Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Hamlet's Use of Language

Hamlet is intimidating, head-strong, and stubborn.  This is made obvious through his choice of words and uses of metaphors, irony and puns throughout Shakespeare’s Hamlet.  The tongue sparring is found throughout the play, but mostly when Hamlet is speaking to the King (Claudius, his uncle), Polonius, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.   Less frequently, he turns his words against others like his mother and Ophelia.  He enjoys turning deserving people’s own words against them and making them squirm with the very things he says.   
            The first time we hear Hamlet he uses verbal irony against the King, Claudius.  When Claudius calls him cousin—meaning relative, Claudius is Hamlet’s late father’s brother—and son—for Claudius is now married to Hamlet’s mother—Hamlet retorts, “A little more than kin, a little less than kind.”  He says he is “too much in the sun,” not really referring to the celestial body but to the homophone “son.”  Claudius is abusing the term “son” in Hamlet’s eyes, for Claudius has quickly married his widowed mother and Hamlet is not yet done mourning his birth father’s death.
            Hamlet’s abusive language does not go unnoticed.  Even the dim-witted Polonius seems to notice: “How pregnant sometimes his replies are!” he says, “A happiness that often that madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of.”  Once Hamlet gets sparring he doesn’t slow down.  This is what he enjoys doing, it excites him, and he’s good at it.
            Often Hamlet speaks with double meanings, irony or puns, but not always.  Hamlet doesn’t waste his good wit on the dull Polonius, he just says things to mess with him.  When Polonius says the play is too long, Hamlet says his beard is too long.  Hamlet messes with Polonius and Polonius takes it.  An example of this is when Hamlet is looking up the clouds he says he sees one that looks like a camel.  Polonius agrees it looks like a camel.  Then Hamlet changes his mind and says it looks like a weasel and then a whale.  Each time Polonius agrees.   It doesn’t take a genius to realize that camels, weasels and whales look nothing alike, but Polonius, eager to please Hamlet, who is just proving his wit, takes it all in stride, oblivious to the fact that he is Hamlet’s joke.
            Most of the time, Hamlet makes his mean remarks to those the reader would usually deem deserving: Claudius, Polonius, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.  Occasionally, however, Hamlet will turn around Ophelia’s words or those of his own mother.  One example is when Hamlet and Gertrude are in her chambers talking Gertrude says, “Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.”  She means he has offended Claudius with his bad attitude and harsh words.  Hamlet says almost the same exact words back to her, but coming from Hamlet they have a very different meaning.  “Mother, you have my father much offended.”  They are not talking about the same man.  Hamlet is speaking of his late father, brother of Gertrude’s current husband, and he is accusing her.  Hamlet genuinely loves his mother, but not even she can escape his harsh tongue.
            Hamlet’s use of metaphor is almost as impressive as his use of irony.  He can use metaphors, too, to insult his victims.  He calls Rosencrantz a sponge because he “soaks up the king’s countenance, his rewards, his authorities. . . . When he needs what [Rosencrantz] has gleaned, it is but squeezing [him], and [the sponge] shall be dry again.”  Rosencrantz likely has no idea what Hamlet is talking about, but with a little investigation the meaning becomes clearer to the readers.  To Hamlet, Rosencrantz is sucking up the king’s attentions and when the king no longer requires his assistance, he will take those attentions back.  All this meaning can be found in Hamlet’s simple metaphoric image of a wet sponge being wrung out after use.
            Hamlet sometimes carries his metaphors and puns a little too far.  When the setting is gone dark and all other characters are distraught, Hamlet keeps a cool head and keeps the irony flowing from his mouth.  He has just killed Polonius and stashed the body, which is serious business indeed, but when asked where the body is hidden, Hamlet replies with two words only: “At supper.”  Claudius falls right into Hamlets verbal trap and asks, “At supper where?”  Hamlet then launches into one of his most vivid speeches and carries his pun through:
            “Not where he eats, but where he is eaten.  A certain convocation of politic worms are e’en at him.  Your worm is your only emperor for diet.  We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.  Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service—two dishes but to one table. . . . A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king and eat of the fish that fed of that worm. . . . [And this is] how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.”
            Basically, this is one of the biggest insults anyone could ever give a king, and Hamlet says it all so matter-of-fact like.  Hamlet has just told his father in law that worms are above him on the food chain, for when Claudius is dead the worms will eat him.  And a king and a beggar are the same meal to a maggot.  This is very insulting, as a king would never want to be thought of as being anything near a beggar.  And then Hamlet says that a beggar could be higher than a king on the chain if he eats the fish that ate the worm that ate the king.  Hamlet knows exactly what he is doing.
Hamlet is brilliant at come-backs and insults.  He always abuses and often accuses through his use of irony, metaphors, and puns.  He uses his language to drive his point hard into the ears of his victims, to make them squirm under his glance.  Hamlet’s language is what makes him who he is.  His language is what intimidates.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Broken

