Milkman's Ignorance of His Selfishness

As we progress through Morrison's Song of Solomon, we witness the main character Milkman progress through his life, starting from when he is born during Robert Smith's failed attempt at flight, all the way through to when he is an adult, and finally starts to learn about his family ancestry and where he came from. Milkman's life has been exceptionally easy, as he is the son of the successful, yet stern, Macon Dead, and as a result almost everything he needed has been handed to him; he has never really had to work or strive for anything. During his childhood in Michigan, Milkman was essentially at the center of his family, as each of his family members made different sacrifices for him, and therefore Milkman means something different to each of them. However, because of this relatively easy life he has experienced, Milkman never really recognizes or acknowledges this care on the part of his family members, as he simply expects things to go his way and therefore focuses on the certain times when they don't rather than appreciating his life, causing him to appear as a very selfish character for the majority of the book.

We can observe some instances of the relative ease of Milkman's life in his late adolescent years. His job is practically gifted to him by his father, and his relationship with Hagar, after a few hard, entertaining weeks has become effortless for him too. Rather than appreciate the simplicity of his life, with no hard work involved, Milkman gripes about his job, and especially about how his relationship with Hagar has grown bland. Milkman's selfishness and indifference get to the point where he constantly tries to come up with reasons to end his relationship with Hagar, simply because he isn't enjoying it as much. He states that he will "remind her that we are cousins" and "give her a nice piece of money" (98). Both of these are extremely lackluster reasons, if not excuses, and compensations to reject Hagar after years of making love to her. Milkman is selfish in that he doesn't once take into consideration Hagar's emotions and intentions while conjuring up his excuses to sever his relationship with her. He simply hones in on the feeling that he isn't enjoying the relationship as much as before, and decides to leave Hagar. The actual letter which Milkman writes is even worse in terms of exhibiting his lack of sympathy for anyone else but himself. Before even writing the letter or speaking to Hagar, Milkman "felt as though he had already had the conversation and had settled everything" (98-99). Milkman thinks that the task of ending the relationship will be trivial, and thinks the task over before he has even started. He doesn't care about Hagar's needs, and never considers actually talking to Hagar before leaving her; he just decides that he doesn't want Hagar anymore and calls it finished. Milkman's selfish nature shines, as he signs the letter with love, but more importantly "gratitude," exhibiting the lack of concern he displays for others.

Milkman appears selfish in many scenes throughout the book, as much of his early life is characterized by this trait. What's worse is that Milkman is actually ignorant about his selfish ways. Because he was so spoiled as a child Milkman never really understands the gravity of his demeanor towards his family, particularly Ruth and his sisters, he simply thinks that things will go his way and everyone will behave in a positive manner towards him. For example, when no one in the family responds after Milkman defends Ruth from his father at the dining table, Milkman is confused. The women at the table don't even acknowledge Milkman's actions, let alone respond to them. After punching Macon, Milkman expresses that "his sisters' eyes [...] returned him a look of hatred so fresh, so new it startled him" (68). Milkman doesn't see how selfish he is, but his sisters do, which is why they express such emotions of hatred towards Milkman even after he just fought off their oppressive father. They see his act as simply a shift of power away from their father Macon to now Milkman. Milkman thinks that he has done something good for the family by knocking down his father, but in reality has simply temporarily moved him aside, allowing for himself to take more power in the family and more effectively exercise his selfish will. Even when Lena finally approaches Milkman to confront him about his corrupted, selfish ways, Milkman doesn't seem changed at all. Lena rages at Milkman in an outburst, claiming that Milkman has been "laughing at us all your life. Corinthians. Mama. Me. Using us, ordering us, and judging us" (215). Though caught up in a temper, Lena makes significant points about Milkman's upbringing. Throughout his whole life he has been aided and cared for, but all of this amounts to nothing, as Milkman supposedly laughs at the women in his family, judging them and showing indifference to their efforts, a very selfish mindset to be in. Right at the end of Part I, the angry Lena whispers for Milkman to leave. Milkman, arrogant and selfish as always, decides that "It was good advice [...] Why not take it?" (216). Lena's entire argument culminates nothing as Milkman doesn't adhere to it at all. By smugly expressing that he thought Lena's "advice" to leave was good, he shows that he really doesn't care about anything that she just said, and likely wasn't paying attention to much of it anyway. By saying this, Milkman expresses that he was focused only on the moment when Lena allowed him to leave. He ignores everything else she says, and remains ignorant of his selfish ways.

