Persuasion and Austen's Matured Satire

To be honest, I did not begin Persuasion in any excited or eager fashion. Prior to reading the book, I had engaged with two other Austen works: Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. While I do not find Austen’s writing style disagreeable, I must note a remarkable similarity between her works. Austen certainly wrote what she knew, and what she knew was the landed gentry class, ballroom etiquette, and the strife of courting and marriage. The books are not without merit, but I view them as “beating the same drum.” Yet with Persuasion, though I believe Austen repeats the same themes and topics, she does so with a bit of freshness and maturity that reflects her development as a writer. Particularly, the satirical and critical aspects of Persuasion come through, breathing enough spirit into the text to hold my interest.

            To be as academically topical as possible, I believe that Austen’s usage of both indirect and direct satire is fairly humorous. Characters within Persuasion speak for themselves in terms of actions and speech, but just as often Austen will characterize on her own, portraying exaggerated or ridiculous qualities. From class positions to subtle flaws, characters in Persuasion are effectively presented in satirical fashion. Some characters, such as Sir Walter Elliot, are easily seen as parodies of their nonfictional counterparts. A decent amount of situational irony is also employed throughout Persuasion, which helps to convey Austen’s personal ideals.

            Sir Walter Elliot is the most accessible example of satirical parody in Austen’s book. At the very beginning of the story, readers are introduced to a man who “considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only to the blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who united these gifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect and devotion” (Austen 4). Help is, indeed, given by Austen rather directly as a narrator to make fun of Sir Walter. Still, readers get a strong sense of the man as pompous, vain, and self-infatuated. Sir Walter is described as passing his time with the Baronetage, which recounted his family’s aristocratic lineage, and thus “he could read his own history with an interest which never failed” (Austen 3). Through Sir Walter, Austen quickly establishes a connotation with privileged elites, one that associates wealth and status with a penchant for narrow-mindedness and vaporous sense.

            Austen nicely contrasts the likes of Sir Walter, an established and conservative man, with that of Admiral Croft. The Crofts and other characters in Persuasion share the common theme of being Navy members. A reader cannot possibly get through the book without observing the ubiquity of the Navy and the men who serve therein. Of course, such was not done by Austen by accident, but rather her esteem and admiration for the individuals of the service prompted their inclusion. Austen comments on class structure and the validity of merit in weighing a person’s worth, and does so most obviously via Sir Walter and Admiral Croft. When first presented with the idea of a sailor renting Kellynch Hall, Sir Walter replies with his issues with the profession. He declares that the Navy is “the means of bringing persons of obscure birth into undue distinction…  and… it cuts up a man’s youth and vigour most horribly” (Austen 15). Evidently, the parody that is Sir Walter takes issue with someone succeeding on merit over heritage, an offense made worse by a lack of beauty.

A few weeks after the Crofts have settled into Kellynch Hall, Anne goes to visit them. While commenting on slight alterations to the property, Admiral Croft notes that Sir Walter “must be rather a dressy man for his time of life. Such a number of looking-glasses! Oh, Lord! There was not getting away from one’s self” (Austen 91). With a hint of exaggeration, Austen humorously portrays Sir Walter’s vain and narcissistic habits. Of course, it is Admiral Croft who has the mirrors removed (for a much more modest setup). Both men symbolize the virtues (or flaws) that Austen sees in their respective classes. And, in playing the two characters in such a way, leaves the reader with an appreciation for the Navy that is nonexistent for Sir Walter’s sphere of life.