I fell and scattered, shattered
into a thousand pieces
across the room,
and laid, waiting
for someone to put me back together.

No one came, but it’s all the same:
Mended or not
I’m now cracked
and incapable
of holding anything inside. 

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Newest Novel Idea: Part 4

           The next morning I got up earlier than I normally would, meaning I only pushed snooze once.  I said a quick prayer, read a few scriptures and then I slid into a pair of dark jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt.
            There were two hours before my first class started at nine.  Usually, I didn’t even have 15 minutes before class after I get ready.  What was I going to do with all this time?  I was tempted to turn on my laptop and watch an episode of Monk, but I refrained.  Instead, I grabbed my iPod, keys, and coat, and headed out the door.
            One good thing about February is that the days get longer.  It was already light outside and it was only 7am.  The air was cold around me.  I drew in an icy breath and felt some of my negative energy leaving me.  I was outside.  It felt so good to be outside with nowhere to go.  I didn’t have to rush off to class or walk to the Wal-Mart to buy shampoo.  I had nowhere to go and two hours to get there.
            At first I stayed on campus, balancing on the edges of the fountain and flower beds.  I felt like a child again.  After a few minutes I strayed over to the institute building.  There was old heavy snow on the ground.  I attempted to make a snowman, but the snow was frozen solid.  If I stood perfectly still, I could stand on top of it without sinking.  It made me feel pretty good about myself knowing that I was light enough to be supported.   Obviously this was not the right kind of snow for snow angels either.  So I moved on.
            Around 45 minutes were spent walking around the cemetery.  A lot of people think that cemeteries are creepy, but I find them calm and serene.  I read the names and dates on almost every headstone I passed, mentally doing subtraction to figure out their ages.  There were the very young, children who died in infancy, and the very old; I found one man who had lived for 102 long years.
Go Back

