I find it difficult to comment on Kindred for some reason. I think it's because Octavia Butler's style is so different from the other authors we have read this year. It's true that with books written in different or unique styles, I have a lot more to comment on in terms of images in Mumbo Jumbo or the seemingly random use of historical figures and whether or not that's entirely ethical in Ragtime, whereas with Kindred I read it more to enjoy the story than I did for any other reason. Personally, I really like her style. It's a very conventional novel, I think, and I don't mean it in a bad way.
Unlike Doctorow, Butler writes as though she is very invested in the story. There isn't as much reflection back on herself, and I feel very connected to Dana throughout the whole book. She doesn't write in a tone of detached irony, instead it's very attached, powerful, and in a lot of ways, painfully straightforward. I like it better that way. While Doctorow's writing was funny in its irony, Butler's is more emotional, and I like coming away from a book feeling like I know the characters.
Butler's story has a very linear progression. Unlike Mumbo Jumbo, where everything is so mixed up that I had no way of making logical assumptions about where the story would go, Kindred was more gripping in that I had all these different possibilities of where the story could go. It allowed me to hope and feel sad when something didn't happen the way I wanted it to, which, in the end, made me more emotionally invested in the story.
I also liked that Kindred was linear in that Butler didn't skip around in time. Well, technically she did, with all of Dana's time traveling, but it wasn't as disorienting as reading Slaughterhouse Five. There were clear causes and effects for why Dana was traveling the way she was, whereas Billy Pilgrim's time travel didn't make a whole lot of sense to me.
Overall, I think it's going to be more difficult for me to come up with a response paper topic for Kindred than the other books we've read. All I can really think to talk about are plot movements and character development, or how much I hate Rufus. Oh well. Hopefully inspiration will strike.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
Ending
I liked Kindred, I liked it a lot -- I forgot how nice it was to read books that I actually, truly was interested in. I'm not saying that the other books we've read haven't been good or even that I didn't like them, I'm just saying that if I was walking through a bookstore, Kindred would have been a book I would have picked out on my own.
That being said, I'm conflicted about the ending. Dana killed Rufus, which was some closure for me, but she comes away permanently scarred by her "adventures." The ending is happy, sure, but there isn't a sense that everything is going to return to normal after the danger has passed -- and I'm not sure if I like that or not. It's certainly atypical, I think, in some ways. It kind of annoys me how when she and Kevin take their trip to what used to be the Weylin plantation and they can't find the house, or very many records, really. But at the same time, I think that's really neat of Butler to do.
Kevin and Dana often find themselves thinking of the plantation as "home," even though they don't really like that association. By leaving barely any trace of the plantation, maybe Butler is trying to say something along the lines of, well, maybe Kevin and Dana don't have a home anymore? That, after what they've seen, they can no longer fully integrate themselves into the 1970s society that used to be their home, and that the home they made for themselves in the 19th century has disappeared.
And then there's Dana's arm. It's gone, she left it in the past -- well, they cut it off, but metaphorically speaking, she left it in the past. Her arm is still being crushed by Rufus, in a way, but it's detached from her body. Is that good or bad? There is a part of her that's still being controlled by her ancestor, but she no longer has it with her.... I realize I just repeated the same sentence, but the way I said it in my head emphasized its importance somehow.
Maybe the idea of losing her arm is simply Butler's way of showing us that after looking at the past in great detail, you can never really be whole again. Maybe she's saying that you leave a part of you in that time and you never really get it back. Especially when examining history as gruesome and as horrible as antebellum south -- no one comes away from human atrocity unscathed.
So, maybe it's just that I don't like that message. Why don't I like that message? Perhaps it's just not the happy, hopeful message that I'm used to -- the idea that everything's going to be okay. But even though I don't like it, I think it's a really refreshing idea somehow -- it's not boring and simple and cathartic, it's unsettling and disturbing, and that's probably how we should feel after reading something about slavery.
That being said, I'm conflicted about the ending. Dana killed Rufus, which was some closure for me, but she comes away permanently scarred by her "adventures." The ending is happy, sure, but there isn't a sense that everything is going to return to normal after the danger has passed -- and I'm not sure if I like that or not. It's certainly atypical, I think, in some ways. It kind of annoys me how when she and Kevin take their trip to what used to be the Weylin plantation and they can't find the house, or very many records, really. But at the same time, I think that's really neat of Butler to do.
Kevin and Dana often find themselves thinking of the plantation as "home," even though they don't really like that association. By leaving barely any trace of the plantation, maybe Butler is trying to say something along the lines of, well, maybe Kevin and Dana don't have a home anymore? That, after what they've seen, they can no longer fully integrate themselves into the 1970s society that used to be their home, and that the home they made for themselves in the 19th century has disappeared.