Throughout Persuasion, Austen provides an impression of disapproval for the rigid, stubborn old wealth by highlighting the good lives of all those who do not fit into the class. Admiral Croft and the other Navy officers represent but one chunk of this trend. The experiences of Anne, especially in the enjoyment she gains by spending time with the Musgroves or Mrs. Smith, provide further support. As Austen makes clear, Anne finds no fondness or encouragement amongst her family, specifically her father and Elizabeth, her sister. Though the Musgroves do not rest on the same status level as Anne, she adores their company and familial atmosphere and dreads her eventual residence in Bath with the rest of the Elliot blood. Upon entering Bath, Anne “looked back with fond regret to the bustles of Uppercross and the seclusion of Kellynch” (Austen97). Yet, even in Bath, Anne finds company in Mrs. Smith, a remarkably less well-off individual in comparison to the Elliots. Regardless, Anne respects and prefers Mrs. Smith, as opposed to the boring (but elevated!) company of Lady Dalyrymple and Miss Carteret. Anne even contemplates that Miss Carteret “would never have been tolerated in Camden Place but for her birth” (Austen 108).

While other subtle instances of satire exist through Persuasion, I found myself constantly returning to the juxtaposition of “elite” versus “common”. Though, in the case of the Musgroves or the Crofts, “common” is not quite apt, for they possess positions of status and respect. Yet to the likes of Sir Walter Elliot, a baronet, such people are beneath him and his well-bred company. I definitely experienced greater amusement with Persuasion than Austen’s earlier works, and largely attribute this fact to the maturity of subject and commentary in the book. However, I am much more eager to read O’Brien.

Works Cited

Austen, Jane. Persuasion. New York: Random House, Inc., 1995. Print.

Smooth Talk and the Distortion Between Mediums

            In modern American culture, there is a feeling all too commonly experienced regarding remakes, reinterpretations, adaptations, inspirations, and so forth. A person acquainted with a story or franchise may suddenly find their favorite material turned into a bastard of its former self. Or, a narrative may become so stretched out, convoluted, and pressed for excitement that, after a number of books or movies, the plot has lost all significance. Such is the nature of a society driven by a need for economic sustainment and growth. At the end of the day, a freelance writer and business executive alike will want to see an intellectual property brought to its full potential (and then maybe dragged for a time). In beginning the film Smooth Talk, a film adaptation of Joyce Carol Oates’s “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” I possessed similar feelings.

            In fact, before even sitting down to watch the film, I had reservations. With “WAYGWHYB”, Oates created a very particular piece of literature, one born of many influences and tackling important critical themes. Of course, the story itself is rather short, a brief five to ten pages. Certainly, the life of Connie allows for some amount of creative exposition (as in, she is a teenager and thus does teenager things). However, the sheer discrepancy between the amount of material in Oates’s story and the length of Smooth Talk leaves a fair amount of room for silly and unnecessary filler.

            Smooth Talk notably portrays Connie’s home life as a teenager’s worst nightmare. Her mother is angry, acidic, and even insulting. Connie’s sister is a modest, adored comparison. The father is the only character that ever presents a sliver of familial comfort to Connie, but even he is negligent and awkward. While the family in Smooth Talk definitely bears resemblance to its incarnation in “WAYGWHYB”, certain elements are played out and exaggerated for effect in the film. The conflict with the mother is notable in this regard, and the frequent spats she has with Connie do nothing but burn time and make the watcher feel awash with pity.

            Ultimately, though, no amount of filler can compare with the way Smooth Talk handles Oates’s emotional ending. “WAYGWHYB” has a very indistinct yet impactful conclusion, one open to interpretation and analysis. In fact, the entire story is worthy of various close readings and thematic approaches. Whether viewing Oates’s story as Connie’s corruption, or her rapid maturation in an apathetic society, or a commentary on the twisting of youth, one cannot deny the fact that Connie is “taken” in the end. However, Smooth Talk throws such a notion out the window. Rather, the film presents the audience with a more conquering depiction of Connie where she returns safe from a ride with the infamous Arnold Friend.

            Yes, Connie still experiences violation at the hands of Friend. But rather than be lost in the end, as with “WAYGWHYB”, Connie returns safely. Sure, she gets a nifty bit of character development in the process. Regardless, the film’s end is a ridiculous and deviating version of the original story. Answers for this phenomenon may be searched for in a critical essay by Brenda Daly titled “An Unfilmable Conclusion: Joyce Carol Oates at the Movies”. In the title, Daly asserts the rather difficult task of putting the “WAYGWHYB” conclusion into the medium of film. I disagree and believe that creative filmmaking could have created a solution, but firstly I want to draw attention towards Daly’s treatment of Connie.