Go to Part 5

Newest Novel Idea: Part 3

            I returned to my room to find Tamera still dreaming pleasantly.  I dropped my scriptures on the floor, a little too mercilessly, and then collapsed face first onto my bed.  I could feel my skirt riding up, and even though no one was around besides my unconscious roommate, it made me feel uncomfortable.
            I rummaged through my closet for a minute, trying to find something to change into, but then I gave up.  I pulled my PJs off the top of my hamper and slipped them on.  If I was going to be sulking, I would at least be comfortable.
            There was no real reason for me to feel so down on life, it was a conscious choice I made.  Some people wake up each morning, breath in the fresh air of a new day, stretch all their worries away.  Not me.  I wake up each morning thinking to myself why does morning have to come every single day?! I literally roll out of my bed and slink off to the bathroom.  I stare at myself in the mirror way longer than is required before I ever get out my make-up or hair supplies.  I just look into my eyes, trying to find the light that used to be there that is now gone.
            My attitude was a dimmer.  I closed the curtains on the windows to my soul.  I didn’t know if I really wanted anyone to see in.  I mean, I longed for romance, but I was afraid of friendship.  I guess I was kind of expecting love to just find me without much effort on my part.
            The light may have been dim, but it had always been there, until recently.  Somehow I couldn’t find it at all.  I’d just stare and stare thinking about what I’d done wrong and what I needed to do better.  But I couldn’t make myself change.  I wanted to change, but I didn’t believe I could, I guess.  My head was muddled.  My spirit was muddled.
            I’ve never been too good about daily prayer, personal scripture study, journal writing, etc.  I guess I’d been getting by on “borrowed light.”  But borrowed light was still light.  So what had happened to mine?
            I laid on my bed thinking about these things, once again.  I listened to Tamera’s steady heavy breathing, feeling slightly jealous that she could sleep in the middle of the day like that.  I’ve tried to, and usually about the time I drift off someone wakes me up to go to dinner.  I sat up; It was about dinner time now.  That’s what happens when Church doesn’t get out until 4 in the afternoon.
            “Tamera,” I said, loud enough to wake her, “Wanna go eat food?”
            “No.” She rolled over and pulled her lime green comforter over her head.
            I laid back down and stared at the MormonAds across the room.  I had put them up, perhaps to remind me to be better than I naturally am.  They weren’t working.  Or more aptly, I wasn’t working.  One of the posters taunted me to “rise above the blues.”  I ignored it and pulled out a box of cereal.  I didn’t feel like walking across campus again in this February weather.
            I’d prayed to God one hundred times to help me change, to help me become happier.  But had I really done my part?  Is happiness something you have to work at, or is it something some people just naturally have?  I wasn’t sure, but I was going to make the 101st prayer count.  Tomorrow I was going to get out of my room.  I didn’t know where I would go, but sitting in front of a laptop watching chick flicks and crime shows was getting me nowhere. 
Go Back

Go to Part 4

Newest Novel Idea: Part 2

               Well, I was holding a guy’s hand at that very moment.  It was another one of those Mor-mon handshakes, and he was married anyway.
               “Hi, Kymber,” Brother Jinks, second counselor to the Bishop said with authority, “This is Joshua.”
               I took Josh’s hand.  Instant discomfort.  He was a dead-fish shaker.   This kind of hand-shake can only be made worse with cold hands, and Joshua’s hands were freezing.  Great, a dead fish on ice.
               “Can you guess why I just introduced you?”
               For a moment some part of me, a stupid and desperate part, entertained the idea that Brother Jinks might be hooking me up.  How did he know I needed a date?
               I looked over Joshua again.  His hair wasn’t dark, but it was thick.  I’d give him half cre-dit for that.  He was taller than me, another plus, though not hard to achieve.  He was a little scrawny, but I was a little overweight, so neither of us was really the gym-hitting type.  I guess this could work. Besides, then I could teach him how to properly shake hands.
               “I’m sure I don’t have a clue,” I told Brother Jinks.
               “You can’t think of any reason?”
               I shook my head and anticipation built up inside me.
               “We’re your new home teachers!” Brother Jinks exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than was actually required for these sort of things.
               “Oh, great,” I muttered, “I mean, good, good. That’ll be . . . nice.”
               That was it.  I was leaving.
               It’s so hard to be single in a church of families.  Okay, so I go to the single’s ward.  But half of those people are engaged or steadily dating.  They scratch each other’s backs in sacrament meeting.  The hold hands in Sunday school. And then they act like they’re parting for eternity when they have to separate for Priesthood and Relief Society.  It’s quite sickening.
               Usually it’s not so bad.  Tamera, my current roommate, usually sits with me, equally sin-gle.  But today, Tamera was sick and those had to be the longest three hours I’ve ever endured.
I missed the single’s ward I’d had at the community college.  Now that I was at the Uni-versity I felt even more insignificant and invisible.  I was one of 200 people in my ward.  My other ward had 60 people total.  I would be surprised if the Bishop even knew my name.  But there I go again.
                Brother Jinks and Joshua set up an appointment for later that week and I finally made my escape.

