In Search of Lost Time

The Evergreen State College

Author: sietas05 (Page 2 of 2)

Cascadia

The emerald gleam of the Northwest has always enchanted me, and many hours were spent during my childhood inventing fantastical worlds amongst the majestic evergreens that populated my back yard. As I was born just a little north of Seattle I was introduced to some of the cultural mainstays of Washington early on; the Pacific Science Center, Seattle Art museum, Pike Place Market, and the Woodland Park Zoo convinced me that this relatively young metropolis was the pinnacle of intellectual exploration. My maternal grandparents lived on a farm in rural Sedro-Woolley while my paternal grandparents had a house in Ocean shores, so I received the best of both worlds, spending half of my summers riding horses up to the creek and catching tadpoles, and the the other half making sand castles and collecting sea shells.

My appreciation for where I grew up was doubled after my first long distance trip out of the Northwest, during which I visited family in Arizona. The heat was unbearable! And there wasn’t a single healthy tree to provide protection from the vicious sun.(When’s the last time you read under the peaceful shade of a cactus?) The super market was limited in it’s choice of produce, and infact, the only local fruit I tasted while there was prickly pear(warning:gloves don’t work as well as tongs for picking these). Everything was brown, and the dust that sprang up into mini twisters never failed to fill my nose with sand. And worse yet, brace yourselves my fellow Washingtonians, there wasn’t a single coffee shop to be found.
Okay, okay, I know what you’re going to say, “You’re just biased Tasia, you can’t give Arizona a fair shake after only one visit!” And to that I say: “YEP! Darn tootin’ I’m biased!” Biased in favor of vegetation, of majestic snowy mountains, and lush magical green forests which rush up to meet the mighty Pacific Ocean. Really, it’s not just Washington that I love, it’s the entire Northwest region.

Every year my family takes a trip down the west coast, we drive straight through Oregon and into Northern California’s Redwood Forrest, and then we work our way up. Every other year we take a ferry to Victoria Canada. Every city, every state, is unique, they each have something special to add to the trip, but they also share a lot too. It’s not just their temperate rainforests, or their misty water ways and rocky beaches, it’s a culture, an attitude. Something you can’t quite put your finger on, the way you may recognize the relation between siblings but not quite be able to place how they look alike.

I am not in fact, alone in my romantic sentiments towards the Pacific Northwest, and never have been. The region in which I have been babbling on about like a schoolgirl with a bad crush, is known as Cascadia. Cascadia is in fact a bioregion, a term popularized in the 1970s by the writer Peter Berg, and ecologist Raymond Dasmann(forrestsforever.org). What qualifies as a bioregion is determined by what ecosystems, waterways, soil, flora, and fauna are shared throughout an area. For instance, the largest temperate rainforest in the world spreads itself over an area ranging all the way from the lower portion of Alaska to Northern California, just one of the reasons the area has been defined as a bioregion. This concept of defining a portion of land by its natural characteristics rather than through governmental partitioning has since inspired the bioregionalist movement. Those associated with the movement not only prize the definition of a region by it’s organic characteristics, but agree with my aforementioned musings, that there is something culturally unifying about the Northwest overall. The significance of these truths have lead those associated with the movement to “the belief that political boundaries should match ecological and cultural boundaries(cascadianow).” If you live in the Pacific Northwest you may have seen their insignia: a blue, white, and green striped flag with a douglas fir at it’s center. It’s commonly found on car bumpers paired with their rallying cry, “Free Cascadia!”

For me, these realizations inspire many questions, for instance, if a bioregion shares not only it’s watersheds and ecosystems(etc.) but a particular culture, is that culture inspired by the land itself? If so, do similar bioregions share similar cultures? And more specific to the Northwest, how many people living in the cascadian boundaries actually identify with the overarching themes by which we are defined? Do other bioregions have residents as passionate about freeing the land from the tyranny of arbitrary lines drawn on a map, or are we just a bunch of liberal tree hugging hipsters hopped up on too much Starbucks? Alas, it may be so, but there is a definite charm to this new title I have for a very significant portion of my identity, cascadian, and I certainly plan to delve further into this matter in the near future. But for now, you must excuse me, for I have a date with a tree and and a hot cup of espresso.

CLose Reading

Proust’s novel Swann’s Way is rife with philosophical ponderings, which he portrays through a variety of vivid descriptions and complex characters. His philosophy ranges across many themes, but he focuses heavily on the pursuit of happiness and love in a world filled with unspoken rules of conduct, and  class, or more importantly, how one’s perceived class can be the determinant of your access to happiness and love. These same themes have come up in lectures and films in the In Search of Lost Time program. A section of  Swann’s Way which is ripe with the aforementioned concepts can be found on pages 270, starting at the beginning of the last paragraph of the page, to page 272. First this paper will highlight the manner in which the themes of happiness/love and class are expressed in the passage, and how they are used to express the idea that the drive to find love and joy in life is powerful, but the power of class can limit one’s access to such prizes, leaving only the privileged class to take or leave their position in life as it suits them. Secondly, to illustrate the thematic nature of the topics of pleasure and class, the passage will be tied to a previous portion of the novel. Lastly, the manner in which the passage relates to the program over all will be explored.

