Al-Shaykh: Breaking with Tradition

In her work, "The Swimming Pool," Hanan Al-Shaykh uses settings as well as natural images to compare the tension between custom and contemporary life, as seen through the adolescent narrator's eyes. Images of her home village are claustrophobic, such as the first scene of her "in the tent for threading the tobacco, amidst the mounds of tobacco plants and the skewers. Cross-legged, [...she] breathe[s] in the green odor, threading one leaf after another" (Al-Shaykh 1728). The physical confinement of a tent is both narrow and bland, given the impression of a tent as tan fabric without adornment. Coupled with the amount of tobacco products and the odor, the senses close in without reprieve or variation. Even the speaker's physical position of sitting cross-legged seems compressed and tight. The reader cannot blame her for leaving the tent to get a drink of water, but even as she excuses herself and claims to be thirsty, there is also the sense of desiring to escape. She admits "I am exasperated at being in the tent" (Al-Shaykh 1728). However, the relief of the water is short-lived, for she is called back to the tent. Throughout the story, it is the idea of going to the sea and swimming that drives the action. Due to tradition, the speaker is not allowed to swim in a co-ed place, and so hearing about a women's-only swimming pool provides opportunity to escape her village and experience more of the world, as well as enjoy the refreshment of swimming in hot weather. The sea is elusive and remote from the speaker,  In a reproduction of the sea she contemplates its beauty, explaining "the more I gazed at it, the cooler I felt its waters to be, and the more they invited me to bathe in them; they knew I had been born amidst dust and mud and the stench of tobacco" (Al-Shaykh 1729). Given the depiction of living with mud and dust, the speaker is tied to the earth. Water, however, possesses opportunity for travel and transformation. The sea, especially, is active with its tides and represents the potential to travel and escape. Ironically, however, the speaker realizes that as much as she wants to distance herself from her roots, they are a part of her. Similar to the water, it is difficult to separate the waves from their source. Rather than escaping, the speaker's journey to find the sea is more an experience of illumination. Seeing her lifestyle from the perspective of others provides the proof that alternate ways of thinking and living are equally possible.

Death

Paul Celan created poems that showcase the tension between impending death and possibly martyrdom both during and after the Holocaust. “Deathfugue” and “Aspen Tree” have contrasting images of dark and light, adding to the juxtaposed sense of hope and loss. Though the world continues on through his writing, the poems convey the sense that though the Holocaust may be over, its imprint of death and loss has tainted the world.

            Throughout “Deathfugue” there is a refrain, like the musical and dance prisoners were forced to perform. The speaker states “Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night/ we drink you at morning and midday we drink you at evening/ we drink and we drink” (Celan lns. 10-12). In the ongoing endurance there is a sense of martyrdom of the prisoners who are aware of their plight and still continue on, morning, noon and night. Rather than uprise, there is a compliance and docility but still an awareness of the situation that keeps the prisoners from being sheep. By enduring amidst the omnipresence of death but understanding how likely eventual demise is, the juncture of death and martyrdom is constantly present. With increasing risk the speaker continues the refrain, until “he shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true” (Celan 29). Though this means death it is also release; instead of drinking in the black milk the speaker becomes ash and is free.

            A similar fate is found in “Aspen Tree,” but instead of black milk the speaker notes “Aspen tree, your leaves glance white in the dark./ My mother’s hair never turned white” (Celan 1-2). White is symbolic of peace and old age, such as in the wood of an ancient tree; the speaker’s mother is removed from such a fate. In each stanza, there is a natural element, be it “dandelion” or “rain cloud,” but the mother is consistently removed from the natural world, suggesting her death; the final confirmation is that “my gentle mother cannot return” (Celan 10). Constantly contrasted with the images of nature and vitality, the mother is connected with death. Though she was “gentle” and “fair,” this could not save her from death. While the poem is not graphic and possesses a simplicity that is child-like, this makes the death all the more unbearable. The Holocaust made numerous martyrs, but the status of martyrdom is not a comfort—it does not assuage the loss.

            Retrospectively, martyrdom is applied perhaps as a way to give meaning and dignity to an unnecessary death. For Celan, it does not mitigate the loss. While death offers a sort of peace, unjust death still grates. Sadly, amidst the horrors of the Holocaust, death was arguably kinder than enduring the concentration camps—such is the power of man to make life unbearable.