Go Back

Go to Part 3

Newest Novel Idea: Part 1

               It was finally over.  After three long hours I could go back to my room and take a much needed nap.  When I tell you what I’ve been doing for the last three hours you might be disappointed in my bad attitude.  In fact, I’m sure you’ve already guessed by now and are already considering putting this book down to read something a little more uplifting.  But don’t, just bare with me a little longer.

            I gathered up the fifty cutesy handouts the Relief Society teacher had printed out on cardstock and mercilessly shoved them in my scripture bag.  I looped the handle around my left arm and started to leave the room.  I realized my mistake only moments later.  My mistake was that I left my right hand free, something you should never do inside a Latter-day Saint building if you wanted to get out untouched.  I shook hands all the way from the classroom to the front doors.
            I’m not a germaphobe or anything, but I do have my own personal bubble which everyone at Church seems to want to invade.  This ward wasn’t as bad as others in that sense, I only had to worry about shaking hands here.  Back at home random old ladies would sit down next to me, put their arms around me and welcome me to Relief Society.
            “I can’t believe you’re already 18,” they’d tell me, a little too close to my ear, “I remember when you would run around in sacrament meeting with nothing but a diaper and skirt on.  You used to really hate shirts, didn’t you?”
            Well, I wear shirts all the time now.  Actually, I prefer to wear shirts with high collars, low waistlines, and longish sleeves.  I suppose that comes from being a Mormon, or maybe just that if someone is talking to me, I want them to be talking to me and not my chest or stomach.
            I’m also not 18.  I’m 21.  Twenty-one and single.  In fact, it’s worse than that.  I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve never had a boyfriend, I’ve never kissed, never held hands.  The last time I went on a date was when I was 18.  Which is partly my fault, I suppose.  After high school, where the only dances I attended were girls’ choice, I decided that it was the men’s turn to start asking.  I was headed for community college.  I wanted to go to a university, but this college was free!  They gave me a full-ride scholarship just for existing.  I was ecstatic.  College would be the perfect place, a fresh start from my awkward years.  Most exciting was the prospect of new datable men.  I soon found out, however, that my picture of college was all wrong.
            My freshman year I spent a lot of time in my dorm room with the door open waiting for friends to invite themselves into my life.  As a result, the only friend I actually made was the one who had no choice to be in the room as well, my roommate, Wendy Allen.  Wendy was great and we had a lot in common, the same music, the same movies, we both wanted to convert Michael Bublé and then marry him.  We’d fight over who could have him until we found out he was engaged.  Then we’d argue about who would get Zachary Levi.  Of course, then we found out he was a smoker.  So then we wouldn’t fight about anything unless I’d get in a sour mood. Then Wendy would tell me, “Kymber, STOP IT” in her perfect theatre major diction.  For some reason we haven’t talked since she graduated at the end of my freshman year.  I suspect I was a little overbearing, much like a giant black raincloud hovering overhead about to burst at any moment. But there I go being a Grumpy-Gus again.
            Wendy went on three dates while I knew her.  I know what you’re thinking, “Three dates?! She only went on three?”  Well, that was three more than I’d been on.  Not for lack of trying.  I tried everything, short of asking the guys myself, for three long years.  I’ve been from no make-up to lots of make-up to moderate make-up.  I went from t-shirts to blouses to Wal-Mart specials.  I’ve had long hair and medium and short.  Thin glasses, thick glasses, no glasses.  And with all my variety in bait, you’d think I would have caught at least a small fish.  But no.  Not one fish bit.
I did get asked on a date once freshman year, by Levi Haycock.  Wendy had helped me pick out the cutest clothes I owned, a green shirt and long flowing black skirt.  Then I did my make-up. I was in the middle of doing my hair when there was a knock at the door.  Surely it couldn’t be Levi, he was 45 minutes early!  It was Levi.  I answered the door with a curling iron up to my scalp.
“You look . . .” He began in his shy way, “Um . . . you’re not doing your hair for the date are you?”
“Um . . .” What did that mean? Levi hadn’t told me what we were doing.  Maybe I was over-dressed.  Maybe he was concerned I’d spent all this time on my hair and it would just get wind-blown.  Maybe he was taking me horse-back riding! “Why?” I asked.
“Um . . . I’m going to have to cancel, my roommate Joe . . .” He let his words fade out as he closed the door behind him.
As I listened to his footsteps retreating I gave Wendy an appalled look. All she said in return was, “Hair! Kymber, your hair!”
I stared her for a moment before realizing I still had the iron up to my head.  I lost a big chunk of hair that day, and that is when I went from long hair to short hair overnight.
Levi never explained why he stood me up and he never asked me out again.  I suppose I shouldn’t dwell on that too much, I just got his wedding invitation in the mail. Scott and Linda Allen would like to announce the marriage of their daughter Wendy Lynn to Levi Peter Haycock.
There was more, but I’ll spare you the details.  I don’t know how it happened.  They must have met up after graduation or something.  When they announced it on Facebook I thought it was some kind of joke.  We’ll see who gets the last laugh.
Here’s something I just don’t get.  A whole lot of my friends and acquaintances are married.  One in five of the people I know who are around my age (5 years either direction) are married, engaged, or have children.  How is this possible when I still stay up at night wondering what it feels like to hold a guy’s hand? 
Go to Part 2

