the Tales start with the General Prologue. The same can be said about Fragment X, except there is some debate as to what comprises that fragment along with the Retraction. In the next part of this I want to look at the Man of Law’s relationship to his own fragment (II) along with his influence on Fragment III, and I want to explore how his tale has moved throughout the various manuscripts.

Blood Sport

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Love is a blood sport. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger thought Nietzsche, but he was wrong, especially when applied to love. Maybe not entirely, but it is better stated that everything which kills us makes us feel alive. Everyone seems to chant “love conquers all” without taking into account the war-like implications – it conquers, invades, takes over, and beats into submission. We love love not despite, but because of this, relishing the sportsmanship and skills required for practicing it. And most of all, we love exercising love, much like a sport, feeling our own boundaries as we reach deeper and deeper into ourselves to find how much of it we can safely give away without dying. Love is  a joust with ourselves for another.  The game is beautifully choreographed, a delight to watch to the end; not until the end is the blood drawn and a victim decided. It is not quick and merciful and no one gets their throat slashed, but rather dies of many small blades, each taking their joy draining the blood only drops at a time not unlike the  raw emotions of a well coordinated bull fight in anticipation of the first daggers to pierce skin.

Most of us are too terrified of participating in a bull fight, afraid of the bull’s horns and rage, but yet we seek out love as if it were candy even as we know in the center there is a needle ready to slit our throats all the way down. In blood sports that typically take place between animals, and really as much as we like to feel superior, that is all  humans are, one must die in the end, or at the very least suffer extensive pain from which one will never recover. Each love has left its marks, and every time we heal it is never quite the same as each has taken a bit out of us. The more invested we were in the fight, the more blood was lost in the end. How long before there is no blood left? How many times can  we love before there is nothing left? After the battle we don’t always regenerate ready for another round.  Sometimes there is no fight left, and there is nothing but an empty shell with scars as reminders.

But we know all of this, and try and try again, hoping to win. Win what? There is no trophy for loving, and the very act is a tournament in and of itself where we fight to maintain that status of love, running in circles to entice the object of our affection, and keep their affection because the alternative ends with knives and unmentionable pain. We cannot just feel it, but have to show it, and do so in the most elaborate ways as to never lose favor. We cannot just outdo our predecessors, but ourselves. The other must not tire of us, and we either claim defeat or defeat ourselves in exhaustion. Yet love is not predictable or unwavering. What entices today bores tomorrow, and we are cast aside, slain to make room for another in the rink. All we have been doing is deflecting daggers all this time until one penetrates. And that is when the sportsmanship comes in as we congratulate each other on a game well played as if there isn’t a winner and a loser and the gashes left on the latter are only scratches as we recede in a dark corner to slowly die.

We treat love like a game of cards, complete with the component of chance, but also with the false nonchalance of someone who hasn’t just betted their life’s savings and their children’s future on nothing more than hope. The cards are dealt, and when we realize the outcome we bluff and stall understanding what we have done, but a little too late. Love is a blood sport. We don’t play with money, but with pieces of our souls, slowly eaten away, often to the same person, and again with hope; we hope for a return. What happens to the pieces of ourselves that we give away? Where do they get discarded? Or do they simply get used up in the transaction?

While we watch our friends and family drained from within we do not learn, but rather wish to experience it for ourselves since surely we can do better. They were victims of their own making, but we will be victors, and we will conquer that which conquers all. We know how to choose a formidable, but not deathly partner who will engage us in the struggle of love, not defeat us, and we will prove our prowess and wisdom.

And then we will lick our wounds and let our tears spill into our cuts, delighting in the pain of salt as it overpowers the small yet fierce incisions. Good game.

What better way to forget than to remember? Just like has-beens we sit around recalling the highlights. We don’t move on, but stupidly smile at thoughts of what once was, using the memories like Neosporin. Instead of hoping for the future, or betting on luck, we hope to regain the past. The human body, made of flesh, like a soft pillow cushion is ever ready to receive innumerable piercings.