Neruda

In his poem “Walking Around,” Pablo Neruda expresses both a disdain for life and the conflicting desire to still exist. He contrasts images of death with a continual sense of motion and moving around, even emphasized in the name of the poem, which matches the sense that although one may grow tired of life, it continues on. Although man may recognize and despise the difficulties of life, he carries on with alternating hope and disillusionment.

            Neruda’s speaker confides “I am tired of being a man,” following his statement with regular places people travel to: “tailor’s shops and the movies […] barber shops” (lns. 1-2, 5). Though the locations are normal, it is perhaps the routine nature that is inescapable and tiresome. This goes a step further with the speaker’s saying he is “tired of […his] feet and […] nails/ and […] hair and […] shadow” (9-10). The sense of disillusionment moves beyond the world around and comes back to the individual himself, as no longer wants to be associated with parts of himself. There are then juxtapositions that contradict the presumed status quo, which are the first images to interest or excite the speaker. He would feel pleasure “to scare a notary with a cut lily/ or knock a nun stone dead with one blow of an ear” (13-14). While the speaker is not happy with his reality, the idea of breaking with convention is diverting. The notary, someone associated with drudgery, contrasts with the image of the lily, but that it is a “cut lily” adds more danger to the description. Subsequently, blowing on a nun’s ear contradicts the vows of chastity and purity, evoking a sense of the physical pleasures of life. In these contemplations is the reader shown reasons that people continue on—love, pleasure, excitement. However, these images are also illusions. If they occurred, views of the world would be unstable and inaccurate. Despite the distracting illusions, the poem concludes with images of “courtyards hung with clothes on wires/ underpants, towels, and shirts which weep/ slow dirty tears” (43-45). The reality of the world is bleak and unromantic, which is sad—this is the perception of the city. Though there is potential, it remains unfulfilled, and so there is a sense of failure or lack of fruition.

            Daily life remains a grind, tedious and onerous in the rhythm of the city. Though full of life, it is not idyllic or pleasant. While “Walking Around,” the speaker is not in a pasture or garden, but in the thick of life. It is predictable and poor, leading to an even more dismal end of decay and rot.

Gender

          Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis’s work “The Rod of Justice” possesses an ironic title. The concept of justice in this story is skewed, largely because of the power tension between genders. Sinha Rita is seen as formidable and desirable; for this reason the defunct seminary student, Damiao, seeks her out when he runs away from his school. Though he perceives her as his salvation, he also struggles with her slavery practice, especially that a little girl might be beaten for laughing on his account. However, Damiao does not plead with Sinha Rita to spare the rod. Originally the reader understands Damiao “was sorry for the little balck girl, and resolved to protect her if she did not finish her task” (de Assist 913). This changes when his personal interests are jeopardized by intervening on the little girl’s behalf. Initially his role as man leads him to expect his superiority and ability to curb Sinha Rita’s anger and protect the child; however, he sees her temper and resolve to be unwavering in her interaction with his godfather. Rather than risk her malice, he allows his ideals to be subordinate to personal interest.

            Sinha Rita possesses a hold over men that is similar to the stereotypical draw of a beautiful woman, that she may manipulate men or hold over them the threat of losing the pleasure of her company and good graces. Coupled with this appeal is a tenacity which does not brook arguments or disobedience. While this very strength is what Damiao seeks when trying to avoid his father’s wrath, he encounters a similar violence in Sinha Rita; in this case, it is acted out on a slave rather than on himself. As a man, Damiao is typically the party in power, but his weakness of character shows in the fear of both his father and not standing up to Sinha Rita. After Damiao’s defection is known to the father, a letter is delivered explaining “the father was furious and wanted to smash things. He had shouted ‘no sir,’ the young dandy would go to the seminary, or he would have him locked up” (de Assis 915). Damiao might be seen to modern readers as an independent thinker, one following his personal goals rather than obligation; the father’s perception is that his son is failing to fulfill his duty and would rather be unproductive. The two poles represent an over-vigorous male character and a decidedly weak one, who hides behind the protection of someone. Sinha Rita is not a character much more flattering, because she is hardened in the control of slaves and orders everyone around in a similar manner.

            Despite gender, characters in the story are consistently out of balance—some being too weak, others to violent or inflexible. Sinha Rita represents the potential to help others but also the tendency to abuse that power; Damiao’s character is indicative of those who buy into that person of power’s role, supporting them for selfish reasons while certain actions may conflict with individual morals. Indulgence of either character type is dangerous, whether male or female.