The passage starts by contrasting the character Swann to most other people who who have a “sense of obligation laid upon them by their social grandeur” to confine themselves to a particular portion of life. Right away the author is touching on the topic of class and how it can confine people. Using a beautiful simile he likens it to being a “moored house-boat.” He goes on to say that this manner of existing causes them to “abstain from the pleasures” which exist outside their station. They “remain confined” resigning themselves to “mediocre distractions.”In other words, the structure of class often keeps people from accessing that which would make them truly happy, and believing they can’t overcome their class, they settle for less.

In contrast, specifically in the case of romance, Swann does not force himself to enjoy what he already has before him, but seeks out that which he already enjoys naturally: “Swann did not make an effort to find attractive the women with whom he spent his time, but sought to spend his time with women he already found attractive.” So for swan, love, or at least lust and the pursuit of his desires, transcended class. The manner in which Swann approaches the issue of intimate relations was described as being rather shallow in contrast to how he approached  his appraisal of intellectual matters such as art. “Depth of character-would freeze his senses, which were aroused at the sight of abundant, rosy flesh.”

The succeeding paragraph continues with the theme of class, saying that if Swann happened upon a family which it would be inappropriate for him to associate with, or  “cultivate,” that the sight of a woman with a “special charm” would override such codes of conduct. It is made clear that Swann sees class as something of an obstruction to his desires. To him, to stay on his “high horse”, that is to turn up his nose because of being of a higher station, rather than engaging in an available pleasure, would be “cowardly”. To use the word cowardly in this context implies that Swann sees his romantic exploits as a sort of adventure, as if trying to cross the imaginary lines of class was a daring and  noble feet.  Yet Swann’s pursuits seem to fall some what short of noble, because it is pleasure rather than love which seems to be his true obsession.  As someone with a lofty class standing he may harvest the attention and affections of women from any station he so chooses without fear of repercussion, at least not to the degree that a subordinate male may. So though he may at times resent how his privileged status creates some difficulty in obtaining the objects of his desire, he has the freedom to take or leave it at will. A clever metaphor is used at the bottom of page 271 to express this; Swann’s class is described as a collapsible tent and “any part of it which could not be adapted to some fresh pleasure he would have given away for nothing.”

Swann’s class can even be used to his advantage in many cases, for instance he may use the social credit he has with a duchess, due to her infatuation with him, to get close to the daughter of someone who works for her. He is likened to a “starving man bartering a diamond for a crust of bread.” In this way Swann manipulates others with his class, using it when it is convenient for him and abandoning it when it isn’t. Ironically, he is casting aside that which gives him the freedom to do so.

Due in part to Swanns uncommon disregard for his class, It is almost humorous how important the matter is to other characters, especially the narrator’s family. Throughout the beginning of the novel, the family of Combray believes that he is of equal status to them, but that he is associating with those of a lower class, when he has in fact risen above their station. The family is described as having an “utter ignorance of the brilliant social life which Swann led(19).” The family is correct in some respects, for Swann’s friendship with them, in addition to many of his affairs, could be described as “slumming it “ with those below his station. The family also passes judgement on Swann’s romantic as well as social life, affirming the the passages claim that social class played a pivotal role in determining whom one could fall in love with. Swann’s wife, who they have never in fact met, is assumed to be of such low social standing that they liken her to a “prostitute(26).”

The passage at hand relates to many of the topics which we have been discussing in other parts of the program. For instance, this passage not only plays with the themes of the pursuit of pleasure and classes role in that, but how arbitrary class really is if one can only allow their mind to let go of what society has taught you about it’s importance. It is the mind which creates the imposing reality of class. Such an idea can be tied to the philosophy of Descartes and his pondering of weather it was ones own mind which created the physical world. This idea which we discussed in lecture is in a sense true when it comes to the limitations that we participating in helping setup, such as class.

During lecture the rise of the middle class in Europe was covered as well, and how determining one’s social status became about expressing your standing through material possessions, your occupation, and your income, more than through title alone. We discussed how succeeding in those areas was believed then, and now, to be the path to happiness. So class is really just as important today as it was in the time of M. Swann.

The film Boyhood, which we viewed in class, also focuses on the belief that class predicts happiness. The protagonist’s mother works tirelessly through the first half of the film to get a better job, make more money, buy a big house, and find love. Yet, towards the end, she laments that rather than making her happy, that materials which she has acquired to lift her status, now makes her feel bogged down.