The Protagonist of Wide Sargasso Sea

With only twenty pages left of Wide Sargasso Sea, we can almost fully observe the dynamics between the two prominent characters in the latter half of the book: Antoinette and Rochester. Throughout the book, the perspective has interchanged between these two characters, giving us insight into each one's thoughts and actions towards each other in Granbois. As a result of this frequent shifting of perspective, the question arises: who is the main protagonist of the book, and which character(s) should we sympathize with, if any? Rochester takes a very direct approach to provide us with an answer to this question when narrates: "I could not resist saying, half longing, half triumphant, "Well, Amelie, are you still sorry for me" (141). It is apparent from these lines that Rochester truly believes that he is the victim of this entire situation and that as a result he deserves sympathy. While it is true that Rochester ended up unexpectedly unfavorable in this marriage with Antoinette, as he was ignorant of Antoinette's backstory and family, his intentions and actions in the marriage detract from his deservedness of sympathy. Antoinette, on the other hand, appears to have truly received the short end of the stick, having to put up with Rochester. Antoinette's childhood story and appearance in the later scenes, point to the prospect that Antoinette is the character worthy of our sympathy, and therefore is the main character of Wide Sargasso Sea.

Normally, the character that narrates the majority of the novel is considered to be the main character of protagonist of the novel. While Rochester takes on this role in Wide Sargasso Sea, narrating over 100 pages of the book from his own perspective, his slimy character, especially towards Antoinette at Granbois, draws away from his credibility as a protagonist. The entire relationship between the two is corrupt, and a big part of this is Rochester's prideful nature and constant need to feel empowered. This leads to a fairly domineering relationship from Rochester's side, as this pride of his skews the readers' sympathy towards Antoinette. We can see an example of Rochester's need to be in a dominant position in his nickname of "Bertha" for Antoinette. When Antoinette laughs after narrating serious events of her childhood, Rochester calls her "Bertha" and tells her to stop laughing. Antoinette responds: "My name is not Bertha; why do you call me Bertha" (135). We can observe that Antoinette is actively annoyed in this scene, as she makes two concise statements that quickly put Rochester into question. Rochester simply replies: "Because it is a name I'm particularly fond of. I think of you as a Bertha" (135). Rochester essentially says in this response that he calls her "Bertha" simply because he feels like it and because he can. Rochester's lackluster response in this scene exhibits the dynamics of the entire marital relationship. His need to pride himself by calling Antoinette "Bertha," not to mention the fact that he slept with another woman on his honeymoon, darken our view of Rochester, and his inconsiderate attitude towards Antoinette shows him as anything but deserving of sympathy. In addition, we must also take into consideration Rochester's intention for marrying Antoinette to evaluate his worthiness of sympathy. It turns out that Rochester is the second son in his family, and therefore received none of his father's inheritance. Rochester conveniently decided to marry Antoinette, who had just received part of Mr. Mason's wealth, to compensate for not getting a job. The fact that Rochester married primarily for money completely takes the idea of sympathy of the table for Rochester, as it is only fitting that he ended up in this position.