Martí and Darío

                In comparing the work of Walt Whitman and Ruben Dario, there is a surface difference, given the demographics of the writers. However, both choose to write poems in which the speakers make a declaration of identity. For Whitman, he names himself as the speaker and lists all of the pleasures he enjoys as the citizen of America’s democracy. Dario acknowledges the power of the United States of America, but also asserts the depth of his own part of America, further south. Thought each poet asserts his identity within a different geography, both come back to a sense of power and pride in that lifestyle.

                In Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself,” specifically part 24, he begins with ownership of the poem and his physical existence, writing “Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son,/ Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking, and breeding” (lns. 1-2). The assertion of himself through the poem and ownership of sensuality indicate a freedom that is part of an ideal democracy. Whitman then equivocates “Whoever degrades another degrades me,/ And whatever is done or said returns at last to me./ […] I give the sign of democracy,/ By God!  I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of/ on the same terms” (7-8, 10-12). The sense of connection and ownership relate back to the fact that by nature and all being human, we are connected. Though Whitman himself may enjoy liberties, as a member of the human race, denigration of others is a direct affront to all. Whitman even invokes the name of God, which is a cultural belief across groups. While the idea may be signified by another name or possess a slightly different significance, this is another element that connects Whitman and Dario.

                Ruben Dario’s work “No.” begins with affirmation of the United States’ “grand and powerful” status, one so influential that “Whenever it trembles, a profound shudder/ runs down the enormous backbone of the Andes” (1-3). On a surface level, the U.S. appears to be an indomitable force, but then the idea of the Andes being a backbone suggests the power and subtle strength of South America. While the two are connected and what happens in the U.S. may carry over into the connected lands, there is still a power and durability, like a backbone. Dario goes on to compare that the two cultures are different but still equally powerful; while America was endowed with stars, South America has older jewels of tradition. The speaker then issues a warning: “Be careful./ Long live Spanish America!/ A thousand cubs of the Spanish lions are roaming free./ Roosevelt, you must become, by God’s own will,/ the deadly Rifleman and the dreadful Hunter/ Before you catch us in your iron claws” (44-5). There is a sense of pride and vigor similar to Whitman’s declaration, as well as the understanding that this culture will not cede to the will of others easily. Though Dario says that Roosevelt must become a hunter because God wills it, he then concludes of America: “you are lacking on thing: God!” (51). It is then seemingly ironic when Dario cites the will of God for United States intervention—it appears that human will is justified falsely to God.

                Both Whitman and Dario speak of the beauty of their lifestyles, but criticize the imposition of other will or lack of freedom. For Whitman, this is empathized toward others in that situation; for Dario, it is a personal lack of freedom. However, Dario is not a victim, his culture is not weak or easily defeated; while the United States is powerful, there is a community of strength and a history of endurance that suggests his culture will endure. And that would please Whitman, who suggests a displeasure for any man forced to be without freedom and liberty.

An Essay on Man

Alexander Pope's An Essay on Man navigates the issue of theodicy articulately, concluding that man's situation is intended for him to have enough pleasure to enjoy life and enough ignorance to be unaware of larger worries that would detract from the joy of living. The issue with his argument is that it is predicated upon a universal creator, an assertion which is assumed but never proven. If we challenge the existence of a creator, the question of theodicy falls more to the uncaring aspect of nature. Death, deformity, pain, ailments--it all becomes less orderly without a larger creator and plan.

Pope begins his essay with the assertion "that man is not to be deemed imperfect, but a being suited to his place and rank in the creation, agreeable to the general order of things, and conformable to ends and relations to him unknown, [...]. That it is partly upon his ignorance of future events, and partly upon the hope of a future state, that all his happiness in the present state depends" (90). Given his assertion, it is clear that Pope believes in larger order and plan, than man is created fittingly for his role, and that this status, along with lack of greater knowledge, is intended to enable man to enjoy the present (as the future is unknowable, and ultimately leads to death). Pope criticizes "the pride of aiming at more knowledge, and pretending to more perfection, the cause of man's error and misery," which refers to not only growing study in technical and medical sciences, but also relates back to the Garden of Eden, or as Pope writes, "Garden, tempting with forbidden fruit" (Pope 90). In reaching to know more, Pope argues that man is "presumptuous" and in lamenting one's state, we should "say not Man's imperfect, Heave in fault/ Say rather, Man's as perfect as he ought" (Pope 91-92). Continually Pope relies upon an unknown cosmic order as justification for being satisfied with one's status; questioning this role is offensive to the great creator and shows the small-sightedness of man. One could argue, contingent upon belief in a creator, that striving to know more of the world and our place is just striving to be closer to that creator, like Plato's focus on the realm of Forms.

