The Black Prince as an Example of Great Art

Iris Murdoch’s cleverness is beyond the scope of this blog post and its author is inadequate to demonstrate how great Murdoch’s novel is as a work of art. However, I can write that Murdoch provides her reader with much to think about with many intertextual elements to mine, as well as creating a work that meets her own definition of great art.            

               Murdoch (Against 20) writes that great art does not console but rather “helps us to recover from the ailments of Romanticism.” These ailments include “dryness,” the residue of Romanticism after the “messy” humanitarian and revolutionary elements have spent their force. This means the loneliness of rationality and “freedom” (Against 18), together with “a dangerous lack of curiosity about the real world, a failure to appreciate the difficulties of knowing it” that is induced by a “simple-minded faith in science, together with the assumption that we are all rational and totally free.”

The Black Prince is not a novel that falls to the temptation of consoling the reader. The narrator, Bradley Pearson, is not completely rational in his relationships with any other characters in the novel.  Murdoch seems to bring her characters to the edge of reason (and, in the case of Priscilla, beyond it). In Murdoch’s novel, the world is unstable, unpredictable, difficult to know, and no one seems in control with the freedom to make choices in their own self-interest. Bradley is unable to go to Patara or to write; Arnold is unable to resist Christian; Francis is constantly inebriated and broke; and Rachel cannot keep her hands to herself. Furthermore, the irony of the novel is that Bradley Pearson’s work of art that he successfully writes, his “‘art object’” (72), is about the failure of his life (Baschiera). It is difficult for the reader find consolation in this conclusion.

               In addition to adhering to her own principles of great art, Baschiera (48) writes that Murdoch’s novel also “takes advantage of stock incidents and devices traditionally belonging to Elizabethan theatre.” Examples of these incidents in the novel include a cross-dressing Julian, Arnold’s letter received by Bradley and read by the wrong person (Rachel), a character playing the fool (Francis), among others. The novel also includes elements of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Bradley shares Hamlet’s inability to act, and when he does act, it is sometimes rashly. The novel also borrows from Hamlet the idea of constantly keeping the audience on edge, rather than letting them settle into a predictable narrative. The situation in which Bradley finds himself is constantly changing, and the more he tries to control it, such as trying to prevent Arnold from having anything to do with Francis and Christian, the more out of control it becomes.

               These allusions to Elizabethan drama and borrowings from Hamlet contribute to what Sanders (25) calls an “inherent sense of play, produced in part by the activation of our informed sense of similarity and difference between the texts being invoked, and the connected interplay of expectation and surprise, that...lies at the heart of the experience of adaptation and appropriation.” Murdoch seems to play consciously with the elements of drama and weave them into The Black Prince. It seems that Murdoch intentionally “misreads” and “misprisons” the work of Shakespeare’s Hamlet (Bloom). This ability of Murdoch’s, to take Shakespeare and re-imagine elements of it into a different generic form, is another aspect of her work that makes it recognizable as great art.

               If it is assumed, and I confess that I do, that Murdoch’s opinions on great art are worth considering and applying, and that her ability to capture and rework elements of Shakespeare into The Black Prince is part of the pleasure of reading it, then The Black Prince is an example of great art. Besides, would you argue with this (Murdoch’s) face?

nndb.com

Works cited:

Bloom, Harold.  The Anxiety of Influence:  A Theory of Poetry.  New York, Oxford UP:  1973; 2^nd edition, 1997.

Dente Baschiera, Carla.  “Re-Inventing Ambiguity in the 20^th Century:  Iris Murdoch’s The Black Prince.”  Textus 11.1 (1998):  45-64.

Murdoch, Iris.  “Against Dryness:  A Polemical Sketch.”  Encounter 16 (1961):  16-20.            

Murdoch, Iris.  The Black Prince.  New York:  Penguin, 2003.

Sanders, Julie.  Adaptation and Appropriation.  New York:  Routledge, 2006.