We have established that Rochester is a character no where near deserving of our sympathy. Since he is such a prideful and dominant figure in his relationship with Antoinette and in general, it is only natural that our sympathy passes to the true protagonist of the novel: Antoinette. As stated before, even though Rochester  narrates the majority of the novel, it still feels like we are simply in an interim waiting for Antoinette to pick up narration again. The reason for this is, as well as the reason for why Antoinette deserves sympathy, is in her traumatic childhood. In the first part of the book, we get some insight into the isolation and hate that Antoinette was subject to as a child, This alone already shows that Antoinette deserves more sympathy than Rochester, as Rochester's simple issue with primogeniture is nothing compared to the gravity of Antoinette's bleak childhood and the effect that it has had on her. When Rochester asks about Antoinette's childhood, she responds: "You want to know about my mother. I will tell you about her, the truth, not lies. Then she was silent for so long" (130). Despite how traumatic these events may have been for her, Antoinette still appears very sane in her recollection of them. The long pause before Antoinette actually begins to narrate the events exhibits that she is still affected by the events of her past, and her willingness to reveal the truth to Rochester depict her to be genuine, and the protagonist, in this scene. It is true that Antoinette at one point poisons Rochester, but her motivation for such an action can be seen as an extension of the traumatic feelings from her childhood. It is stated several times in the book that Antoinette was very lonely growing up, and had no one to really love her, as her mother started to go insane and her brother was crippled. As a result, when Antoinette starts to lose the first person to actually love her, that is, Rochester, she immediately seeks help from Christophine. The fact that she doesn't want to take Christophine's advice and leave Rochester imply that she doesn't want to hurt Rochester or take that dramatic of a change, as she says: "I must travel far, if I go. I have been too unhappy, I thought, it cannot last, being so unhappy, it would kill you" (110-111). Here, Antoinette suggests that the conditions of her childhood, namely her loneliness and isolation, have caused her to be unhappy because nobody loves her. As a result of all of this, Antoinette poisons Rochester out of desperation to keep intact the one true relationship of love she has (perhaps other than with Christophine). She had no malicious intent, and her actions can be seen as her simply trying to salvage what little feeling of love she has in her life. Because of her good intentions and convoluted childhood, she deserves our sympathy far more than someone like Rochester.

Meursault's True Character

In Camus' The Stranger, the main character Meursault is a French Algerian who is condemned to death as punishment for his murder of an Arab man. At face value, this scenario makes perfect sense: Meursault must be some sort of insane psychopath, whose resulting death sentence is completely reasonable. However, as we read through the novel, we get to learn about Meursault's true character, and we see that his actual mentality is starkly different from the mentality that the murder sets him up to have. The series of events that take place, leading up to and after the murder scene, essentially present us with two different views that we can take on the situation. The first is that Meursault is indeed a psychopath, and that he shouldn't be trusted in society. The second is that Meursault is a genuine, honest man, and as a result the court's actions are too oppressive towards him. If we take into account Meursault's basic demeanor and actions throughout the first part of tho book, the second option seems to prevail. Increasingly, we can observe that Meursault is not this cold-hearted, delinquent criminal who has no sense of boundaries, but that he is instead very much a fundamentally good and honest man.

Meursault's natural character and appeal are apparent in various instances throughout the first part of the book and the trial. Meursault seems like one of the least likely people to commit something as severe as a murder, so when he does, it's only natural that the first thought that comes to mind is that there must something psychologically wrong with Meursault. Initially, this is the general reaction to the entire situation, as readers read "Then I fired four more times at the motionless body where the bullets lodged without leaving a trace. And it was like knocking four quick times on the door of unhappiness" (59), and think that there is no way that someone who thinks and acts like this can be sane. However, after a taking a closer look at Meursault in the early chapters of the novel, we can see how this initial reaction is false. Our first hint that this notion doesn't properly describe Meursault is in his actions, and perhaps more importantly, reactions, to the words of the judge and the prosecutor. In a scene where a life-changing judgement is being made, Meursault never once lies about the events that occurred or his reasoning when he was enacting these events. For example, when Meursault's lawyer pushes on the caretaker for accepting a cigarette from Meursault, Meursault simply affirms the statement, even if it puts him in a vulnerable position: "The old man looked embarrassed and said, "I know I was wrong to do it" [...] "I was asked if I had anything to add. "Nothing," I said, "except that the witness is right" (90). We can see from this how Meursault's outlook on life works, he isn't concerned with fooling everyone that he is innocent or throwing fluff to divert the argument, he simply stays honest and states things how they happened. This implies that Meursault is genuinely a good man who isn't willing to lie for self-benefit, and detracts from the idea that Meursault's nature is one that is psychotic. If Meursault was a psychopath, his attitude and rationale would be vastly different in this scene.

