After finishing the third and final book of Tufts in a semi-conscious state of mind, I was entirely disappointed. However, my personal let-down aside, I was struck mostly by the now clear distinct differences in the three books. My assessment of these divisions comes mostly from my experience as a reader. The first book I found to be dishonest and melodramatic. The second book, in my mind, is the "best." By this I mean several things: honest, candid, shameless, humorous, developed (compared to the random fire plotting of the first book and the droll repetition of the third), and most decidedly Rogue-ish. The second book is Tufts in his prime. By the time we reach the third book, Tufts' escapades begin to seem foolishly repetitive. Therefore, his character begins to lack the creativity and daring we appreciated in the first parts of the narrative. Furthermore, his association with Abigail conflicts with our first ideas of Tufts as womanizer and rogue because he actually appears to care for her (nicknames, residence and other domestic normalcies). The idea of the faithful concubine could soon be reconciled and adapted into his rogue character, except he ultimately forsakes her, which really is the betrayal of the self he has been hell-bent to preserve all along. So in truth, Tufts is no rogue. Not ultimately, anyway. After a 5-year stint on Castle Island, he is at the mercy of his two sons who have prospered in spite of his horrible parenting, or lack thereof. To top it all off, he absconds with some 18-year old who makes a fool out of him. He then returns to Lemington and his family, crawling like a dog. Additionally, the inclusion of Tufts' poetry and other quoted verse only contributes to his weakness, in my very strong opinion. He turns to higher thinking, art and God only in his despair, which is only the result of his inability to trade his bad situation for a good one, and not from repentance or moral awakening. And so when he says in the final paragraphs "sincerely, I pray, that the bitter misfortunes here recited, may be a caveat to others, and a mean of deterring them from such ...pursuits and diabolical devices, as reason and conscience do not approve" (363), this reader can in no way reason out an ounce of "sincerity." This is simply the run of the mill validation included by the author for purposes of publication. The sexual exploits and violence depicted can somehow be reasonably included if the Narrator is "sorry" at the end. I would have liked it better if Tufts had retained the brazen rudeness of the second book.
Other Random Thoughts:
Tufts subscribes to the middle-class conceptions of "providence" as mentioned in Johnson and discussed in last class. He often uses phrasing referring to God as providence, but his actions, and sentiments expressed in the third book, demonstrate a weakness. He never fully subscribes or overthrows. Upon more detailed examination, his distance from modern religious convention could be interpreted as deist.
Also, Tufts' narrative is a masculine revolt of New England patriarchy, mirroring or foreshadowing the changing society in the late 18th century, as also discussed in Johnson.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Magic Lobster Claws and a Greasy Re-birth
After making my way through the first two books of Tufts, I have begun to disregard my leaning towards any kind of "Republican" morality I was expecting to find in these narratives. In doing so, I have laughed out loud several times while reading this text. Because the plot moves so quickly, the string of events can be quite overwhelming. Here are the highlights for me:
I was rolling on the floor when I read the piece concerning the lobster claw. I am laughing still. Tufts says: "I had picked up, by chance, the small claw of a lobster, which I informed the people, as I passed along, was an enchanted horn; by virtue of which I could predict future events; but that, unfortunately, I had lost another horn, its counterpart, to which had been attached the rare property of enabling its possessor to foretel past events" (156-57). For me, the greatest impact of this text comes from the construction of language. The nonchalance which the author refers to events seems to perfectly characterize Tufts for what he is--a valiant thief and a cheat. Just think of it, really. Tufts, a handsome (he must be) young person, with probably some quite distinctive and archetypal feature (probably alarming eyes) waving a claw around in front of a bunch of 18th century country people. Or even more hilarious, imagine Tufts as a complete ragbag wielding a lobster claw. Now, imagine a man standing on the corner of an intersection (the one you pass everyday on your way home) waving this same lobster claw with a sign that says: "Magic Lobster Claw. Fortunes $10" Now imagine a line of people, "normal" people, standing in line waiting for their fortune.
Okay, sorry. Back to Academic Things.