Bradley’s Hamlet lessons with Julian

On page 152 of The Black Prince, Bradley and Julian discuss Gertrude’s involvement in the King’s murder from Hamlet. Julian feels that Gertrude may have had a hand in the murder with Claudius. She also expresses the idea that Gertrude and Claudius may have had an affair prior to the king’s murder. She states, “I think some women have a nervous urge to commit adultery, especially when they reach a certain age” (Murdoch 152). This hints at the possible link between Gertrude and Julian’s mother, Rachel.

Bradley feels Gertrude is definitely not involved in any way with the murder and did not have any previous relationship with Claudius. Bradley feels Hamlet is Shakespeare (see pages 185-195) and that Hamlet had an Oedipus complex and was a homosexual and involved romantically with Horatio. Bradley quickly dismisses anything negative with Gertrude, likely because of his obsession with his own mother. These Hamlet interruptions in the novel mirror the plotline and foreshadow what is to come. Julian asks, “Why couldn’t Ophelia save Hamlet?” which Bradley responds, “Because, my dear Julian, pure ignorant young girls cannot save complicated neurotic over-educated older men from disaster,” (Murdoch 188). This of course foreshadows Bradley’s demise at the end of the novel, something Julian could not prevent.

Of course, with my adamant feelings regarding Gertrude, I feel Murdoch would agree with me on Gertrude’s involvement in the king’s murder. Sure Bradley disagrees, but Murdoch obviously fashioned Rachel to mirror Gertrude, and Rachel is manipulative and conniving and self-preserving at all and any cost. She even states that “I won’t save [Arnold, her husband,] at the end. I’ll watch him drown. I’ll watch him burn” (Murdoch 33). I feel it is pretty clear that Rachel is a smart, strong woman, which the very same can be said about Gertrude. Gertrude had her own power, and I feel she used that power to allow and influence the downfall of a king.

http://s3.amazonaws.com/rapgenius/queen-gertrude-4.jpg

Is Bradley Pearson a reliable narrator?

Throughout the novel, The Black Prince, I wholeheartedly believed what Bradley told me. As the reader reading a tale in first person I felt I had to believe him. In lying to me he would be lying to himself, and what type of person would do that? I sure wouldn’t! At least not intentionally. There were several times in the novel where I found certain facts a little difficult to believe, the most important would be how Bradley had all those women just begging to get in his pants. He’s self-described and interpreted by the reader as a bitter old man. He describes himself as “thin and tall, just over six feet, fairish and not yet bald, with light fine silky rather faded straight hair. [He has] a bland diffident nervous sensitive face and thin lips and blue eyes” (Murdoch 15-16). That description does not sound very tempting to me, but apparently Rachel (a married woman), Christian (his ex-wife), and Julian (a naïve young woman) just can’t seem to get enough of him and are willing to risk anything and everything to be with him…not to mention Francis hits on him and constantly ties to convince reader and Bradley that Bradley is gay. Bradley’s manic personality change when he falls in love with Julian is also disconcerting to the reader…is he crazy or is he sane (a very Hamlet-like confliction).

(I like this photo of Hamlet—it shows his shattered self well)

http://i224.photobucket.com/albums/dd103/laserspray/internet%20stuff/diary%20art/big_hamlet_tennant_dvd.jpg

However, it is in the postscripts that I completely lose faith in Bradley’s reliability. He admits that during the trial of Arnold’s Baffin’s murder that (under oath!) he changed his story over and over again: “As the time went on I tried various attitudes, said various things, changed my mind, told the truth, then lied, then broke down, was impassive, then devious, then abject…Perhaps at moments I almost believed that I had killed [Arnold], just as at moments perhaps [Rachel] almost believed that she had not” (Murdoch 374).

It also doesn’t help Bradley’s case that Christian causally discredits him at every turn and Rachel belittles his every account. Julian, possibly the one person the reader could rely on chooses instead to state she cannot accurately recall the change of events that transpired. The readers are left to decide for themselves. Personally, I want to believe Bradley, but I do not feel he’s told me the whole truth…

http://www.centerofbrilliance.com/image-files/image-iceburg.jpg

The Black Prince

Once again, this novel is confusing me- it just doesn't feel like a Hamlet offshoot.