Camus seems to place a lot of emphasis on Meursault's human qualities in the first half of the book, and as a result Meursault appears more "normal," that is, more like a regular human being. Essentially, analysis of Meursault in this section furthers the ideas that emerged from the trial, (sort of working backwards from the trial to determine what kind of character Meursault truly is). When Meursault sits on the balcony for the entirety of the Sunday, he exhibits his calm, non-psychotic, usual nature: "I turned my chair around and set it down like the tobacconist's because I found it more comfortable that way. I smoked a couple of cigarettes, went inside to get a piece of chocolate, and went back to the window to eat it" (22). Here, Meursault shows his true nature in the activities of his everyday life. We can see how Meursault exhibits several characteristics that are common of "normal" people. He adjusts the position of his chair and smokes multiple cigarettes to increase his feeling of peace and comfort in these lines, a completely rational and sane thing to do. It is important to note that Meursault doesn't express any psychotic or insane thoughts in this scene, one of the most peaceful ones in the book. This again supports the point that Meursault is fundamentally a good person, and that a man like Meursault shouldn't be condemned to a punishment as severe as death due simply to his type of character. If Meursault were sentenced based solely on his actions and the end result, it would make perfect sense to punish him to the extent deemed necessary. However, once it gets to the point where Meursault's character enters the discussion, the case is no longer valid, especially when we can almost only see the positive side of Meursault's true character, before he learns that he is to be executed.

Grete's Metamorphosis

At first glance, it is seemingly obvious that the title of Kafka's The Metamorphosis refers to the main character of the book, Gregor Samsa. The book starts out by immediately throwing us into this world of "Gregor the insect" with its first sentence, "When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous insect" (64). From this, the logical conclusion follows that the title of the book is referring to Gregor's transformation, or metamorphosis, into a giant bug. However, reading through the book we can slowly observe significant behavioral changes in not only Gregor but in the members of his family as well. While Gregor does in fact seem to change as the book progresses, as can be observed by his increasingly insect-like thoughts and reactions towards various situations, it seems as though his family undergoes even more drastic changes (setting physical appearance aside, of course), in particular Gregor's sister, Grete.

In the beginning of the book, Grete takes on a very passive, compassionate role, in contrast to Gregor's mother and father. We can observe this contrast in the first scene. Gregor has just woken up and discovered that he is a huge insect. His father, realizing that it is uncharacteristic of Gregor to not to get up for work, starts to question Gregor about whats going on: "'Gregor, Gregor,' he called, 'what's up?' And after a little while he repeated his admonishment in a deeper voice: 'Gregor! Gregor!'" (66). Here we can see the father's impatience and insensitivity to the situation at hand. Although he doesn't yet know Gregor's circumstances, the father still reacts in a frantic and anxious way. He gets angry immediately, as he repeatedly calls Gregor's name in an almost reprimanding tone. In addition, the father doesn't really show any sympathy towards Gregor during this scene. By abruptly assaulting Gregor with his tone and voice, the father doesn't seem to consider or really even care about what is troubling Gregor himself; he simply wants to know why Gregor isn't at work, bringing in money. The sister, however, shows a great deal of sympathy and care towards Gregor in this scene: "Meanwhile from the other side-door came the soft, plaintive voice of his sister: 'Gregor? Aren't you well? Is there anything you want?'" (66). Even with all the hustle and bustle of the scene, what with each member of Gregor's family knocking on a door to his room, Grete shows her compassion and concern for Gregor here. As opposed to the father, who is simply shouting Gregor's name over and over again, Grete inquires about Gregor's health and well-being in a soft, melancholy voice, implying that she truly cares about the state that her brother is in at the moment, and isn't simply irritated that he is late for his work.

