Day 91: FINALS--Life Lessons from Austen's Boys

Nightmares

I'm pleased to announce that three of four finals are over and done with, but not before some rather disturbing dreams involving being chased by a mental institution inmate with an AK-47 (I think I was actually gunned down--I've never died in a dream before). I have some fairly extreme chasing dreams (chased by dinosaurs, Nazis, the principal, etc) before the first day of school or a test for which I do not feel adequately prepared. But my religion test did not merit such a bad night--it, and Austen and Great War all went very successfully. Everything is still on the incline as far as my GPA, even in a place as diverting as London.

Jane Austen's Heroes

In the last few hours, I've made some of the best purchases of my young life (all girl clothes, of course, cheap London coat and scarves from Primark and Queensway). Girls are obsessed with such things because there's nothing like the confidence that comes from a new dress or pair of shoes, when guys look at you for a bit longer than they do when you're in sweats, know what I mean? Finally finished with Austen, and now I can appreciate her more. Or at least, I can appreciate the film adaptations a lot more. That's as much Austen as I'll handle in future anyway.

I guess I liked learning about all the different heroes; in harlequin romances or whatever, the men are all the same mold: Fabio. Yeesh, I could never date a guy so in love with himself. Austen's heroes are confident and lucky, or clever and knightley, or thoughtful and shy, or poetic and devoted, or friendly and content with life, or proud and reserved, or full of bravado but easily hurt. All different. I guess that's my problem with Twilight--there's one guy everyone wants to be with, and the preteens yet unacquainted with the world will expect every good guy out there to be the mold of moody, stalkerish, creepy human-eating Edward Cullen. And all the good guys out there who struggle to remember significant dates, who might be awkward in expressing love in so many words, who aren't good at reading girls' minds and who aren't even as handsome or whatever as he is, will get snubbed by girls who think they're on a quest to find THE PERFECT MAN because that's what they've been taught to look for. Isn't that terrible? And the girls here are struggling to recognize that (after hearing so many botched boy stories) their misery really does come from this fruitless search.

Whew, vomit of the keyboard. I guess this is what happens when a perfectly good day in London is hijacked by finals...puke. But almost done!

Day 90: Pied Beauty

Okay. Gerard Manley Hopkins is one of my most favorite poets of all time. Here is perhaps his best work:

PIED BEAUTY GLORY be to God for dappled things—

For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;

And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise him.

Naturally, I needed to explicate it.

Explication:

Hopkins’ “Pied Beauty”

Romanticism is a marvellous post-Renaissance movement in which to find religious fervor, in art, poetry, novels, and even theatre. The artists find God in nature, finding the maker through His handiwork—typically this handiwork is best admired if it is beautiful according to our own values of beauty. But one renegade Romantic, Gerard Manly Hopkins, penned a poem that features the dull, the spotty, and the strange as natural elements just as important in finding Divinity. “Pied Beauty” is a splendid reminder to us that, by describing all kinds of nature, though they be imperfect in our eyes, they are still creations of a perfect, loving God.

Hopkins is a Romantic poet; as such, he is a firm believer that “seeing a rose is to see the face of God”, or more simply, that the divine is best accessed through nature. But rather than choose something like a tiger (William Blake), Hopkins describes a cow (2). Rather than describing animals like sharks, whales, hawks or falcons, he uses trout and common finches as examples of God’s nature (3-4). This more common side of nature sets the tone for Hopkins’ poem; he argues, in Romantic fashion, that the face of God can also be found in something as common as river trout or a milk cow. In post-Renaissance world, where great art and poetry features the most perfect and beautiful humanity and nature have to offer, such an idea is revolutionary, and savors of future artistic movements such as realism. By coupling divinity with plain elements of the world, Hopkins suggests that”beauty” is a temporary and mortal word, ascribed by humans in nature based on temporary and mortal reasons.