I guess what I'm trying to say is that these novels are not what I expected. When I heard that we would be reading novels that were the aftershocks of Hamlet, I thought we would be seeing retellings and observing how the plot elements were reused and altered, it's genesis and journey to the modern era. What I seem to be getting is a series of sad novels that reference Hamlet as a model for the misery they are trying to convey.

I really wonder how much The Black Prince would have actually been affected if Hamlet were never written. Would the events play out pretty much the same, only they would be discussing and referencing some other supposed greatest work? And what would that be? Is the real finger print of Hamlet here that of the unique character? Is there another person in all of literature that could replace Hamlet's role in this story.... You know, I think there isn't. Maybe that is what I should be focusing on.

There are plenty of other Hamlet like flavors: people haunted by their past and future decisions, plots,  violence, murder, imprisonment and banishment. Still, I keep arriving at the same hang up. Shakespeare didn't invent ghosts, death, vengeance or banishment. He arranged them in a way... In a way some people argue has already been done. So what's here, really? The story is once again missing the central plot point: Bradley isn't seeking vengeance for a dead relative. He's seeking quiet study. All the other elements are as old as the beginning of the human drama. Shakespeare's only unique contributions to the play lay in beautiful words and a singularly complicated character. I wouldn't call Murdochs writing exactly beautiful. It's a bit blustering, long winded and it show boats. But Bradley is almost complicated enough and almost true enough to be a spiritual successor to Hamlet

Hamlet 's weakness

One of the articles we had to read was talking about how it would silly to assume that Hamlet was a weakling. And while I don't assume he was a weakling at all, I do believe he was something of a coward. He spends so much of the play in a state of inaction. He refuses to do anything. He decides instead to sit and think, and over-think what he's going to do with the information of his father's death and then the identity of his father's murderer. Hamlet talks a big game but doesn't really do anything about it for 5 acts. I feel like he's actually a very strong character to fully think about whether or not his father's ghost was a true vision or if it was a bad omen from Hell, and he is strong in the sense that he does not completely break from the news of his father's death. But this doesn't mean that he's not a coward.

Hamlet spends 5 acts going back and forth trying to decide if he's going to kill Claudius and when he's going to kill Claudius, and how he's going to kill Claudius, but he never really acts on it until he knows it's his last and only chance. He sits around and sulks and doesn't talk about what's happening internally and doesn't act upon what's happening internally. It seems like he is so worried about the repercussions and what could potentially happen after the fact that he's too afraid to actually do anything. He makes excuses all the time, saying he won't kill Claudius until he knows through Claudius himself that he's the murderer, not just from hearing it through the lips of a ghost. And then he can't kill Claudius when he is in his grasp because Claudius is in a church so he'll go to Heaven if I kill him now. Only when he is dying does Hamlet finally take a stand and kill Claudius. But that doesn't make him any less of a coward. That just continues the idea that he is one. He is only willing to kill Claudius when he knows nothing will happen to him for doing so. Nothing worse can happen to him than Death--I'm sure he doesn't believe he's going to end up in Hell.

Meanwhile he's willing to kill Polonius from behind a curtain. I feel like this is another sign of his cowardice. He cannot see Polonius and Polonius cannot see him, it seems like there will be no repercussions from this killing (though in actuality I'm sure Polonius can surmise who stabbed him, and Gertrude witnessed it). He can also indirectly kill Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, because all he has to do is intercept a letter and send a new one. He doesn't have to spill any blood. Same with Ophelia. He plays a hand in her death but it doesn't seem to weigh on him as much as the idea of killing Claudius does because, well, Hamlet didn't push her into that pond. In every death Hamlet is responsible for, he performs them with such cowardice. It makes me almost mad that a man who is supposed to avenge his father and who could have taken over the throne and one point can't even gather up the courage to kill his father's murderer until it's almost too late.

also here is a picture I enjoy.

