We talked in class about how one of Kochan’s main problems
is his disconnect from other people, and his belief that he is different and
everyone else is the same. I’ve been wondering if his inability to relate to
people is because he thinks he already knows he can’t fit in. Because he “knows”
that everyone else is normal, and he “knows” that he is special and separate,
he can’t figure out how to fit in. When everyone else his age was worried about
fitting in, growing up, and their development of a sexual identity, Kochan was
moping around already knowing the answers to life’s questions. He enjoyed his
dark inner world too much to realize just how much of his reality he had made
up to fit his tragederian aesthetics. Ironically he missed out on the
self-discovery phase of development because he was too busy reinforcing his
immature conclusions and reflecting on how much smarter and more mature than
his peers he considered himself. In a
cruel twist of fate, this troubled, lonely, self-doubting guy was perhaps done
in by his haughty, erroneous conclusions.
ENG 275: 20th Century Novels of the World
Friday, December 9, 2011
Lesser Evil?
In our last class, I had a thought comparing Kochan to
Mustafa that I’ve been mulling over. In many ways they are very different, but
in others they seem to run parallel. Kochan’s use of Sonoko as both a cover and
as a self-esteem car jack is like a shadow of Mustafa’s use and abuse of lonely
British women. Both of these dastardly deeds come as a symptom of their
inability to fit into society. They share a feeling of being apart from
everyone around them because they’re so special, and maybe the lingering doubt
that they’re different because they’re freaks, as well. Kochan’s vigorous
attempt at squeezing himself into normality started way earlier than Mustafa’s,
but we are left not knowing whether his head start lead him to success, or if
he ended up bunking with Mustafa and the fishes. Though both are damaged
individuals, I feel obligated to point out that Kochan was mostly
self-destructive, while Mustafa had a tendency to stroll through life
demolishing people to try to make himself feel better. So, as selfish as Kochan
acts, I have to admit that, with his detachment and twisted fantasies of
violence, he could have been a whole lot worse.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Mustafa Sa'eed and/or/is the Main Character
The narrator in Season of Migration to the North is a rather
muted character, with a weak identity, especially next to the enigmatic,
possibly sociopathic, Mustafa Sa’eed. As a person, the narrator seems to have
no strong goals or convictions for most of his life; we don’t even get his
name. It seems that even in his own life, he was looking at Mustafa as the main character, himslef a flat background character. The narrator goes to college in England for a number of years, but comes
back with an impractical degree that he never really does anything with other
than get an education-related government post. When he returns home, he quickly
becomes engulfed in the mysterious Mustafa, convincing him to provide a life
story. When Mustafa dies (probably), the narrator becomes the guardian of his
sons and is left with all Mustafa’s possessions, as well as a burgeoning crush
on his wife, Hosna. Throughout the years, the weight of Mustafa’s life begins
to weigh on the narrator’s sense of self. Combined with his growing detachment for his home village and affinity for English customs, it was becoming all too easy for him to jump into Mustafa's shoes. (Which we are later lead to suspect is just what the dearly departed intended). By the end of the book, he has begun
to blur the line between “I” and the memories of Mustafa’s life that he has
been gathering. If he had survived the end of the book without his moment of
realization, I think he very well may have slipped into Mustafa’s life to an
unsettling degree.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
If only everyone was like me... Well, the me I think I am
Samad spends a large portion of the book being very loud and
indignant about his religion, but lacks the conviction to personally follow
through on his own ideals. When his sons are in elementary school, he rails
against the PTA for the distribution of school holidays. Samad proclaims that
there are too many Christian holidays, and that the “Pagan” Christian events such
as the “Harvest Festival” should be removed and replaced
by additional Muslim holidays. Although this shows the white, Christian
dominated Western culture; it also shows that most people have no problem with an
imbalance as long as they are the ones with the more or the better. Meanwhile, Samad
completely disregards, and, in fact, belittles the fact that the Harvest Festival
has students donate food to the elderly. He constantly berates Alsana for not
being Muslim enough, for example at one point he is outraged by her outfit of
British running shoes, a Muslim sari, and an African headscarf. This was in
spite of the fact that he was, at the time, wearing a British track suit, and his
white mistress’ baseball cap was in the corner, not to mention that he likely
had, just that night, drank alcohol, forbidden to Muslims. This culture clash
is further exemplified in his twin sons. Deciding that they are too British,
but not able to afford to send them both, he sends Magid to Bangladesh to grow
up traditionally. Regardless of Sadam’s overbearing ways, Millat becomes a radical
Muslim with a penchant for sex, drugs, and violent American movies, while Magid
becomes the human embodiment of secularity. Samad is horrified by both his
religious son and his atheist son, proclaiming them both failures.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
To Partition or Not to Partition...
A considerable amount of people in Midnight's Children are staunchly opposed to the Partitioning of India. Many of them seem to view it as fracturing their country, dividing their people. However, judging by the events of the book, it seems India's people were already actively dividing themselves. In the novel, one petulant little girl with a unibrow was all it took to incite a murderous mob against a Hindi street vendor, Lifafa Das, in a predominately Muslim neighborhood. The Country was already fiercely divided between Sindhi and Bengali, Hindu and Muslim, "Darklings" and "Pinkies." The violent, warring execution of this idea aside, could it be that the partitioning didn't divide a unified India, but instead transformed a divided India and transformed it into a more unified India and Pakistan? Or did the partitioning accomplish nothing but hundreds of thousands of deaths and an attack against India's diversity? Perhaps the idea would have worked out better if it hadn't been so violent and forced. Although, to play my own devil's advocate, if it weren't forced, it may not have happened at all. It's kind of a lose-lose situation, in that before the partition, there was rampant hate crime and civil unrest, but the partition itself caused widespread death and loss. It's tough to say whether or not the partition was for the best, since we can't try both ways to compare, but as the tension between India and Pakistan has lessened (haltingly) in recent years, it might turn out alright.
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