And then there's Dana's arm. It's gone, she left it in the past -- well, they cut it off, but metaphorically speaking, she left it in the past. Her arm is still being crushed by Rufus, in a way, but it's detached from her body. Is that good or bad? There is a part of her that's still being controlled by her ancestor, but she no longer has it with her.... I realize I just repeated the same sentence, but the way I said it in my head emphasized its importance somehow.
Maybe the idea of losing her arm is simply Butler's way of showing us that after looking at the past in great detail, you can never really be whole again. Maybe she's saying that you leave a part of you in that time and you never really get it back. Especially when examining history as gruesome and as horrible as antebellum south -- no one comes away from human atrocity unscathed.
So, maybe it's just that I don't like that message. Why don't I like that message? Perhaps it's just not the happy, hopeful message that I'm used to -- the idea that everything's going to be okay. But even though I don't like it, I think it's a really refreshing idea somehow -- it's not boring and simple and cathartic, it's unsettling and disturbing, and that's probably how we should feel after reading something about slavery.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Rufus
I HATE RUFUS. No really, I do. Never, not once, in the entire book have I felt even an ounce of sympathy for Rufus' character. Okay, maybe that's a little harsh. When he was a little boy drowning in the river, or maybe when he set the curtains on fire, I felt for him because he was little and cute. When he was Alice's friend he was okay, too, but when he grows up I wish I could stop knowing him as a character.
I know he's just a victim of his time, and that there were probably guys way worse than him, and that by making him monstrous, Butler is showing us how the system corrupts everyone, even the people who you think are going to be good. But I hate him, I hate everything he does. To quote Nikita, reading about the things Rufus does is like "an affront to my humanity." I just can't stand it. Is it because I'm a woman? Is it because I feel some gender based connection to these characters as Rufus tries to rape them or beat them, or even simply justify their beatings? Maybe it's all the political heat around issues concerning women these days that is making me so sensitive, but I don't care. He makes me sick.
In a way, it makes me hate Dana a little bit, too. Perhaps it's just me being a reader, looking at the situation from the safety of my couch, just thinking, "If that was me, he'd be dead in a second," even if it wasn't really true. But so what? It makes me hate her, the way she puts up with him, the way she was willing to "forgive him even this," at the end of the book, the way she sees herself starting to mold into the time and accept human atrocities and be a victim of them herself like it's no big deal.
Anyway, back to Rufus. He's just a child in a man's body. Maybe that's the point of the antebellum system -- he never really matures, because if he had matured, maybe he would have seen he flaws. You can sort of see him start to mature when he finally allows Joe to call him daddy, but that's far too late in the game for him to get any sort of forgiveness out of me.
He's pathetic -- all slave owners were, and don't tell me that's why I should sympathize with him, because he's a victim, and he's trying, and he's not as bad as he could be, save it, please! I don't agree. I don't think, in anyway, I could sympathize for Rufus ever. Pity him, maybe on a good day. But sympathy? Never.
I know he's just a victim of his time, and that there were probably guys way worse than him, and that by making him monstrous, Butler is showing us how the system corrupts everyone, even the people who you think are going to be good. But I hate him, I hate everything he does. To quote Nikita, reading about the things Rufus does is like "an affront to my humanity." I just can't stand it. Is it because I'm a woman? Is it because I feel some gender based connection to these characters as Rufus tries to rape them or beat them, or even simply justify their beatings? Maybe it's all the political heat around issues concerning women these days that is making me so sensitive, but I don't care. He makes me sick.
In a way, it makes me hate Dana a little bit, too. Perhaps it's just me being a reader, looking at the situation from the safety of my couch, just thinking, "If that was me, he'd be dead in a second," even if it wasn't really true. But so what? It makes me hate her, the way she puts up with him, the way she was willing to "forgive him even this," at the end of the book, the way she sees herself starting to mold into the time and accept human atrocities and be a victim of them herself like it's no big deal.
Anyway, back to Rufus. He's just a child in a man's body. Maybe that's the point of the antebellum system -- he never really matures, because if he had matured, maybe he would have seen he flaws. You can sort of see him start to mature when he finally allows Joe to call him daddy, but that's far too late in the game for him to get any sort of forgiveness out of me.
He's pathetic -- all slave owners were, and don't tell me that's why I should sympathize with him, because he's a victim, and he's trying, and he's not as bad as he could be, save it, please! I don't agree. I don't think, in anyway, I could sympathize for Rufus ever. Pity him, maybe on a good day. But sympathy? Never.
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