成人黑料

Ryan Duguay
Moral Choices in Literature

Coming upon a bright, golden light, I see Him. To the highest point an eye can reach, He shines. 鈥淕lory from Him who moves all things that are, / penetrates the universe and then shines back, / reflected more in one part, less elsewhere鈥� (Paradise I. 1-3). Others cannot see since they are far below. Here, memory fails, and love prevails. That love encourages songs, sung altogether, in Holy spirit, heard by everyone. A grass field sporadic with trees. Occasionally, a tree sparkling pink. A shimmering, crystalline light blue river curves and flows right through the middle of the grass field. Animals of all kinds: colorful parrots, deer, and eagles soaring in the rainbow-filled stratosphere. What is this dreamlike world! I last remembered a dream. Dreaming of nothing, I tried to think back, surrounded by magnificent beauties. Ah! A tiger suddenly makes me have second thoughts if this is truly a magnificent place. I run away, slowly in fact; however, the tiger is keeping up with me. Realizing I have no escape, I look up to the bright light, which I could not sustain. I began to close my eyes and when they revealed themselves again, I now noticed the tiger in all its splendor, cuddled by its baby cubs. It came back to me that I was meandering around in my garden. It was there where I tripped over a small rock, designed for show, and landed in my dirt pile. Relieved I remembered this, I knew I still couldn鈥檛 figure out what brought me here for the time being, so I continued down to the river. The river, despite being not as deep, had whales swimming in it. Monkeys flying as free as birds I saw, looking upwards again. Animals and people lived here in harmony and were free of disease and sickness. They embrace God through Faith, no matter how much their intelligence limits their knowledge. I looked back at the whales, some of which were reaching the surface to mist the flowers at the river鈥檚 edge.

I continued along the river. When I stared back at it, I saw not only whales but reflections of people. Not too deep, but not too much to the surface either. These ones told the truth 鈥� the line between chaos and order. Chaos: in the depths of river. Order: the world I am in since everyone is happy to be in their separate place. One of the reflections rose above the rest at astonishing speed and surfaced past the water and landed right beside me. He had a ghost-like, white glow around his body鈥檚 outline. I at once recognized who this was. He then smiled and looked as though he was about to say something. This person who managed brilliantly the line between pure order and chaos when in the Gulags. Ruminate: too much order becomes tyrannical and naturally develops into chaos since resistance will no doubt prompt itself against order. Similarly, too much chaos is anarchy. To manage both, Solzhenitsyn wrote the Gulag Archipelago, showing how destructive communism was. His incredible insight and courage into the inner lives of the prisoners forced me to recognize how lucky I am. I said to him, 鈥淵ou inspire me greatly.鈥� Still taking him in, I asked how he remembered nearly twelve-hundred pages of his manuscripts. He smiled, once again, but steered the conversation elsewhere. Perhaps he didn鈥檛 have an answer. To not doubt his reasoning for refusing to answer, I listened to his speech for the first time. He said: 鈥淵ou must come with me, if you truly recognized who I was as a person, to meet, face to face, people of all individual differences. Some we鈥檒l meet right away, others later. You鈥檒l soon see God鈥檚 plan of Divine Love, encompassing, Love, Wisdom, and Justice. You鈥檒l realize, as we continue along the river, that to progress further, only Faith will capture the wonders of this magnificent place. Ask the people you鈥檒l meet questions and pay attention. As memory is always with you. And languages are always with you. Not material worth.鈥� I tried to absorb all he said.

We followed the river鈥檚 path until we looked upward and saw the river rushing toward the sky, with no end. He shook his head in confusion. Looking for other paths, to my surprise, I saw Solzhenitsyn, fast as a lightning bolt, swimming in the sky-bound river, back crawling as he ascended. I jumped in right away. Instantly, I felt the river鈥檚 warmth. Delighted, I convinced myself not to go out. The rapids carried me along at a strong but reasonable pace. 鈥淭his defies the laws of nature,鈥� I thought. Splashing water on my face, and laughing, I felt love. What joy the world brings. I opened my eyes to meet that world of splendor high up. The water suddenly shot me out of its stream and placed me shoulder height with him. Both of us not wet, he explained where we landed: 鈥淲e are in the Second Sphere, Mercury. You鈥檒l find the seekers of honor here. First, let me stress the importance of loving the right things. 鈥業 see well in your own mind / the mirrored splendor of eternal light / which seen will kindle 鈥� only, always 鈥� love.鈥欌�� He paused then resumed,” ‘And if your love is teased to other things / then these are nothing but, the merest trace, / ill understood, of that light shining through鈥� (Paradise V. 7-12). Learn to love with your heart again.鈥� We now saw around us bigger trees and denser. In the shadows of the trees, we noticed people walking fast and talking loudly. My guide now went on to elaborate: 鈥淭he seekers of honor were active to pursue the good; however, they were motivated in their pursuit for personal honor as well. A good enough motive, but the least in all the good motives.鈥� Sitting underneath a tree, I glanced at a round body with white hair. 鈥淗ello, how are you?鈥� I spoke.