What is "intertextuality"??

Intertextuality is a tricky term to get your head around. I think there are two ways to view intertextuality. The first is Bloom’s approach – that is, the influence of predecessors can be a source of anxiety for the artist. The artist is influenced by artists that have already made their mark, whether they want to be influenced by them or not. Sometimes, even by actively attempting to avoid the influence of those who came before, the work of an artist is nevertheless “contaminated” by the greats of the canon. The second view is summarized by Sanders. Sanders (17) tends to celebrate intertextuality in a way that allows the artist to freely rethink and redeploy the work in the canon and interprets such intertextuality through the lens of post modernism and the post-colonial notion of “hybridity.” Each approach began with the work of T.S. Eliot, in his famous essay, “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” first published in 1919.

According to Eliot (406), writing in 1919, “No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone.” Each artist must be set among his or her predecessors and attitudes toward it “readjusted” as the “past should be altered by the present as much as the present is directed by the past.” The way we view artifacts produced in the past is influenced by what is created by the contemporary artist. Furthermore, Eliot suggests (407) that “the poet must develop or procure the consciousness of the past and that he should continue to develop this consciousness throughout his career.” I think this means that art is not created in a void – it is created against the backdrop of what has come before and finds its context within this pre-existing framework: “impressions and experiences combine in peculiar and unexpected ways” to form new works of art (409).

Bloom develops this idea further from the 1970s onward. According to Bloom (xix), “great writing is always at work strongly (or weakly) misreading previous writing.” “Misreading” means the reading of a text in new ways by artists. This can lead to a certain amount of anxiety in artists as they attempt to work around the influences that precede their work. Bloom (xxiii) calls this an “anxiety of influences.” This means that all writers “misread” the work of their predecessors.  As a consequence of this, writers poetically and creatively interpret, or “misprison,” the work of their predecessors, even if they do not intend or want to do so. “Misprisonment” means writers resurrect elements of the work of those that have influenced them. It is in this way, Bloom’s (xxiv) claim is that many authors have been and continue to be influenced by Shakespeare. He even goes so far as to call it “this horror of contamination” when related to Ibsen, who apparently loathed Shakespeare’s influence. Bloom (xxv) encourages the reader to develop an “awareness of the anxiety of influence” with regards to Shakespeare so that we might get over resenting it.

Sanders, writing more recently in 2006, has a different perspective to that of Bloom’s. The term “intertextuality” is actually used by Sanders (17). Sanders attempts to explain the meaning of the term as it is currently used by defining its parts: “adaptation” and “appropriation.” There are three types of adaptation: the first is transposition (a screen version of a novel), the second is commentary (adaptations that comment on the source text), and thirdly, analogue (a stand-alone work where knowledge of the source text is not essential but such knowledge may “enrich and deepen our understanding of the new cultural product” (22)).

Another part of the meaning of the term “intertextuality” is appropriation. Appropriated texts are not as clearly acknowledged as adapted texts. There are two broad categories, according to Sanders (26), of appropriated texts: embedded texts and sustained appropriations. Embedded texts are more than adaptations, where a film version of a novel is still, in essence, recognizable as the same story. An embedded story is a “wholesale rethinking of the terms of the original” (28). West Side Story is an example of an embedded text with Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet being reimaged in a 1950s New York City setting. I think that Sons of Anarchy, as mentioned by Tom, could also be an example of an embedded text.

Sustained appropriation can be discovered through “examination of sources or creative borrowings, citing allusions to or redeployments of” the work of predecessors. It is up to the reader to trace the relationship between a new text and what may have influenced the new text (34 -5). Our study of Dickens’ Great Expectations helped us to identify the original materials of the “bricolage” (17) – similar, I think, to Eliot’s (409) idea that the artists “impressions and experiences combine in peculiar and unexpected ways” – and that kind of study forms part of the pleasure of reading a text for the reader. Furthermore, the artist, from this perspective, is free to embrace the act of creating an intertext, rather than be anxious about it, as Bloom suggests.