            In analyzing Smooth Talk, Daly states that “when Connie asserts herself in the film, she moves beyond her rapist, but her victory- unlike his (Friend’s) conquest of her- does not violate him” (Daly 155). This single statement presents a large issue I had with the film adaptation: emphasis on character. On the surface, my issue seems unwarranted, for surely development of character is beneficial. However, Oates’s story, to me, is more about ideas, conflicts, and an overall bigger picture than “Connie and Arnold Friend”. “WAYGWHYB” harkens to Charles Schmid and Tuscon, to roaming youth and a conservative culture, to loss and sacrifice beyond a physical level. With the film, I felt drawn down a more “real” and “grounded” story, one where the faces can carry more weight than the ideas.  When I mentioned the movie’s extrapolated bits of narrative earlier, especially in relation to Connie’s mother, I was finding conflict with character moments that detract from the focus of Oates’s original story.

            The distorting nature of film, especially when adapting a work such as “WAYGWHYB”, creates similar problems for the ending. Daly does not believe that the closing moment of “WAYGWHYB” can be filmed. Daly believes that “Oates’s non-ending is certainly ‘unfilmable,’ for it portrays an energy- an erotic, spiritual energy signaled by violence- that cannot finally, be contained by a work of art” (Daly 159). I find this notion confusing, for surely Oates was able to contain the energy in her writing. Daly does goes on, stating that “the conventions of realism especially- the insistence upon endings, and on ‘character’ bounded by material realities including anatomical features- do not allow this higher consciousness to be invoked in Chopra’s film” (Daly 160). A portion of Daly’s reasoning is acceptable, as higher consciousness is incredibly hard to visualize. However, her entire defense of Smooth Talk and its ending alteration is based on my previous complaint. The film becomes restrictive due to its emphasis on character and grounding the audience in the “reality” of Connie, rather than the concepts and meaning behind Connie. An audience may feel alienated if they watched a movie about a teenage girl turn into a spiritual and abstract conflict right at the end. Yet this only serves as further reasoning to not have adapted “WAYGWHYB” in the first place.

Works Cited

Oates, Joyce Carol. “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? Ed. Elaine Showalter. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002. Print.

Daly, Brenda O. “An Unfilmable Conclusion: Joyce Carol Oates at the Movies” Where Are You   Going, Where Have You Been? Ed.   Elaine Showalter. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002. Print.

The Unsettling "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?": A Reaction to Oates's Cultural Commentary

            Only a few stories offer the same level of discomfort and grotesqueness such as Joyce Carol Oates’s “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been”. Certainly, I have read my fair share of literature with sinister plots, elements of horror, or uncomfortable depictions of violence and malice. With Oates, however, the text features a creeping sensation, a gradual revelation of a threat. If careless during the first reading of the short story, a person can miss just how perverse and unsettling the images are, as well as the mood. After reading through “‘Don’t You Know Who I Am?’ The Grotesque in Oates’s ‘Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?’”, a critical essay, the troubling undertone and symbolism of the story are even more hardened in my mind.

            Of course, the story begins harmlessly enough. Connie is introduced as a bit of a reckless daughter, more desiring to spend her days and nights out feeling alive than with her family or in pursuit of some meaningful occupation. Given the era in which Oates wrote “WAYGWHYB”, the character of Connie may be seen as a fairly archetypal teenager of her time. Many of the standard conventions and philosophies of old America were wearing thin, giving way to liberating, stress-relieving, and often provocative new ideas and interests. By 1974, the Vietnam War was coming to a close, but it had left a nation of youth unsure of authority. Civil rights were a more manifest form of the dismantling of old institutions. Counter culture, including rock and roll, drug usage, and free love had their brief but impactful moment in society. In some sense, all of these new values are bundled into Connie, but Connie comes to represent something more. Connie represents not only an embracing of youthful freedom but a negligence of everything else. The notion I receive from Oates’s text is that Connie seizes upon an electric lifestyle for shallow, selfish amusement, foregoing actual substance or meaning and endangering herself because of this.