In response, 鈥淵ou have frightened me, my dear.鈥�

I couldn鈥檛 believe it was Harold Bloom, the controversial literary critic and professor of English at New York University and professor of Humanities at Yale University! A reading speed of four-hundred pages per hour and a scandalous memory. He spent so much time reading he didn鈥檛 really have friends. 鈥淓xplain to me why you are here; I thought you would be higher up.鈥�

His face remained neutral with no expression: 鈥淚鈥檓 certainly aware that there are certain types of readers and critics who find me unbearable. And I reciprocate that feeling. Harry Potter is not real reading. It is simply a cultural wave that will pass since in a hundred years鈥� time, no one will remember it. But they鈥檒l still remember the works of profound writers of stunning intellect, including you. If we all lived to two hundred years, I wouldn鈥檛 complain; I would say that they, in time, will get bored of the works they often read, or as I call it, the 鈥渇ashion鈥� of reading. And then they will lean towards the best that has been written. Works that can sustain multiple readings. Works to be talked about whenever you can to whomever you can.

I urge the necessity to read the most canonical works since we read against the clock. Some do not hold that belief. I write incessantly and am a life-long addict of reading. I have stressed my wife too much, with her thinking it is too unhealthy to read that much.

Finally, my approach to literary criticism is that of the 鈥楴ew Criticism,鈥� which holds the belief of two things: 鈥榯hat poems possess organic unity and autonomy鈥� and 鈥榯hat poems give us rich and concrete apprehensions of experience.鈥� There is no systematic approach to this, so I base my criticism purely off of my own aesthetic values. Some are in sympathy with me and others not so much. But I鈥檓 a tired old dinosaur now, so I simply try to ignore them. If you鈥檒l excuse me, I must, now, reread Hart Crane鈥檚 poetry, which still awes me in its language and imagery.鈥�

As we progressed through the forest, wooden steps from the massive trees we saw appeared out of nowhere. I walked up with Solzhenitsyn leading. We went all the way up to the fifth sphere, Mars. He said to me 鈥淗ere, virtues are bountiful in fortitude. One of the writers who has endured until he was a well-known writer, you鈥檒l meet here.鈥� We stepped off the steps and were in Mississippi at Rowan Oak. A white, peaceful house amid the swamp trees. My guide knocked at the door and entered, and Faulkner greeted us happily, while he opened the door and invited us to sit around his dining room table. One of the two books laying on his table was The Sound and the Fury. I sat then asked, 鈥淢ars is reserved for those who inspired endurance. How is it that you endured?鈥�

鈥淚 started school so excellently well that I skipped grade two. After I lost interest, and my grades started dropping. I never graduated from high school, repeating the eleventh and twelfth grade. I was always interested in studying history though. Someone recognized my knack for writing, so I sent him a couple of short stories and poems, which got rejected. I tried to join the U.S. Army, but they rejected me also because of my height and me being underweight. I studied at the University of Mississippi but dropped out after three semesters. In one of my English classes I got a 鈥淒.鈥� However, some of my poems were published for the University. I went from job to job. My first three novels got rejected. Never become bitter; one day you might be famous too.鈥�

鈥淗ow do you inspire others to write?鈥�

He smiled. 鈥淲hen I won the Nobel Prize for literature in nineteen-fifty, I felt a little awkward accepting this award because the award was attributed to my work and not who I was as a person. I wanted to create something out of the human spirit that no one has ever seen before, so I donated part of my Nobel Prize money to the 鈥榃illiam Faulkner Foundation,鈥� to encourage and inspire aspiring writers.鈥�

He questioned me if I had read any of his works. 鈥淚 read Light in August and The Sound and the Fury. I found both exceptional: Light in August, I still remember the extraordinarily long sentences of the Mississippian landscape, in such descriptive prose. Meanwhile, The Sound and the Fury was an experimental work of genius.鈥� His hometown was the place where most of his novels鈥� settings took place. We couldn鈥檛 stay for long. We left the house, saying goodbye, and went on the stairs to ascend to the sixth heaven.