Ultimately, Pope provides direction based upon a secular belief rather than logic. Contentedness is not based upon believing in God, but rather focusing on the positive. People do not have to be lambs protected from knowledge of slaughter; we are all aware of our mortality and thus strive to enjoy life as best we can. That we are unaware of when we die suggests the randomness of life, just as much as an unknowable creator's larger plan.

de Navarre

Marguerite de Navarre challenged beliefs that were accepted based upon tradition rather than logic or morality. The dominance of men over women as well as the devaluation of lower classes were two perspectives she questions through her work, The Heptameron. In the prologue, there is a drawn out conversation, full of social conventions including praising one’s elders and the bawdiness between man and wife, as well as the practices which encourage morality. Lady Oisille represents the mature and pious opinion that daily studying of scriptures and prayer should occupy the group’s time. The masculine perspective then is shared, when Hircan asserts “bear in mind that we have not yet become so mortified in the flesh that we are not in need of some sort of amusement and physical exercise” (de Navarre 1641). The interplay between the subdued feminine pursuits and virility and power of masculine needs conveys conventional gender stereotypes. However, in the story that ensues, the dangers of masculine vigor and feminine plotting become apparent. Moreover, the silliness of the duplicity between man and wife suggests that those of a higher class are no less flawed than their counterparts of other classes.

From the outset of the story, unequal expectations between men and women are made clear. The reader learns that the man Bornet “wanted […his wife] to be faithful to him, but was not so keen on having the rule applied to them both equally” (de Navarre1643). He pursues the chambermaid, who rebuffs his advances. The chambermaid, representing the lower class, not only avoids being a mistress but also tells her lady of the situation. In return she becomes a pawn in the lady’s plan to trick her husband. Bornet views the chambermaid as a sexual object; the mistress treats her as a means to an end. Ultimately, the story ends with the maid being the most moral character. The lady of the house assumes the sleeping quarters of the chambermaid, having developed a plot to teach her husband a lesson. Both he and his wife are disgraced when she comes to be shared with his friend, and he recognizes “he had gone and given himself a cuckold’s horns and made himself look ridiculous for evermore” (de Navarre 1645). Marguerite de Navarre is considered a champion for those who operate outside of conventional roles or thought, and her work confirms this assertion. Though the wife technically commits adultery, her husband owns the blame for this and a lesson is made of him. His physical desires were base and degraded not only his wife but also himself. The wife seems silly and unfortunate, but her active role is still admirable, despite the undesirable outcome. However, the chambermaid emerges as the most moral character, having avoided the husband’s advances and still retained the trust of her lady. Still, the entire scene is not entirely satisfactory: the chambermaid has little human value given her role in arranging the tryst; the wife is debased and somewhat foolish; the husband is aware of his failings and is not only a lecher but the cause of his own grief as a cuckold.

Sunjata

Embedded within the Mande culture is a focus on the oral tradition. While this is a mode of preserving culture, it also leads to adaptation and perhaps variations in the story. Considering the work "Sunjata: A West African Epic," the origin of the bride carrying tradition is explained, though it perhaps has changed or has alternative meanings in other cultures.

The maltreatment of Sogolon Conde is indicative of the shallowness and pettiness of focusing on outer appearance. Those escorting her to her groom are concerned that she will get dust on them and so entreat her "Walk well./ Do not put us in the dust;" however, upon realizing she cannot alter her walking, they decide to carry her ("Sunjata" lns. 761-762). Without context, the act of carrying someone seems humble and generous; the motives based upon the tale seem selfish. As the wives carry Sogolon Conde, her head wrap falls off, exposing her bald head, and this leads to more ridicule. The wives sign "heron-head," and the reader is told "this offended Sogolon Conde" ("Sunjata" 782. 784). Similar to the antiquated idea that marriage is the submission of woman's will to her husband, being carried to the marriage mimics this loss of volition. Additionally, the communal aspect of participating in the marriage reinforces the sense that marriages are a social event; though the union is between two people, it involves the community. Similar to oral history, the community must be involved to sustain the tradition.

Another cultural wedding tradition is that of handfasting, typically attributed to Celtic origin. There is symbolism in the tying of hands to bond two into one; the difference is that in earlier times this could be seen as a trial union, one where after a year and a day, the couple could either continue together or part ways. Handfasting is more like a transaction or business deal whereby the couple enters into an understanding with terms and conditions. Traditional unions are intended to be permanent, however the potential for couples to re-evaluate their relationship seems surprisingly modern. Alternately, there is a potential for the more negative perception of the fallen woman, if she is united to a man and then left after intimacy. Culture has evolved to the point that this stigma is far lessened, but one can only question how the woman would fare after breaking the union during the early times of handfasting.

