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It's all Thomas Hardy's fault...
Feb. 16th, 2009 12:17 pmNot a whole lot going on lately, except for doing school stuff, not playing video games much, and messing around on the internet. I started getting sick on Thursday, ended up physically exhausted for no apparent reason, threw up, and couldn't go to school on Friday. I felt kinda bad since Friday was a day we were originally gonna have off, but had school on that day anyway because of all the school closings for crazy weather this year. Oh well, I ended up just sleeping off and on during the time I would've been at school had I gone, and I don't think I missed very much anyway. I'm still not totally recovered, I suppose, since I'm rather congested nasally. (sorry for the bizarre phrasing)
I'm reading Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge for my English class right now, since our teacher decided that we ought to read some Victorian novel or another. Aside from lolling at the weird plotline and that funny Victorian way of saying things: "writhing in vegetable agony, like leafy Laocoons", I can't help but have certain thoughts and make certain inferences when reading any scene with Michael Henchard and Donald Farfrae. Never mind that Farfrae is ever so clearly being set up for Henchard's daughter. Not that Farfrae knows that she's Henchard's daughter, since Henchard sold his wife and daughter (not entirely seriously) to a sailor for five guineas years and years ago. Not that she knows she's Henchard's daughter either, since she was just a baby when it happened and her mother was far too ashamed to tell her. Lolwhut, Victorian novels!
But how am I supposed to help myself when Thomas Hardy makes it so...
"Donald had wished to get to his lodgings; but he already saw that his friend and employer was a man who knew no moderation in his requests and impulses, and he yielded gracefully. He liked Henchard's warmth, even if it inconvenienced him; the great difference in their characters adding to the liking."
There's more than that lurking in The Mayor of Casterbridge, but it's mostly in little bits and pieces sitting within larger quotes.
So, in conclusion: I'm insane. Thomas Hardy was insane. HOORAY!
edit: From reading just a little further in, Henchard decides to tell Farfrae the whole thing, so now Farfrae DOES know that she's his daughter, although she still doesn't know.
I'm reading Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge for my English class right now, since our teacher decided that we ought to read some Victorian novel or another. Aside from lolling at the weird plotline and that funny Victorian way of saying things: "writhing in vegetable agony, like leafy Laocoons", I can't help but have certain thoughts and make certain inferences when reading any scene with Michael Henchard and Donald Farfrae. Never mind that Farfrae is ever so clearly being set up for Henchard's daughter. Not that Farfrae knows that she's Henchard's daughter, since Henchard sold his wife and daughter (not entirely seriously) to a sailor for five guineas years and years ago. Not that she knows she's Henchard's daughter either, since she was just a baby when it happened and her mother was far too ashamed to tell her. Lolwhut, Victorian novels!
But how am I supposed to help myself when Thomas Hardy makes it so...
"Donald had wished to get to his lodgings; but he already saw that his friend and employer was a man who knew no moderation in his requests and impulses, and he yielded gracefully. He liked Henchard's warmth, even if it inconvenienced him; the great difference in their characters adding to the liking."
There's more than that lurking in The Mayor of Casterbridge, but it's mostly in little bits and pieces sitting within larger quotes.
So, in conclusion: I'm insane. Thomas Hardy was insane. HOORAY!
edit: From reading just a little further in, Henchard decides to tell Farfrae the whole thing, so now Farfrae DOES know that she's his daughter, although she still doesn't know.