It didn鈥檛 take us long. The sky turned brighter, with coruscating, shooting stars the lights had reflected. God ascribes to everyone their place 鈥� the vision of Earthly Justice was felt by him, the doctor, recorded his experiences to write in a book to share that knowledge. Although he did suffer an addiction, he served in the army. We placed our feet on the ground and saw an apartment flooding. A hole was made in the bathroom. The shower head sprayed the apartments underneath. A woman flew away, not to make a deal with the Devil, but with God instead. 鈥淢anuscripts don鈥檛 burn,鈥� I heard spoken aloud. The salvation of the mind’s memories. There was a guy with a black hat, smoking and watching this scene as if he were his own phantasmagoric dream, the scene vividly polychromatic. 鈥淭ell me about your novel鈥�, I said, remembering this scene in his magnum opus.

He, thus: 鈥淢y novel鈥檚 purpose was a critique to Stalin and the Soviet government鈥檚 thoughts on their literature, being heavily in favor of propagandistic writers. I wanted my readers to reignite their belief in religion, show the world what it鈥檒l be like with a Devil incessantly watching over you.鈥�

鈥淚 remember reading the talking cat playing chess,鈥� I replied.

鈥淭hen I had him shoot the investigators. Funny, considering he was on the chandelier.鈥�

I laughed then asked, 鈥淲here is your justice? All subjects in Jupiter have that.鈥�

鈥淚n my novel, The Master and Margarita, I portrayed the professor of black magic as the Devil, with two evil sidekicks. I was living under Stalin and knew he wouldn鈥檛 be too fond of some of my work 鈥� though he did like me. To indirectly show the resistance against the totalitarian regime, the character, Master, was living in his eternal home with Margarita. Pontius Pilate realizes he can鈥檛 change the outcome. Although Woland moves them, justice 鈥� the good 鈥� wins: Behemoth loses his mind and Azazello loses his fangs. Margarita testifies to God in the end. The lines between good and evil are blurred. Understanding that should scare and prompt more people towards God. Read Closely.鈥�

鈥淚鈥檓 surprised you鈥檙e this high up, considering you even introduced the idea of blurring the lines between good and evil.

鈥淎s a doctor, I tried to do all I could to help and save people鈥檚 lives. I wrote about my experiences in a short story cycle entitled 鈥楢 Young Doctor鈥檚 Notebook.鈥� I became addicted to morphine because I needed to help minimize the effects of an anti-diphtheria drug that I was allergic to. I accidentally infected myself with that drug while treating a child. After that I started writing seriously. I think to appreciate the good, you need to see malevolent things, to motivate ourselves to continue being good. How could one be good if they can鈥檛 see the dreadful things? It鈥檚 that reason you started off in Inferno and not automatically in Paradise. The maleficent things in the world give us an idea of how we want to be the opposite of that. Luckily, we can solve that idea with others or, in both of our cases, through writing.鈥� Over us both we heard:

鈥淢ake a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. / Serve the Lord with gladness: come before his presence with singing. / Know ye that the Lord he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we / ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture. / Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be / thankful unto him, and bless his name. / For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations鈥� (Psalm 100 87-88).

After hearing melismatic sounds, Solzhenitsyn made me say farewell, and we tried to fly to the Empyrean, where my guide said, 鈥淟et us therefore rejoice.鈥� I saw him fading into the background. The background consisted of his bedroom and a slew of books, some his, and piles of paper and his desk in the corner, filled with more books and papers and pencils. He returned to write. To reveal to the world the harsh realities of living in the Soviet Union. He was courageous!

鈥淜eep safe in me your own magnificence, / so that my soul, since you have made it well, / should leave the knot of body, pleasing you,鈥� I said (Paradise XXXI. 88-90).

Thinking back, I now understand that in my moments of despair, feeling lost, and feeling attacked 鈥� the tiger chasing me as readers will recall 鈥� I turned to the sun, the light of God. However, I could not sustain its glory due to my insignificant knowledge that a person does not turn to God as their own personal butler, but turns to understand, I know now, that to be good, one must endure hardships: Faulkner. Witness malevolence to be good: Bulgakov. And to not have personal honor tied too deeply with oneself: Bloom. God will reveal the world as it is, in mysterious ways 鈥� the minatory tiger becoming a mother caring for her cubs, as I have seen. I looked into the mystery and began to understand its power. My soul swelled. The truth stamped upon my soul eternally. Ineffable, as I looked upon love that moved the stars.

Bibliography:

Alighieri, Dante. The Divine Comedy Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso. Translated by Robin Kirkpatrick, 3rd ed., Penguin Classics, 2011. pp. 320-482.

Bulgakov, Mikhail. The Master and Margarita. Translated by Diana Burgin and Katherine T. O’Conner20, Overlook Press, 2010.

“Mikhail Bulgakov.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 12 Dec. 2024, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mikhail_Bulgakov. Accessed 21 Nov. 2024.

“William Faulkner.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 10 Dec. 2024, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Faulkner. Accessed 21 Nov. 2024.