Bashō

https://youtu.be/zXvzgR3A9_I

Considering the video attached, the juxtaposition of images with the poems of Bashō serve several functions. Similar to the straightforward and simple language, the images are flat and linear. There is color and detail, but in a traditional style. Additionally, the images are of everyday life, mirroring the pattern of activities in the work. In some cases, the images relate directly to the words, including a woman touching her hair and workers in a rice field. Then the words become more abstract, describing “the air of a century past.” Images have a nostalgic simplicity, especially from a modern perspective, highlighting the simplistic beauty of life. There is a sense of industry, in ships and fields, mirroring the sentiment that the cicadas are unaware they will soon die. Similarly, humans work through the seasons, planning and reaping, working through daily life only to die. In contrast with the vitality of spring and summer, the mood shifts when “on a darkening sea/ the voices of wild ducks/ are faint and white.” Subsequent images indicate transition into later seasons, reinforced by the admission that “cherry blossom viewing/ has ended.” There is gradually less color, mimicking the fall and winter seasons. Blue abounds, suggesting the elegiac tone.  Early in the video, there is an image of an elderly man; at the end, a winding trail leading into the horizon. Both suggest the perspective of the speaker and segue into the next stage of life. As with the cycle of nature, life has an ebb and flow which leads to death.

Classic of Poetry

          The Classic of Poetry, whose order and canonization is attributed to Confucius, compiles poems meant to offer not just example of the time’s writing style but works which allow “individuals in society to cultivate their moral virtue and thus contribute to social order” (756). In addition to the lessons on nature, there are moral perspectives meant to enlighten and educate the reader, as well as serve to bridge communication between classes. However, inspection of the works “XX. Plums are Falling” and “LXIV. Quince” creates more questions about the lessons within. Both works are connected by their treatment of women and relation to food. The element of plums, quince, and peaches serve as reminder of the reproductive abilities of women—in the same way that food sustains life, women give birth to life. Additionally, the cycle of growth and harvesting mirror the life cycle and fertility cycle for women.

          In the first poem, “Plums are Falling,” the speaker begins with a bounty of fruits which seems to mimic the many suitors available. Abundance indicates youth and vitality, and so the speaker’s discretion is based upon appearance, as she wants a “fine” man (ln. 4). When anything is plentiful, the naïve mode of selection is based upon which item looks best; the same is true of picking between suitors. In the second stanza, there is less bounty. The reader is told “three are the fruits” and the speaker shares though “many men want me,/ let me have a steady one” (“Plums” 6-8). Later in the season, the selection is smaller; discretion dictates to choose the soundest option. Possibly, the speaker has gained wisdom and values depth of character above appearance. The final stanza offers more trouble for understanding the moral of the poem, for “Plums are falling,/ catch them in a basket;/ many men want me,/ let me be bride of one” (“Plums” 9-12). In attitude, the speaker has moved from an active selection of suitor to a passive role, which is befitting traditional gender roles for women. There are no more numbers given for how many fruit abound, but they must be caught—this indicates a dearth that, when coupled with the speaker’s desire to have anyone, suggests a later season in life. A sense of settling seems anticlimactic and contrary to the modern ideals of love in marriage, but suggests resignation to the sense of duty and powerlessness in antiquated womens’ roles. What is meant to be gratitude and humility at being selected for marriage in modern evaluation is apathy and dispassion.

          A similar disconnect appears in “LXIV. Quince.” This speaker is male, discussing the exchange between himself and a woman. She gives him fruit, which he repays with a jewel, and concludes “it was no equal return./ but by this love will last” (“Quince” lns. 3-4). From one perspective, a priceless jewel seems a steep price for a piece of fruit; however, the concept of the fruit as sustenance and life-giving is not to be underestimated in value. The exchange between man and woman is depicted thus: woman imparts a natural gift, one which provides life; in exchange, man pays a great price. Yet somehow this sustains love. Archetypally, the man is the financial provider; woman maintains the home and births children. The speaker repeats “by this love will last,” but the unequal exchange is troubling. Gifts of food and life are temporal but nourishing and emotionally charged. Gifts of jewelry, while enduring, are cold and typically made by another. Given the restructuring and gradual erosion of gender roles, the exchange does not seem to sustain love; rather, it seems transactional. The morality and virtues of such a system are then called into question.