The next scene I found equally intriguing occurs in Dover Jail, where Tufts is placed in custody for some theft of some cloth (211). For once, Tufts is experiencing some diffuculty in breaking out of jail. He tries three different times to squeeze through an opening he has made. Ricker, the slimmer of the two, fits through without hindrance. Tufts becomes so frustrated and desperate he uses some soap and "a piece of pork" "to lubricate the passage." Of course, he is completely naked and rather greasy when he arrives "feet foremost, into the street; receiving, in my decent to the ground, a most violent concussion, by a fall of twelve or more feet" (213). Talk about metaphor and imagery. Forgive me for this, but I could not help but think of the scene in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective when Jim Carrey forces his sweaty, naked body out of the faux rhino.
Okay, one more. Throughout the narrative, Tufts attempts to validate some of his thievery to necessity. However, sometimes Tufts simply shows a high taste for bawdy humor. Tufts temporarily sets up shop in Newmarket in the home of one Mr. Doe. While there, he sets out to retaliate against a doctor who has previously inflicted some "mischief" on Tufts. He convinces Doe that the doctor will shortly arrive to remedy Doe's head, which "is sometimes out of tune" (197). According to Tufts, "emasculation will be the only effectual remedy; he intends therefore, to come with suitable auxiliaries to perform on you that salutary operation" (197). When the doctor approaches, Doe beats the living day-lights out of him, even as he attempts to mount his horse.
To me, these most humorous events shed new light on the role of the "rouge narrative." Bad people can be funny. Considering the sexual exploits of Tufts are even more explicitly recounted in the second book, this narrative is sort of the Saturday Night Live (or some more applicable pop-culture humor of which I am not aware) of the 18th century. It's funny, bold and sometimes gross. It also tells us what not to do by doing it.
One more thing before I run out of time. Did anyone notice that everytime Tufts steals a horse, the reader knows about it. Most of the time, the horse is a mare. We also become aware of his female acquisitions of the human persuasion. Consider also, every time Tufts gets in a scrape, he simply whips out his pistols and threatens to blow so-and-so's brains out. Yet we never know whereby Tufts acquires the pistols.
Sigh. Boys...
I was rolling on the floor when I read the piece concerning the lobster claw. I am laughing still. Tufts says: "I had picked up, by chance, the small claw of a lobster, which I informed the people, as I passed along, was an enchanted horn; by virtue of which I could predict future events; but that, unfortunately, I had lost another horn, its counterpart, to which had been attached the rare property of enabling its possessor to foretel past events" (156-57). For me, the greatest impact of this text comes from the construction of language. The nonchalance which the author refers to events seems to perfectly characterize Tufts for what he is--a valiant thief and a cheat. Just think of it, really. Tufts, a handsome (he must be) young person, with probably some quite distinctive and archetypal feature (probably alarming eyes) waving a claw around in front of a bunch of 18th century country people. Or even more hilarious, imagine Tufts as a complete ragbag wielding a lobster claw. Now, imagine a man standing on the corner of an intersection (the one you pass everyday on your way home) waving this same lobster claw with a sign that says: "Magic Lobster Claw. Fortunes $10" Now imagine a line of people, "normal" people, standing in line waiting for their fortune.
Okay, sorry. Back to Academic Things.
The next scene I found equally intriguing occurs in Dover Jail, where Tufts is placed in custody for some theft of some cloth (211). For once, Tufts is experiencing some diffuculty in breaking out of jail. He tries three different times to squeeze through an opening he has made. Ricker, the slimmer of the two, fits through without hindrance. Tufts becomes so frustrated and desperate he uses some soap and "a piece of pork" "to lubricate the passage." Of course, he is completely naked and rather greasy when he arrives "feet foremost, into the street; receiving, in my decent to the ground, a most violent concussion, by a fall of twelve or more feet" (213). Talk about metaphor and imagery. Forgive me for this, but I could not help but think of the scene in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective when Jim Carrey forces his sweaty, naked body out of the faux rhino.