I think that identifying influence or intertextuality is what good readers do, without prompting. A good reader is always looking for connections to other texts, ideas, and the real world. Knowing this process has a name lends formality and legitimacy to the process. As Allen (6-7) suggests, in comparing a text by authors we read with those that may have influenced their work, we may arrive at a different perspective on each of the texts, old and new. Every reader will take something different away when working through this process. The important thing is that working through this process when reading makes us pay attention.

Works cited

Allen, Graham.  Intertextuality.  2^nd edition.   New York:  Routledge, 2011.

Bloom, Harold. Preface.  The Anxiety of Influence:  A Theory of Poetry.  New York, Oxford UP:  1973; 2^nd edition, 1997.

Eliot, T. S.. “Tradition and the Individual Talent.”  Criticism:  Major Statements.  Ed.  Charles Kaplan and William Davis.  Boston:  Bedford, 2000.  404-410.

Sanders, Julie.  Adaptation and Appropriation.  New York:  Routledge, 2006.

Random Acts of Hamelt Pt. 2: In Which Hamlet Joins an Outlaw Motorcycle Gang.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qd9ULJf2jqU

Ridin' through this world,

All Alone.

 God takes your soul,

You're on your own.

The crow flies straight,

A perfect line.

On the Devil's bed,

Until you die.
Gotta look this life,
In the eye.

 

I was planning on making this blog post much earlier, however the complexity of the Sons of Anarchy delayed it. Far from being "Hamlet with Motorcycles," the Sons of Anarchy is a complicated meditation on American outlaw culture. Hamlet simply acts as a wire-frame to contemplate the larger issue on what exactly happened to the idealism behind the 1960's rebel outlaw, to the more violent modern image that we know. In other words, Sons of Anarchy is more asking the question "How did we become an 'Easy Rider' to a 'Son of Anarchy,' letting go of idealistic fancies to a colder, darker, more violent realization?" 

For the uninitiated, the 1969 movie "Easy Rider" captured the spiritual ideal of an entire generation. By presenting the emerging counter-culture in a positive light, "Easy Rider" was a mega-smash hit of it's time and spoke to the soul of the generation of the time. Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper starred as two outlaw biker drug-runners, blazing a trail on the road in a search for the American dream. The two characters represented freedom in all of its entirety, cruising through the culture in search for America's ideal.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cfk4Bqub2Eo

(This is honestly one of the coolest movies ever please go watch it)

Now, the FX series Sons of Anarchy uses both Hamlet and "Easy Rider" as a starting point for it's narrative. The individual story takes direct clues from Shakespeare's Hamlet, introducing the audience to the fictional small town of Charming, California. In the microcosm of Charming, an outlaw gang of motorcyclists known as the Sons of Anarchy rule the town. The Sons (also referred to as 'Sam Crow') are, for all intents and purposes, the ruling body of Charming. They control a lucrative gun-smuggling ring and keep the small-town safe from the more damaging aspects of criminal life.

The reason why the Sons of Anarchy command so much respect, and tolerance, by both the local law enforcement and general population of Charming, lies in their ability to keep drugs, prostitution, and corporate chains out of the small town. The Sons command respect and loyalty within the town because they're able to safeguard the people of Charming from corporate chains and hard crime. 

In a way, the Sons are their own little kingdom; there is a whole system of politics, ranging from small business owners to the local police force, that makes up the motorcycle gang's power. Charming, California, is it's own little kingdom; ruled by the ne'er-do-well's of motor-cycle outlaws. The series starts out well within this balance, modelling the structure of an outlaw gang with a direct monarchial rule. 

Now, you may be asking, "what in any of this have to do with Shakespeare's Hamlet?" 

