美国文学选读.docx

Lecture 7 American Realism O. HenryThe Era of Realism: The U.S. Civil War (1861-1865) between the industrial North and the agricultural, slave-owning South was a watershed in American history. The innocent optimism of the young democratic nation gave way, after the war, to a period of exhaustion. American idealism remained but was rechanneled. Before the war, idealists championed human rights, especially the abolition of slavery; after the war, Americans increasingly idealized progress and the self-made man. This was the era of the millionaire manufacturer and the speculator, when Darwinian evolution and the survival of the fittest seemed to sanction the sometimes unethical methods of the successful business tycoon. What Is Realism?:w Realism is defined as the truthful treatment of materials. (William Dean Howells)w Realism is not a camera picture. It gives form to experience by applying to a massive impression of life the techniques of selection, deletion and concentration. (American Literature, the Makers and the Making)A working definition of realism:1) takes an interest in the details rather than the “story”;2) attempts to reflect reality faithfully and recreate familiar everyday aspects of life;3) prefers a straight-forward and matter-of-fact manner of narration;4) focuses on common people, especially social underlings and their sufferings;5) adopts a critical tone, exposing social ills and criticizing social injustice.Some quotations about literary realism:w Realism askew the traditional patterns of the novel. In part the rise of realism came as a protest against the supposed falseness and sentimentality of romantic fiction. Life, the felt, lacked symmetry and plot; fiction truthfully reflecting life should, therefore, avoid symmetry and plot. Simple, clear, direct prose was the desirable vehicle, and objectivity on the part of the novelist the proper attitude. Since selection is a necessary part of any art, select with a view to presenting the human issues accurately as they affect us in actual situation.w Whereas romanticists transcend the immediate (the common, the average, the everyday), and naturalists plumb the actual or superficial to find the scientific laws that control its actions, realists center their attention to a remarkable degree on the immediate, the here and now, the specific action, the verifiable consequences.w The surface details, the common actions, and the miner catastrophes of a middle-class society constituted the chief subject matter of the movement. Most of the realists avoided situations with tragic or cataclysmic implications. Their tone was often comic, sympathetic, frequently satiric.w They usually have, however a powerful interest in the audience to whom their work is addressed, feeling it to be their obligation to deal with it with absolute truthfulness. (The above are quoted from A Handbook to Literature)Major Realist Writers: William Dean Howells Mark Twain Henry James O. HenryWilliam Sydney Porter(1862-1910):w O. Henry is the pen name of American writer William Sydney Porter. Porters 400 short stories are known for their wit, wordplay, characterization and the clever use of twist endings. w He was a prolific American short-story writer, a master of surprise endings, who wrote about the life of ordinary people in New York City. w A twist of plot, which turns on an ironic or coincidental circumstance, is typical of O. Henrys stories. Origin of the Pen Name:w In a 1909 New York Times interview, Porter gave his version of the origin of his pseudonym “O. Henry”:w It was during these New Orleans days that I adopted my pen name of O. Henry. I said to a friend: “Im going to send out some stuff. I dont know if it amounts to much, so I want to get a literary alias (an assumed name). Help me pick out a good one.” He suggested that we get a newspaper and pick a name from the first list of notables that we found in it. In the society columns we found the account of a fashionable ball. w Here we have our notables, said he. We looked down the list and my eye lighted on the name Henry, Thatll do for a last name, said I. Now for a first name. I want something short. None of your three-syllable names for me. Why dont you use a plain initial letter, then? asked my friend. Good, said I, O is about the easiest letter written, and O it is.A newspaper once wrote and asked me what the O stands for. I replied, O stands for Olivier the French for Oliver. And several of my stories accordingly appeared in that paper under the name Olivier Henry. Biography:w Porter grew up in North Carolina, but moved to Texas in the 1880s.w He worked as a draftsman, a bookkeeper, a bank teller and a newspaper columnist until 1898, when he was sent to prison for embezzlement. w After more than three years in jail, O. Henry moved to New York to work full time as a writer. w His short stories were masterworks of careful plotting and surprise endings Early Life:w William Sydney Porter was born in Greensboro, North Carolina. His father, Algernon Sidney Porter, was a physician. w When William was three, his mother died from tuberculosis, and he was raised by his paternal grandmother and aunt. w William was an avid reader; his favorite reading was One Thousand and One Nights. But at the age of fifteen he left school, and then worked in a drug store and on a Texas ranch. w He moved to Houston, where he had a number of jobs, including that of bank clerk. After moving to Austin, Texas, in 1882, he married Athol Estes . Success:w Porters most prolific writing period started in 1902, when he moved to New York City to be near his publishers. He wrote 381 short stories while living there. He wrote a story a week for over a year for the New York World Sunday Magazine. His wit, characterization and plot twists were adored by his readers, but often criticized by the critics. Yet, he went on to gain