Okay, one more. Throughout the narrative, Tufts attempts to validate some of his thievery to necessity. However, sometimes Tufts simply shows a high taste for bawdy humor. Tufts temporarily sets up shop in Newmarket in the home of one Mr. Doe. While there, he sets out to retaliate against a doctor who has previously inflicted some "mischief" on Tufts. He convinces Doe that the doctor will shortly arrive to remedy Doe's head, which "is sometimes out of tune" (197). According to Tufts, "emasculation will be the only effectual remedy; he intends therefore, to come with suitable auxiliaries to perform on you that salutary operation" (197). When the doctor approaches, Doe beats the living day-lights out of him, even as he attempts to mount his horse.
To me, these most humorous events shed new light on the role of the "rouge narrative." Bad people can be funny. Considering the sexual exploits of Tufts are even more explicitly recounted in the second book, this narrative is sort of the Saturday Night Live (or some more applicable pop-culture humor of which I am not aware) of the 18th century. It's funny, bold and sometimes gross. It also tells us what not to do by doing it.
One more thing before I run out of time. Did anyone notice that everytime Tufts steals a horse, the reader knows about it. Most of the time, the horse is a mare. We also become aware of his female acquisitions of the human persuasion. Consider also, every time Tufts gets in a scrape, he simply whips out his pistols and threatens to blow so-and-so's brains out. Yet we never know whereby Tufts acquires the pistols.
Sigh. Boys...
Monday, October 5, 2009
Two-timing (or four?) Tufts
Although not so adept at prison break as our friend Burroughs, Tufts definitely has a way with women. By the end of book two, he has engaged himself in at least four relationships and has accrued three marriages. The only legitimate one is to his first wife, Lydia Bickford. Poor, unfortunate soul. For some reason, Tufts returns to her several times following his misadventures.
Like many of the other narratives we have read thus far, our main character, Tufts, makes claims that marriage suspends a natural inclination to licentious behavior--at least, temporarily. However,Tufts more willing to accede that his vices are only lying "dormant, as though they had lost primeval energy" (28), also acknowledging "the seeds of vice inherent in my constitution" (28. Of course, the reader can be assured that Tufts is no physician or authority on deviant behavior (not yet, at least), and so his Calvinistic concession to innate depravity seems strangely out of place. However, the acknowledgement of guilt could be viewed as just another rogue-ish trick to manipulate readers into belief that he has reformed or that society is inevitably divided--someone has to be the crook, so why shouldn't it be him?
Tufts mentions the newspaper reports concerning his crime and character. Considering that Burroughts also mentioned public opinion in his narrative, it would be interesting to spend more time reflecting on how newspaper articles contributed to the forming of the "rogue," and the celebrity figure. Tufts says "the more I endeavored to obviate the falsity of the allegation, the louder was the clamour to my prejudice" (30). How did society view the information in newspapers? As absolute truth? If so, how much did these accounts impact the way in which people, especially known criminals, were filtered through the legal systems.
Speaking of...Tufts spends 90 days at Exeter in the dungeon, BEFORE THE TRIAL. I don't think even Burroughs was subjected to such treatment without a conviction. However, the Tufts narrative begins before the Revolution is full underway. I wonder how much the new government affected systems of imprisonment? Also, I just learned that the idea that a person is "innocent until proven guilty" is not in the U.S. Constitution or any other document. The concept comes from English Common Law (according to Wikianswers) Not until an 1894 Supreme Court case was this idea adopted in any official context.
Tufts sojourn into Native American camps was one of the most interesting parts of the narrative, for me anyway. These people take him in, provide him food, shelter and rest. In return, he seduces one of their daughters, threatens one of their hunters with death, and leaves them in a general drunken stupor. Additionally, he provides a jaded, though probably moderate by 18th century standards, portrait of Native American life. To begin with, Tufts explicitly details Native Americans' weakness for liquor and the resulting "bacchanalian revels" (95). He spends nearly two pages describing them. His account of their religious beliefs and perceptions continues for one vague paragraph in which Native Americans are described as ambivalent at best. As for the marriage rites, Tufts relates what he perceives to be the most significant exchange: "It was customary for the bridegroom to throw a deer's leg into the bride's tent, after which she was wont to throw an ear of corn in his" (96).