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Murder in the Park

Murder in the Park
Cast
Katie
Rob

Place: A park outside a train station.

(KATIE is sleeping on a park bench, it is approximately 4 o’clock in the morning. She is wearing an ugly sweater with a wide neck; one of the sleeves is obviously, ridiculously longer than the other. ROB approaches wearing a police uniform, carrying a big flashlight and shakes KATIE awake)
ROB:          Excuse me for waking you, miss.  Can I ask you what you are doing in this park at this hour?
KATIE:      Ugh! I just barely fell asleep! What time is it?
ROB:          (HE pulls out his cell phone.) It’s 4:17 in the morning.  I’m Officer Rob Garn. 
KATIE:      4:17? I guess I’ve been sleeping almost 4 hours then. My name’s Katie. 
ROB:          Katie, what are you doing in the park so late at night?  The curfew is in effect to help our citizens, you know.  Are you homeless?
KATIE:      No.  I’m not homeless.  I got off the train after midnight; we had some delays, it was running slow so we got here late.  I think it was something about someone losing their tie on the track. (Yawns)  Seems silly they’d stop so long for something like that, but it took forever.  By the time I got to this town, the last train had already left, and the station is closed until seven.  I didn’t know what to do, I was so tired.  Then I saw this cute little park and it looked friendly, so I just lied down.  (Yawns) Anyway, I’m not actually from around here, so I didn’t know about the curfew.  Am I in trouble, officer?  Are you going to arrest me or something?  Do I need to call my dad, because he wouldn’t be happy about me waking him up?
ROB:          No, ma’am.  How old are you anyway?
KATIE:      I’m nineteen, that’s definitely old enough to be travelling alone.  If you must know, I’m on my way back home.  My Granny is getting senile and my mom thought she needed a babysitter for the summer.  She lives in this one small town, Coalcreek; it’s even smaller than this one! (Yawns) I hate trains, but this will be the last one before I get back to my hometown, and then my daddy’s picking me up at this one station tomorrow in the city.  I texted him to tell him the train wasn’t coming, or at least I wasn’t on it, but I don’t know if he got it.  You got cell service out here?
ROB:          It’s hit-and-miss. Heck, half the time we don’t even have internet.
KATIE:      That’s horrible! (Pause) It sure is cold out.  I didn’t bring any jackets, because I didn’t think it would be this cold, so my Gran knitted this one ugly sweater for me. 
ROB:          It’s not that bad. It could definitely be worse.
KATIE:      How?  It was so humiliating; she made me wear it out in public!  The sleeves aren’t even the same length. People always try to tell me that women can’t be color-blind, but I swear Gran is.  She’s probably normal-blind too.  Is that what it’s called?  Normal-blind?  
ROB:          At least it’s not a sweater-vest.  (Pause) Anyway, I hate to scare you, Katie, but this curfew is in effect because there has been a series of murders lately.  It’s been all over the news, the entire state knows about it. There was a fourth one tonight, at this very park; the body was found a couple of hours ago.
KATIE:      Murders! Why didn’t you say so?  That is pretty scary, but isn’t it exciting?  It’s like something out of a TV show.  How’d they die?
ROB:          We think that tonight’s victim died of strangulation.  You don’t seem too concerned about this. Most young women wouldn’t want to be alone in this park.  Aren’t you the least bit frightened?