Grete's compassion for her brother Gregor does not last as we progress through the book, however. We can see a gradual change in Grete's attitude towards Gregor from sympathy to disdain in the later parts of the book. At first, Gregor's sister is the sole caretaker of Gregor, as the rest of the family is too disgusted to even glance into Gregor's room. We can see Grete's growth here, as she is becoming more independent and taking charge in the family. For example, the text states that Grete provides Gregor with a multitude of food choices at one point, indicating her importance as the sole provider of food for Gregor. The fact that she is actively trying to work with Gregor to determine what he likes and doesn't like to eat perpetuates this idea of her consideration for Gregor and his needs. This positive vibe doesn't last for long, however, as the increasingly large burden that Gregor has been placing on the family is starting to take its toll. When this happens, Grete is by far the one in the family that changes most drastically. In the last section of the book, Gregor comes out of his room for the final time, and Grete responds: "'Dear parents,' said his sister, slapping her hand on the table by way of introduction, things can't go on like this. [...] I refuse to utter my brother's name in the presence of this monster, and so all I say is" we must try to get rid of it" (104). After everything the family has been through, in the end it is Grete who proclaims that Gregor must go. We can see a stark contrast between the Grete at the beginning of the book at the Grete here. The fact that Grete, the compassionate, sympathetic caretaker of Gregor, has now taken such a scornful view of him indicates her transformation of attitude towards Gregor and transformation in general. She no longer even considers the giant insect to be Gregor anymore. Now that she believes her brother is essentially gone, Grete has no qualms about complaining and attempting to remove the creature, while persuading her parents to think the same. At the end of the book, Grete has severed all emotional ties with this insect that has taken the place of Gregor. As she once treated him with care and compassion, she has now metamorphosed and "blossomed into a pretty and shapely girl" (110). Grete is not the same little sister she was to Gregor at the beginning of the book. Thus, her attitude and feelings towards Gregor have shifted accordingly.

Jake's Progression of Attitudes

In the last chapter of Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, we get to observe one of the rare instances in the novel during which Jake seems to relax and be at peace with himself: the scene in which Jake goes swimming while alone in San Sebastian. Constantly throughout the novel we are exposed to the problems in Jake's life regarding his issues with his friends and their tumultuous relationships with each other, so this scene where Jake goes swimming provides us with a refreshing change of pace in the novel (in addition to the scene when Jake goes fishing with his good friend Bill). Using this scene, we can observe how Jake's attitude towards life, (and the struggles that are associated with it), differs from his attitude in earlier stages of the book. Jake seems to be more at peace when alone, swimming in the waters of San Sebastian, and it is this notion that Jake is at peace with himself at this point in the novel that causes him to take a more positive outlook towards aspects of life that he once used to treat with frustration and disdain.

As opposed to in the beginning of the novel, Jake seems to express prowess in his ability to relax and not let his problems get out of hand while he stays in San Sebastian. Rather than anxiously worrying about his war injury and his relationship with Brett, Jake solely focuses on the activity at hand: swimming. He narrates, "Floating I saw only the sky, and felt the drop and lift of the swells" (241). Jake's use of the word "only" in this line indicate that he has nothing else on his mind during this time and is providing his undivided attention towards swimming. It seems as though the majority of Jake's stress and problems come from the actions of Cohn and primarily from his convoluted relationship with Brett. Thus, while he is part taking in such solitary activities as swimming in San Sebastian, Jake is able to really relax and be at peace with himself. With Brett and Cohn out of the picture during this time, Jake expresses, "It felt as though you could never sink" (241), adding to this notion that he can achieve this state of tranquility when alone. Through he never directly refers to his life's problems in this scene, we get a sense that Jake feels like everything is going to be alright in the end; he is never going to "sink" in his problems. Jake knows this because his time in San Sebastian provides him with a means to enjoy quality relaxation spent not thinking about Brett. It is actually the fact that Jake never mentions Brett in this scene that confirms the idea that Jake has progressed away from his original mindset through mental repose.