          From a modern perspective, the moral values of the Classic of Poetry are sexist and the prescription for heterosexual relationships is flawed. Abandoning emotion and feeling, though on the surface, logical, robs relationships of their most valuable component: passion. While passion is complicated and may cause disagreements, it provides depth and vibrancy to life.

Works Cited

Akbari, Suzanne, et. al. “Classic of Poetry.” The Norton Anthology of World Literature. Gen. ed. Martin Puchner. 3rd ed. Vol. 1. New York: Norton, 2012. 756-759. Print.

“LXIV. Quince.” The Norton Anthology of World Literature. Gen. ed. Martin Puchner. 3rd ed. Vol. 1. New York: Norton, 2012. 762. Print.

“XX. Plums Are Falling.” The Norton Anthology of World Literature. Gen. ed. Martin Puchner. 3rd ed. Vol. 1. New York: Norton, 2012. 760. Print.

Somadeva

The role of disguise in relationships between men and women is neither new nor simple to understand. When women in literary works take on a disguise, it is largely to manipulate the opposite gender, which suggests both the power of the masculine as well as the subordinate perception of what is feminine. Femininity is overtly sexualized, which can be a distraction from objectives and even potentially dangerous to the woman. Somadeva's work, "The Red Lotus of Chastity" from Kathāsaritsāgara, is one such example of the use of disguise. Women conceal their true identities multiple times in order to manipulate situations and achieve their desired goals.

For the heroine of the story, this is done for restorative justice and to protect her chastity--both of which are sympathetic reasons to the reader. The nun and her pupil, however, use disguise for diversion or personal gain. The first introduction to women in disguise comes from Yogakaraṇdikā’s recount of how she and her pupil amassed great fortune. Her protégée posed as a servant and upon gaining the trust of her employer, stole his wealth. She then tricks those who chase her through additional deception, eventually escaping with the great wealth. Though suspicious, a drummer who follows her, upon learning she plans to commit suicide, assists her in tying the noose. Rather than showing concern for her plight, the drummer is in favor of her choice. Such as unusual reaction to admission of planned suicide emphasizes the nature of relationships between men and women; they are transactional in many ways. For this reason, as the perceived weaker sex, women use deception and disguise.

The nun implements disguise in her attempts to tarnish Devasmitā’s reputation. When four men learn of the lotus and chastity pledge, they travel to the nun seeking to test Devasmitā. The nun disguises herself to gain Devasmitā’s trust and tells stories which normalize promiscuity. Yogakaraṇdikā advises "I carried on with other men as I pleased, to avoid frustrating the sense and element. Our highest duty, you know, is to yield to the demands of sense and element" (Somadeva 1277). While a nun is typified as a pillar of morality, in disguising herself, Yogakaraṇdikā avoids this schema to appear conspiratorial or more relatable. Her story is intended to encourage Devasmitā to give in to sensuality, but instead prompts Devasmitā to become guarded. A disguise is then implemented when one of Devasmitā’s maids assumes her identity to greet the man sent by Yogakaraṇdikā. These men are then branded, which can be concealed but never fully disguised.

The final deception occurs when Devasmitā poses as a merchant to travel safely to her husband. Not only does this offer protection for her virtue, but also places her into a role of power. She approaches the king and requests to speak to the people, where she reveals the insidious plot of the merchants’ sons. It is only in this disguise that Devasmitā is fully able to expose and shame the four men, who previously concealed their brands with turbans. While disguised as a man, Devasmitā is able to act in public which also indicates the social perception of men as leaders and public figures, versus the domestic sphere of women. In the public revelation of the plot, Devasmitā also gains recompense, in receiving “a large ransom to free the four from bondage” (Somadeva 1279). The role reversal of being in control of the men’s lives suggests the power initiated in the masculine disguise; while in the guise of a man, she lays claim to them as her slaves and sites their brands as proof.

Works Cited

Somadeva. “The Red Lotus of Chastity”. Kathāsaritsāgara. The Norton Anthology of World Literature. Gen. ed. Martin Puchner. 3rd ed. Vol. 1. New York: Norton, 2012. 1274-79. Print.

Bio

Victoria Eshghy is a graduate student of Tiffin University's Master of Humanities program. Her concentration is English, with a special focus on Young Adult Literature and Postmodernism; she obtained her Bachelor of Arts degree in English from Bridgewater College. While not working on her Master's degree, Victoria plays guitar and ukulele, enjoys cooking, and relaxing with her husband. Victoria intends to pursue teaching at the collegiate level upon completion of her degree program.