KATIE:      Why should I be?  I’m with a police officer.  (Pause) Strangulation?  That’s kind of like suffocation, right?  When you can’t get enough air? (Pause)  I assume you have a gun. (ROB nods.)  Well, see, I’ll be perfectly safe.  I can’t suspect you then, since the girls were strangled, not shot.
ROB:          I never said they were girls.
KATIE:      I just assumed, I guess.  In all the movies the serial killers targeted girls, but I suppose they’d kill a man or two that got in the way. (Pause) What else ya got on ya?
ROB:          I have a little bit of rope.
KATIE:      (Sarcastically) Ya, that’ll keep us safe.
ROB:          I could use it to hog-tie the victim.
KATIE:      Victim?  Oh, you mean the murder suspect.  I guess that might work, like, if you didn’t have hand-cuffs, or if you want to tie their legs so they can’t run away.  Do you have to carry hand-cuffs?
ROB:          I do.
KATIE:      I thought so.  It wouldn’t make sense for a policeman to not carry hand-cuffs.  I bet there’s a lot of stuff you have to carry around.  Like on your belt and stuff.  I bet you’re like Batman with that one utility belt of his.  I bet all that stuff slows you down.
ROB:          Well, we don’t carry around as much stuff as Batman, and really you get used to it all being there, you feel weird without it.
KATIE:      Like when you’re wearing a hat, like, all day, and you take it off and it still feels like it’s on your head?
ROB:          Yeah, something like that. I actually don’t have my cuffs with me. Sometimes I can be such an idiot. At least I have my rope.
KATIE:      I’ll be so glad when this is over and I’ll be home in a few hours.  Back to real civilization!  If only this station wasn’t closed I could be there already!
ROB:          Now, from what you’ve told me you’ve been in this park since a little after midnight.
KATIE:      Yeah, that’s right, there was a tie on the—
ROB:          That places you in the park around the approximate time we believe the murder occurred.
KATIE:      I’m not a suspect, am I?  You said it was a serial killer. I don’t even live in—
ROB:          I only have your word telling me you don’t live in this town.  That means that you are a suspect.  You’ll have to come with me to the station, if not to interrogate you at least as a precaution to keep you safe.  I’m afraid there is no way you will be getting home at all this morning.
KATIE:      I—I can’t be a suspect.  I’m innocent. I don’t have anything that could be a weapon.  Except maybe this sweater, a person could die just by looking at it! Surely you trust me?
ROB:          If you are innocent, then you won’t mind coming with me.  If you have nothing to hide you should be perfectly fine. Right?
KATIE:      I guess.
(ROB starts walking away from Katie towards the parking lot.  KATIE follows him.)
KATIE:      Geez, it’s sure dark over here. I guess didn’t realize the park was lit. It sure makes a big difference. I’m glad you have that big flashlight. All I have is my cell phone. (ROB pulls out a length of rope. KATIE passes ROB as they continue walking, she takes off her sweater.)
ROB:          I thought you said you were cold, why did you take your sweater off.
(Katie turns, her sweater stretched taut between both hands.)
KATIE:      I thought you said we were safe, why did you take your rope out?
(ROB stretches his rope out similar to how Katie is holding her sweater. BOTH take a step towards each other.)
Curtain