            Given that I am in the group tasked with examining the relationship between the character of Arnold Friend and the Devil, my interpretation of “WAYGWHYB” is much more religion-centric. My analysis of Oates’s story is influenced by the concepts of moral and spiritual decay, and seduction by corruptive forces. Such concepts are very applicable to Connie, starting from the first few paragraphs. In the critical essay “‘Don’t You Know Who I Am?’ The Grotesque in Oates’s ‘Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?’”, by Joyce M. Wegs, Connie’s carefree attitude is treated as a dangerous quality. Connie does not worship any amiable and constructive god, but rather follows a god of sex, fast cars, and material possessions. Oates portrays Connie’s “moral poverty” by “imaging a typical evening Connie spends at a drive-in restaurant as a grotesquely parodied religious pilgrimage” (Wegs 100). The restraint in the story is “bottle-shaped”, like the steeple of a church, and has a hamburger-laden lad instead of a cross. Within the restaurant, “it is the music which is ‘always in the background, like music at a church service’” (Wegs 100). The irresponsible lifestyle of Connie is paralleled with one of the most innocent lifestyles imaginable: a religious one. However, Connie quickly “discovers that her dream love-god also wears the face of lust, evil, and death” (Wegs 99).

            Still, Connie’s corruption is not truly apparent until Arnold Friend is introduced. After the creepy, supernatural character comes onto the scene, “WAYGWHYB” becomes a much more provocative and eerie depiction of a teenager’s struggle of values and desires. As Wegs notes, “it is no accident that Arnold’s clothes, car, speech, and taste in music reflect current teenage chic almost exactly” (102). Arnold appears in the formal outfit of Connie’s god, but he is rapidly revealed as a foul tempter. Though Connie is nearly swayed at first, finding Arnold Friend to be interesting and mysterious, the creep’s entire existence begins to place Connie on edge, from his sudden arrival out of nowhere to his silent friend to his obviously feigned relaxedness. Arguably, Oates intended to portray Arnold as Satan in disguise, come to lure Connie with her own destructive passions and condemn her to Hell. Friend’s wild hair, almost wig-like, could possibly hide devilish horns, while his discolored neck reveals the likelihood of face make-up. No quality is as convincing of Friend’s demonic nature as his movement, which “may be due to the fact that it must be difficult to manipulate boots if one has cloven feet” (Wegs 103).

            While it is true that I began reading “WAYGWHYB” predisposed to the notion that Arnold Friend is the Devil, I did not anticipate Oates to portray Connie as she did. My initial impression was that Connie would be a hapless, innocent girl horribly taken by some evil force. However, after reading Oates’s story, and after soaking in the ideas presented by Wegs’s critical essay, I now view Connie as a much less innocent individual, though no less unfortunate. Oates certainly seemed to paint a portrait of Connie with some amount of moral depravity and guilt. Ultimately, Connie’s dance with less seemly and beneficial values leads to confrontation with the epitome of sin. Certainly, modern readers may look on Connie and her activities as harmless, the usual pursuits of teenagers everywhere. But, in terms of the 1970s, I think Oates wrote Connie as a much more stark contrast to values of the day, a girl representative of youth’s problems and a fear of what may result of the developing culture. Regardless, I cannot help but feel pity for Connie, and feel a tinge of horror at the subtly sinister, monstrous nature of Arnold Friend.

Works Cited

Oates, Joyce Carol. “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” Where Are You Going,                  Where Have You Been? Ed. Elaine Showalter. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University    Press, 2002. Print.

Wegs, Joyce M. “‘Don’t You Know Who I Am?’ The Grotesque in Oates’s ‘Where Are You        Going, Where Have You Been?’” Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? Ed.       Elaine Showalter. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002. Print.