The answer becomes all too apparent from the very first episode. The entire show of Sons of Anarchy starts within the bare-bones of Hamlet. Jax Teller, the son of the founding "First Nine" member John Teller, celebrates the birth of his own son. Jax's ex-wife is a drug addled crazy-woman, driven to substance abuse and psychosis due to his own terrible behaviors as a man. Jax's mother, Gemma, is happily wed to another "First Nine" founder Clay, the latter having completely taken over the Sons of Anarchy in nearly all regards. Clay calls all the shots, and makes all of the decisions, for the outlaw gang.

(Pictured above, Jax Teller: The Hamlet of our story.)

At the beginning of the series, Jax is at peace with the whole set up of the Sons of Anarchy. He is totally accepting of the fact that his own mother, Gemma, is the "Old Lady" of Clay. He's even cool with the fact that his father died under mysterious circumstances. Nothing seems to bother Jax much, until the birth of his son--in which Jax begins a bit of introspective, soul-searching exercise.

By chance, Jax uncovers the type-cast for a novel that his father, John Teller has written. The title of the typecast is The Life and Death of Sam Crow: How the Sons of Anarchy Lost Their Way. The type-cast details the entire manifesto of John Teller, explaining the underlying 1960's ideals that founded the Sons of Anarchy as a motorcycle club.

As each episode progresses, John Teller narrates on how the Sons were supposed to be something radically different from what they are under Clay's leadership. The Sons were supposed to be a "Mobile Commune," free-spirited and unbound by traditional law, encapsulating the peace and liberty of the 1960's. John Teller's original vision for the gang was the very image of what Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper portrayed in "Easy Rider," spreading the hippie ideal of the free spirit.

 As the series progresses, Jax learns of his dead father's ideals through the novel-script he left behind, slowly becoming "haunted" by it. His mother, Gemma, even elaborates on this fact in direct dialogue; speaking to her lover Clay on how the "ghost" of John Teller is haunting Jax from beyond the grave. More so, the interaction between Gemma and Clay hint at a larger betrayal; whatever happened between John, Gemma, and Clay, it becomes apparent that the latter two had set up the former in a grand grab for power. In other words, it is strongly hinted at that Gemma and Clay conspired to seize power from John, to guide the Sons of Anarchy in a more profitable, violent, criminal direction. 

(Ron Perlman and Katey Sagal as "Clay" and "Gemma," AKA the "Claudius" and "Gertrude" figures)

 As the series progresses, the main character Jax becomes more and more disillusioned from what the Sons of Anarchy has become. Referenced as "the prince" of the club multiple times, he begins to move more and more away from Clay's authority, plotting his own path for vengeance. Gemma and Claw become aware of this fact, and fight to try to find a way to cover up the dirty secrets of their past--to no avail. Slowly, Jax listens to the words written in his father's novel, to plot his own revenge against the two people who guided the motorcycle club into a darker path. 

Yet, the series itself deals with a whole mess of other issues that stretch far beyond Shakespeare's Hamlet. This is not a simple revenge-narrative, but more a contemplative look at how the ideals of outlaw culture clash against the cold, brutal reality.

How exactly did we go from being "Easy Riders" to "Sons of Anarchy?" Why did the free-spirited hippie have to delve into the darker, more violent, side of life? How can a man both protect his family, while seeking to destroy what it has become? When you're living on the edge of society, how can you hold up higher ideals? 

The Sons of Anarchy asks all of these questions, and more, taking the traditional Shakespeare narratives to new directions. While the series starts off in the very familiar Hamlet territory, what transpires between each season asks larger questions on American counter-culture. While we can draw direct parralells between characters (Jax is Hamlet, Gemma is Gertrude, Clay is Claudius, Opie is Horatio, Tiggs is Palonius, Tara is Ophelia, etc etc.) the series takes the form of Hamlet into radical, modern directions.

Where it leads I cannot say--I'm still in season 4 of the show itself. I have not completed it. 

However! I can say that it is a very entertaining show, and worth anyone's time.