This concept that Jake has the ability to be at peace with himself towards the end of the novel enables Jake to take a different approach altogether towards life. Before, Jake would tend to act very bitter towards those that exhibited either a weakness or simply something that was impossible for him. For example, Jake significantly expresses his issues with the group of homosexuals in the bar: "I was very angry, Somehow they always made me angry," (28). Jake's dissatisfaction with his inability to sustain a stable relationship with Brett (due to his injury) arises here, and helps to explain why he expresses so much disdain towards the gay group of men. In contrast, these few, but crucial, instances of relaxation aid Jake in altering his perspective of life's stresses and overall help him cope with his lingering, unsatisfying relationship with Brett. During the swimming scene in San Sebastian, Jake undresses to change his clothes several times, but fails to bring up anything about his war wound at all in doing so. This is in stark contrast to the beginning of the book, where undressing would constantly remind Jake of his impossible relationship with Brett. Instead, we observe Jake progressing past his problems; he is no longer continuously troubled by the wound and it's implications with respect to Brett, but instead accepts the fact and moves on, because  he has undergone this transformation of attitude through seeking peace for himself. We see another instance of this in Jake's observances while swimming: "I swam out to the raft [...] A boy and a girl were at the other end. [...] The boy lay face downward on the raft and talked to her. She laughed at the things he said," (239). Jake shows his ability to simply acknowledge this interaction between the boy and the girl and move on. Normally, this would spur frustrating thoughts in Jake, as he would be reminded of his impossible relationship with Brett. The fact that this instance brings to Jake's mind neither his war wound nor Brett emphasizes how Jake's views have changed; he is no longer bothered by situations like this, as relaxation time has allowed him to alter his mindset and approach towards coping with his problems, in a positive way.

Richard Dalloway's Relationship with Clarissa

About halfway through Mrs. Dalloway, we finally meet the character that fills the role of Clarissa Dalloway's husband: Richard Dalloway. Up until this point, we have learned a fair amount about Richard and his relationship with Clarissa, through Clarissa's own thoughts, as well as her flashbacks to when she was 18. However, we have never actually been exposed to Woolf's use of free indirect discourse through Richard himself. Clarissa describes her relationship with her husband Richard as fairly simplistic and uninteresting, claiming that Richard does not really care for Clarissa and that he never does anything significant for her. However, observing Richard's emotions and reactions in the scene after lunch at Lady Bruton's makes me think that Richard might not be so indifferent to Clarissa after all. More importantly, this scene shows that Richard and Clarissa's relationship goes deeper than the the shallow, superficial level that Clarissa makes it out to be.

Immediately after finishing lunch at Lady Bruton's, Richard and Hugh Whitbread walk across the street towards a jewelry shop. Richard, seeing Hugh walk into the shop after staring through the window, feels a moment of indecisiveness regarding whether he should enter the shop or not. Eventually, he decides to enter in after Hugh Whitbread. Richard's decision at this point is peculiar, as he even says in a following paragraph that he certainly would not enjoy shopping for jewelry with Hugh Whitbread. Why then did Richard decide to enter the store in the first place? The answer lies within the nature of Richard's relationship with Clarissa, as well as Richard's observations of Hugh Whitbread within the store. Once inside the store, Richard sees the determination and experience that Hugh expresses towards getting a present for his wife. At first, this act of Hugh's seems extremely odd to Richard, and he starts to think his history of buying jewelry for Clarissa. This prompts an anecdote in Richard's mind, in which he remembers one of the rare times when he bought Clarissa a bracelet as a present. He goes on to recount that this action of his did not end well, as Clarissa never wore the bracelet. It seems that in the heat of the moment, Hugh's vast experience in buying presents for his wife, along with the idea that Richard himself has rarely bought presents for Clarissa, overwhelm Richard. He starts to think impulsively and with anxiety as he frantically searches for the perfect gift for Clarissa. Richard's actions in this scene show that he is, in fact, considerate of Clarissa, as he is genuinely searching for the gift that will best appeal to Clarissa. While his character may be fairly basic and his mindset simplistic at times, we can observe Richard's true feelings towards Clarissa in this scene: he is simply trying to do his best to please Clarissa and receive a feeling of redemption for his past actions in this aspect.