international recognition and contributed greatly to the short story as a literary art form.Later Life:w Porter married again in 1907, to childhood sweetheart Sarah (Sallie) Lindsey Coleman, whom he met again after revisiting his native state of North Carolina.w However, despite the success of his short stories being published in magazines and collections (or perhaps because of the attendant pressure success brought), Porter drank heavily.Death:w His health began to deteriorate in 1908, which affected his writing. Sarah left him in 1909, and Porter died on June 5, 1910, of cirrhosis of the liver, complications of diabetes and an enlarged heart. w After funeral services in New York City, he was buried in the Riverside Cemetery in Asheville, North Carolina. His daughter, Margaret Worth Porter, died in 1927 and was buried with her father.General Characteristics of Henrys Short Story:w O. Henrys stories are famous for their surprise endings, to the point that such an ending is often referred to as an “O. Henry ending.” w He was called the American answer to Guy de Maupassant. Both authors wrote twist endings, but O. Henry stories were much more playful and optimistic. w Most of his stories are set in his own time, the early years of the 20th century. w Many take place in New York City, and deal for the most part with ordinary people: clerks, policemen, waitresses. w His stories are also well known for witty narration. Major Works:O. Henry published 10 collections and over 600 short stories during his lifetime. w Cabbages And Kings (1904) w The Four Million (1906), included his well-known stories “The Gift of the Magi” and “The Furnished Room” w The Trimmed Lamp (1907) w Whirligigs (1910),included “The Ransom of Red Chief”Three more collections appeared posthumously: w Sixes And Sevens (1911)w Rolling Stones (1912) w Waifs And Strays (1917)“The Gift of the Magi”:w “The Gift of the Magi” about a young couple who are short of money but desperately want to buy each other Christmas gifts.w Unbeknownst to Jim, Della sells her most valuable possession, her beautiful hair, in order to buy a platinum fob chain for Jims watch; w while unbeknownst to Della, Jim sells his own most valuable possession, his watch, to buy jeweled combs for Dellas hair.w The essential premise of this story has been copied, re-worked, parodied, and otherwise re-told countless times in the century since it was written. w One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until ones cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.w In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name Mr. James Dillingham Young.The Dillingham had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called Jim and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.w Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesnt go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling-something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. w Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jims gold watch that had been his fathers and his grandfathers. The other was Dellas hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majestys jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.So now Dellas beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. w Where she stopped the sign read: Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds. One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the Sofronie.Will you buy my hair? asked Della.I buy hair, said Madame. Take yer hat off and lets have a sight at the looks of it.Down rippled the brown cascade.Twenty dollars, said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.Give it to me quick, said Della.Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jims present. w She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation-as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jims. It was like him. Quietness and value-the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends-a mammoth task.Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. w If Jim doesnt kill me, she said to herself, before he takes a second look at me, hell say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do-oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?At 7 oclock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: Please God, make him think I am still pretty.The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two-and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.w Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.Della wriggled off the table and went for him.Jim, darling, she cried, dont look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldnt have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. Itll grow out again-you wont mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say Merry Christmas! Jim, and lets be happy. You dont know what a nice- what a beautiful, nice gift Ive got for you.w Youve cut off your hair? asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.Cut it off and sold it, said Della. Dont you like me just as well, anyhow? Im me without my hair, aint I?Jim looked about the room curiously.You say your hair is gone? he said, with an air almost of idiocy.You neednt look for it, said Della. Its sold, I tell you-sold and gone, too. Its Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered, she went on with sudden serious sweetness, but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim? w Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year-what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.Dont make any mistake, Dell, he said, about me. I dont think theres anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if youll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. w For there lay The Combs-the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims-just the shade to wear in the beautif