Monday, November 7, 2011

A Weirdly Word-Wracked Past

     Weird's a weird word.  Over and above simply denoting a significant deviation from the norm, weird satisfies its own definition even in contemporary English.  Just by existing, weird manages to throw out the wonderfully helpful though trite rule of "'i' before 'e' except after 'c'."  Weird's weirdness, as it were, goes much further back in time and reaches deeper levels than just having a rule-bending spelling, however.  Weird's beginnings can be found in the translation of the Norse word "uror," or "wyrd" in English, meaning either one of the Norns or fate itself.  The word, tracked through time, has come to be used in such constructions as "weird sisters" to refer the trio of witches--Norn reference, perhaps?--in Shakespeare's Macbeth or, more recently, the "weirding way" of the prescient Bene Gesserit in Frank Herbert's Dune.
     I'm curious to learn more about weird primarily because I'd like to learn more about how the word began as something associated solely with fate and became a word with a much more commonly applicable meaning.  Additionally, the transformation of "wyrd" into "weird" seems like a rather bizarre etymological shift, because there is little reason to believe that "weird" makes any more grammatical sense than its predecessor.  I'm interested in weird mostly for its weirdness.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Frankenstein: The True Story

--Frankenstein is ultimately interpretable.  Because the text is so greatly misunderstood and misrepresented by almost every one of its reproductions, critics are not only free to draw any conclusion they want from it, but almost feel compelled to spread their enlightening words to the masses.

--Despite Shelley's reluctance to place any sort of external meaning on her text, that mysteriousness is exactly what has encouraged critics to search for meaning.  The phenomenon of applied meaning to Frankenstein is a sort of precursor to the death of the author.  Perhaps more important is that critics very rarely interact, with each interpretation of Shelley's novel existing in a kind of heterogeneous soup of theory.

--Most contemporary Romantic critics believe the monster to be unfailingly sympathetic while failing to look at any of Victor's redeeming qualities or the creature's vices.  Indeed, their opinion is that the creature is an example of what humans should be while Victor is one that should be reviled.  Contemporary criticism as reached consensus against opinions, rather than embracing a plurality.

--The core of Frankenstein's value lies in its ability to present readers with insoluble problems that must be approached from both sides, not in forcing readers to choose one in particular.  While choosing one perspective may not be wrong, the forceful methods many teachers take to informing their students about them often crowd out other modes of thought.

--Rousseau might provide an overly simplistic reading of Frankenstein.  Though the creature is the essence of Rousseau's thought, the idea that Victor is inherently flawed because he is part of human civilization and that the creature is inherently good because he is not cheats the reader of much of the moral tension that Shelley sought to create.