In addition to describing common elements in nature, he describes the so-called imperfections we would see in those common elements. During the Romantic period, society looked on freckles and other such blemishes as imperfections brought on by exposure, lower society, and even the devil (witch-hunts, etc., and also the Puritan idea that Satan looks like a fair, freckled Scotsman). But Hopkins suggests that these imperfections are created by God, and are therefore well meditated in advance, and looked upon as “good”. His nature in this poem is “pied” in every way, spotted, dappled (1), freckled, and even fickle (8). This play on the word “piety” invokes yet more divinity within nature, and suggests our own proper reaction to finding God in the imperfect.

By combining un-sublime elements with physical imperfections, Hopkins makes a clear call for us to stop finding imperfection in the creations of God—creations we also are. These imperfections are not imperfections after all—they were, after all, created by an all-knowing and all-powerful God. “GLORY be to God,” he writes on the first line, and then the last two read “He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him” (10-11). This suggests that God Himself is beautiful—therefore everything that comes from him is also beautiful. Whether Hopkins suggests that God Himself is pied, striped, dappled, or spotted—all those imperfections a Romantic society would find—remains to be seen. I suppose the fact that the author brings it up is evidence enough of his opinions. He does say that beauty on earth cannot be determined by a mortal being. He does call us all to praise God for everything He has given, and not to find fault or ignore His creations. In that kind of devotion, we might be able to see beauty in everything on earth.

Day 89: Good Tidings to Zion

Bred for the Upper-Class

After writing two major papers and cleaning my room, I felt much better headed to the Messiah, despite sleeping through breakfast and subsequently dinner. My stomach is still recovering from scarfing chicken noodle soup after the Messiah. It was in St. George's Church (the chapel where Handel grew up and no doubt met J.S. Bach, kittens). The music was lovely, but three hours' sit in some particularly uncomfortable pews is not something I would subject anyone but my mother to (only because she would giggle and be enthused by the music, like me). If it were anyone else, we'd grace the Queen's Theatre at Leicester to see Les Mis, catch a movie premier or two, wander down Regent Street, and hit every pub from here to Finchley, spending a day in Camden's music scene. Diagon Alley I hear does concerts when the weather's nice. No tea for us, that's for sure. What's the point of staying inside in such a beautiful place as Hyde Park for something as insipid as tea?

After memorizing In Flander's Fields and the Soldier and hearing the raddest baritone ever, I'm off to bed to dream inside Handel's church...Perhaps I will be classier than I did leaving, like I've returned from finishing school. Then again, I cracked up at the new Nando's napkin: Now remove all evidence...

Day 88: Tea at Kensington Palace

Slow start this morning. I realized I forgot to turn in that Milton paper last night (I wrote it ages ago), so I fell out of bed and sprinted upstairs. There was a stack still there--so I don't know if mine will be counted late or anything. Looks like I forgot another assignment for Austen--I've never hated a class so much, no math class in history.

Grumpy this morning. Slept through breakfast yet again. Nothing but more homework today--not to mention the last of the absurd Austen classes.

High Tea, Short Girl

Thinking of what I'll do when I come home. My first goal is to eat a hot breakfast. So sick of cereal every single morning for three months. Some eggs, please. Tea, even though it was at Kensington Palace, was uber boring. My boyish delicacies appeared with a vengeance--I gazed out of the window at the frozen pond and white fields, longing to leave the stuffy table. I sat with Kim, her sister, and Annie--they all talked about Andrea's coat, how it was a Burberry or something like that (six or seven hundred dollar coat), and argued about who was the richest on the program and whether or not to go see Lion King or Oliver. I told everyone about the clotted cream on the table: when whipping double cream, you have about four seconds between whipped cream and butter. The stuff on the table looked a lot like butter. No one had anything to say on THAT subject. I dropped out of the conversation after that, bored out of my mind and so excited to leave.

It's so nice to see Kim back on her feet, even if it is just in time for finals. She was sicker than a dog and I hoped I was able to be helpful to her somehow. Freezing cold out--it feels like wading through snow, except there is none...crazy cold, wind off the Baltic Sea. I hope no one falls and injures themselves on the utterly frozen ground. Never thought I'd feel concerned for dogs without sweaters. Go figure.