Richard's charisma and true love towards Clarissa are even more apparent in the scene following the one at the jewelry store. After deciding on roses as the present to bring to Clarissa, Richard sets off on his journey home. All throughout his walk home, Richard is thinking about one thing: that he is going to tell Clarissa that he loves her. While a simple idea in itself, Richard's mindset in this scene is critical to understanding the relationship between Richard and Clarissa, from a perspective other than Clarissa's. The fact that Richard thinks of proclaiming his love to Clarissa the entire way home shows that Richard is indeed considerate and cares for Clarissa. It is true that he doesn't have all the time in the world to spend with her, but these events show a strict contradiction with Clarissa's notion that Richard doesn't care for her. He obviously cares for her, enough that he is willing to buy flowers for her and walk all the way home, simply to express to his wife that he loves her. We finally observe the depth in Richard and Clarissa's relationship in perhaps the most important scene pertaining to this idea of the validity of Richard as a substantial husband to Clarissa. Despite his constant thoughts about the passion with which he is going to say to his wife "I love you," when Richard actually arrives home and greets Clarissa, he can't muster up the strength to actually say the words. While some might think that this exhibits Richard's inability to communicate with Clarissa and might characterize their relationship as weak based off of this, I would argue the opposite. It is the fact that they are able to understand each other on a deeper level and the idea that their relationship exists, and maybe even thrives, on a level past the superficial that allows them to understand what each other are thinking during this heartfelt moment. Clarissa understands what Richard is attempting to get across, and Richard understands that Clarissa knows this. Because Richard and Clarissa share this intimate connection, they sit happily and are able to understand what they each are thinking with respect to each other, all without Richard having to say anything that even remotely resembles the phrase "I love you" to Clarissa.

Appreciating the Ordinary in The Mezzanine

At the most basic level, Nicholson Baker's The Mezzanine is a novel about the thoughts of a man as he rides the escalator up to the Mezzanine floor of the building at the end of his lunch break. This in itself as a concept for a book is enough to discourage potential readers from actually taking the time to give the book a chance, as from the outside, it seems like a boring, plot-lacking novel. However, it is what is occurring inside the head of this man as he rides the escalator back to his office that makes this book worth the read. Baker takes this idea of the escalator ride and uses it as a vehicle from which to digress and go off on tangents about the idiosyncrasies of daily life, going as far as to constantly remark on the most mundane, banal aspects of everyday activities. Baker uses extreme detail and passion to describe even the most ordinary objects in the book, and I feel that this is the reason why we should learn to appreciate Baker's approach to writing about the ordinary in The Mezzanine.

Perhaps the most obvious characterization of Baker's style is his tendency to break down and thoroughly explain any lingering thoughts that come across his mind in such vivid detail. This thorough description causes the reader to really relate with and appreciate Baker's points. While it could be argued that there are several other authors out there whose extent of description is on par with Baker's, it is the fact that Baker focuses so much of his attention on the aspects of life normally taken for granted that makes his style truly unique and goes as far as to change how the reader thinks about the world. For example, we can observe in nearly every major passage and footnote about some commonplace object/practice how Baker provides a complete description of the appearance of the object or an explanation of how something works. Baker takes a seemingly uninteresting topic, such as the timing of shoelaces snapping, and makes it interesting by explaining the processes behind it in such scrupulous detail that one simply can't help but to be sucked into his flow of events. To notice and think about the nuances of everyday life so often, let alone write a book about them, is a feat in itself. The fact that Baker takes these concepts of ordinary things to the next level through his stellar description and attention to detail completely altered the way I look at the world. Now, I pay more attention to the things that I once simply took for granted and take the time to stop and think about the importance of what I'm observing.

In addition to his extensive attention to detail in the things he observes, Baker's incorporation of feelings and emotions into his evaluations of the mundane caused me to really appreciate and enjoy his descriptions even more. All throughout his accounts and descriptions, Baker will constantly use exclamation marks and even italics to really drive home his (Howie's) points. This is quite ironic if you think about it, considering that he is placing these exclamation points and italics in the middle of these multi-page footnotes about the progression of milk delivery (or any other seemingly boring practice). Baker even goes as far as to use the second person at times, as if to connect with the reader and emphasize even more the value he sees in things usually taken for granted. Nonetheless, the enthusiasm with which Baker expresses his points significantly adds to the admiration of the ordinary. For example, I didn't even know it was possible to express so much dissatisfaction with the evolution of straws. This is just one example of the many things I have now come to realize are significant and deserve extensive evaluation. The sheer fervor and passion with which he discusses his observations in junction with the substantial detail he uses to describe his thoughts provide for an interesting, refreshing new way to think about and even appreciate the peculiarities of day-to-day life.