The imaginative writing style of Proust allows him to make remarks on the matters of pleasure seeking and class in a number of ways. He presents a scenario in which it is easy for the reader, with some thought, to formulate an idea of how important the matter of class was back in 18th century France, and how it still may affect how we approach life, and what desires we deem to be within our grasp. The same themes, have also been key points of interest through out other aspects of the In search of Lost time Program, making Swann’s Way a sort of philosophical companion to the course.

Turning Point

Tasia Siereveld

4-5-15

Turning Point

In Search of lost time

 

For the 5th day in a row my mother had refused to get out of bed. She said she was “sick,” but even at 10 I knew she wasn’t the chicken soup and stuffy nose kind of sick, it was the other kind. It was an illness of the mind, and of the spirit, and her episodes were growing ever more frequent those past few years. For instance, when flight 175 crashed into the twin towers, I guess you could say she took it hard. The end of days is coming! She announced to my sister and I on our arrival home from school. She was certain that in a matter of days the world would be plunged into chaos, and that the apocalypse was nigh. We spent the entire afternoon hiding under the bed praying. It wasn’t until my father came home and found us that she could be calmed enough to venture out. When she wasn’t prophesying events of biblical proportions or finding demons in our ceramic decor, she was going on compulsive shopping sprees or in some cases just plain forgetting she had children to be home for. On a particularly rainy day I arrived home to an empty and locked house; I learned that picking a lock isn’t as easy as it looks in the movies. My father always tried to talk away the delusions, curb the erratic behavior, but he worked long hours, and to be honest, I think his patience had been wearing thin. So he came home later every night, and she slept longer every day.

The following friday was typical of Washington in October; the sky was hanging low, the fat gray clouds heavy with rain. I was leaning my head against the school bus window, day dreaming about a weekend shut up in my room reading, trying to escape the feelings of unease that had settled into every room of my house. I leaned my head against the window and traced shapes in the condensation on the glass. I would be 11 in a couple days, but I doubted much improvement would come from the addition of another year.

As the bus rounded the corner and pulled up to my stop, I saw an obscured figure standing on my front porch. I cleared a patch in the mist on the window so I could see clearly. It was my dad, home from work early. I found this so unusual that it disturbed me, and a lump that I could not swallow back formed in my throat.

I stepped off the bus cautiously, and took my time walking, afraid of the news I would receive upon reaching the porch. My little sister on the other hand, skipped, as merrily as you please, all the way home. She was never the most perceptive child, and tended to see the joy in every situation, rather than the grim reality that often stared us in the face.

“Daddy!” she squealed with glee, and jumped into our fathers arms.

“My Emma-loo bug!” he said. He forced a smile just for her as he lifted her into a hug. I on the other hand, got a different look entirely, one that said I have something to tell you, and it isn’t happy news.

After Emily was set up with a popsicle and a rerun of Arthur my dad told me to follow him out to the garage. Once out in the musty dimly lit carport, that for some reason or another my dad deemed suitable for father daughter chat, I felt the tension mount in my chest. My imagination invented a variety of horrific scenarios that could have warranted such an ominous welcome home. My mind went back to the image of the my parents bedroom door, which I had noticed on the way to the garage was hanging open for the first time in a week. The room, had been empty.

I was staring down at my tennis shoes, wondering why my dad hadn’t said anything yet, when I braved a glance in his direction. I saw for the first time in my life tears forming in his eyes, but he quickly composed himself and looked straight at me.

“Your mom,” he started, “your mom has left us.” I let the breath that I was holding go. I knew that I should have wanted to cry, but instead a wave of relief washed over me, and only a small twinge of guilt followed it.

“Where did she go?” I asked, as if I was asking what was for dinner.

“I don’t know.” he said. “Her note didn’t say.” I nodded, but I still couldn’t really comprehend. This wasn’t supposed to happen in normal happy families, I thought. I felt the delayed tears begin to arrive, and started to sniffle.

“Hey,” my dad, said softly, and he bent down to hold my face in his hands. “I know things haven’t been easy lately, but I promise you, we will be ok. We’re gonna start over, and we’re gonna be happy.” He kissed a tear off my cheek, like he did when I was little. “I’m sorry you have to grow up so fast Tasia.” I wasn’t sure what he meant at the time, but he was right, with him working full time, and a sister who was kind but unable to dedicate herself to a task for more than a few minutes, many of the responsibilities of a second parent fell to me. But he was right about something else too, after a lot of adjusting, and some healing, we were happy. It wasn’t so much the absence of my mother that changed the course of my life, but the newfound presence of my father. He redoubled his efforts as a parent, pushing us to study, making sure we were clean and had a warm meal every night, goals my mother could not always accomplish. It was years before we learned our new roles, but I had what I had always longed for, stability. We never quite achieved “normal”, but we did achieve a quite unique, but very happy family.

 

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