The Johnson Text
Re-reading U.S. history as a first-year graduate student, compared to reading as a 17-year-old high school U.S. history student is remarkable. Oh, that's what the Whiskey Rebellion was all about. Oh, Hamilton. Well, he wasn't the most austere fellow, was he? And poor old John Adams. I did realize several things, the most important one being this--not so much has changed in the last two centuries. Those things which remain the same are also what decidedly make this country American. How much are we still " a nation of farmers who bought their goods from other countries, who lived their social and emotional lives within their own neighborhoods, and who--to confound those who wish to govern them--were self-conscious republicans who had won their independence through force of arms" (6). At least, if not literally, figuratively. Additionally, Washington presided over meetings in which the new version of the aristocracy dominated. "When Jefferson became secretary of state and attended official social functions, he often found himself the only democrat at the dinner table. Aristocratic sentiments prevailed, said Jefferson, 'unless there chanced to be some [democrat] from the legislative houses'" (8). Sound familiar?
Like many of the other narratives we have read thus far, our main character, Tufts, makes claims that marriage suspends a natural inclination to licentious behavior--at least, temporarily. However,Tufts more willing to accede that his vices are only lying "dormant, as though they had lost primeval energy" (28), also acknowledging "the seeds of vice inherent in my constitution" (28. Of course, the reader can be assured that Tufts is no physician or authority on deviant behavior (not yet, at least), and so his Calvinistic concession to innate depravity seems strangely out of place. However, the acknowledgement of guilt could be viewed as just another rogue-ish trick to manipulate readers into belief that he has reformed or that society is inevitably divided--someone has to be the crook, so why shouldn't it be him?
Tufts mentions the newspaper reports concerning his crime and character. Considering that Burroughts also mentioned public opinion in his narrative, it would be interesting to spend more time reflecting on how newspaper articles contributed to the forming of the "rogue," and the celebrity figure. Tufts says "the more I endeavored to obviate the falsity of the allegation, the louder was the clamour to my prejudice" (30). How did society view the information in newspapers? As absolute truth? If so, how much did these accounts impact the way in which people, especially known criminals, were filtered through the legal systems.
Speaking of...Tufts spends 90 days at Exeter in the dungeon, BEFORE THE TRIAL. I don't think even Burroughs was subjected to such treatment without a conviction. However, the Tufts narrative begins before the Revolution is full underway. I wonder how much the new government affected systems of imprisonment? Also, I just learned that the idea that a person is "innocent until proven guilty" is not in the U.S. Constitution or any other document. The concept comes from English Common Law (according to Wikianswers) Not until an 1894 Supreme Court case was this idea adopted in any official context.
Tufts sojourn into Native American camps was one of the most interesting parts of the narrative, for me anyway. These people take him in, provide him food, shelter and rest. In return, he seduces one of their daughters, threatens one of their hunters with death, and leaves them in a general drunken stupor. Additionally, he provides a jaded, though probably moderate by 18th century standards, portrait of Native American life. To begin with, Tufts explicitly details Native Americans' weakness for liquor and the resulting "bacchanalian revels" (95). He spends nearly two pages describing them. His account of their religious beliefs and perceptions continues for one vague paragraph in which Native Americans are described as ambivalent at best. As for the marriage rites, Tufts relates what he perceives to be the most significant exchange: "It was customary for the bridegroom to throw a deer's leg into the bride's tent, after which she was wont to throw an ear of corn in his" (96).
The Johnson Text
Re-reading U.S. history as a first-year graduate student, compared to reading as a 17-year-old high school U.S. history student is remarkable. Oh, that's what the Whiskey Rebellion was all about. Oh, Hamilton. Well, he wasn't the most austere fellow, was he? And poor old John Adams. I did realize several things, the most important one being this--not so much has changed in the last two centuries. Those things which remain the same are also what decidedly make this country American. How much are we still " a nation of farmers who bought their goods from other countries, who lived their social and emotional lives within their own neighborhoods, and who--to confound those who wish to govern them--were self-conscious republicans who had won their independence through force of arms" (6). At least, if not literally, figuratively. Additionally, Washington presided over meetings in which the new version of the aristocracy dominated. "When Jefferson became secretary of state and attended official social functions, he often found himself the only democrat at the dinner table. Aristocratic sentiments prevailed, said Jefferson, 'unless there chanced to be some [democrat] from the legislative houses'" (8). Sound familiar?
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