Day 87: Persuasion and the Worst

I’ve written 1.5 papers today, and cruised through some other things I needed to do. It’s becoming problematic, because I slept through the first 15 minutes of class today and definitely missed some announcements—what we all could use would be one giant checklist of what the profs need before we all leave Europe. Technically, we just need to get it all in before grades are due on the 20th, but it’s so weird to have things due to people who live next door, who never seem to penalize for lateness (to the point where some girls are getting really pissed.) Whatever, I’m just getting it in on time because I need to practice not procrastinating, and so far it’s worked just fabulously. I’m just hoping the organization can hold water this last hectic week, for profs and students alike. The last thing we need is for them to lose our work.

We got to watch my favorite version of Persuasion, finally, except that Penny hates it and was criticizing it the whole time. But I did my best to enjoy it through her tactless comments and was excited for the last day of class to be over. I sure love Persuasion; the idea that one bad choice based on someone else's judgment can ruin your life makes this novel neither comical nor entirely fictional; if anything, it feels autobiographical. I sure hope Jane could still have a happy life, even though a man was not necessarily in her life.

We could sure use a fire in this building—it’s so cold. I’ll be glad to go home and feel my fingers and toes again. There’s a yellow pashmina I’ve had my eye on down on Queensway; the real question is whether going outside into the Arctic is worth it. Anyways—Off to bed here shortly. I had a heroic nap today and was not tempted in the least to go outside. I hope to get through the rest of this homework before spam hits the fan, which it will. But it’s only twelve credits! What’s the worst that could happen?

Day 86: Double Cream and Dinner with the Crandalls

The Tube strike continues. Today we went to have dinner with the Crandalls, and silly me, I forgot to wear tights. We waited outside for a bus for some twenty minutes afterward; I reached down to rub my knees, my skin felt like a corpse's. Little unnerving. But walking outside seriously feels like wading through snow. I'm just glad it hasn't snowed yet--so wet and cold that we'll lose some of the girls for sure.

Dinner was delightful! Such American food: pulled pork sandwiches, jello salad, and pumpkin pie. The six of us sat around for something like two hours, talking about the most embarassing things we'd ever done, horrible dating stories, how the cute couple got together...so fantastic. I didn't want to leave; the fireside that evening was straight up Christmas singing (not caroling, just singing). It took us ages to get home, so we only had to sing one last song before everyone got candy. I sure would like to be a senior missionary with my husband, have a little living room and bathroom and kitchen, teaching everyone how to use the new Family Search. I sure hope I can see them again.

Day 85: The Holiday is Over

Studying

Everyone just got home from Thanksgiving and I was really getting used to just playing on my own, without the interruption. 40+ people in this building is way too many. The stress will hit tomorrow night and everyone will freak out, including me--but just because I freak out when stressed out people freak out. It's like when someone flies off the handle and starts yelling, I immediately yell louder. I hope all the bonding or whatever doesn't shatter this next week, anyway. I have a hard time studying in this house as it is.

Tomorrow is church. In a few hours, or even in the morning, Carolyn will find out she has a talk, and it was my fault for telling Brother Eden she'd be okay giving it. So she'll be mad at me, but I just gave a talk and I can't do it again. This is all stupid. And it's not like I can write a talk titled Thoughts on the Savior when they're MY thoughts, and not hers. So I sort of want to hide until disaster strikes. Standby.

Anyways, it sure was nice to be out on my own today, playing in town, walking through Regent Street and Leicester. So fantastic to breathe deep the London air, see the photographs in the National Portrait Gallery, and write yet more papers. They're like proof that I've gotten smarter? At least Kim is feeling lots better and ought to be released very soon. Her sister and Andrea are total best friends now, having bonded over Hatchard's Bookshop and a certain hardcover Winnie-the-Pooh. Andrea is now fretting about how to get her books home...there are like fifty of them. I would prolly pay for another bag to be checked...maybe...