Author Archives: Myles Wright

Final Essay

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Myles Wright

Professor Pressman

ECL 305

9 May 2024

A New Kind of Mermaid: Melusine

The Romance of the Faery Melusine, written by Andre Lebey, retells the medieval France legend of the Faery Melusine. The legend follows Raymondin after accidentally killing his uncle during a hunt. Fleeing deep into the forest, Raymondin encounters Melusine, who promises to help him evade his fate by marrying him, making him the greatest and wealthiest lord of his time. However, Raymondin must swear to Melusine that on “each Saturday, from sundown to dawn on the following day, never must (he) try to see (Melusine) in any way whatever” (Lebey, 27). Eventually, Raymondin is driven to break his sacred promise to Melusine, resulting in her leaving him with no promise of return. The legend is originally dated back to 1393, and many variations of the story have been told. Melusine is a major figure in European folklore, and legend of France’s prosperity stems from Melusine. Despite the name of the novel, the tale is not necessarily a romantic one. Particular scenes carry a rather sexual overtone, revealing much about rape, martital or otherwise, and the long ignored topic of female sexuality. The Romance of the Faery Melusine,  divulges the ways in which women were taken advantage of sexually, and conversely, challenges the notion that men are the sole keepers of sexuality, emphasizing the importance of female sexuality. 

Chapter 14, “Betrayal”, reveals how even in marriages built on trust, women were abused and taken advantage of sexually during this time. The particular tone and detailed descriptions in the chapter serves as an allegory for marital rape. Throughout the chapter, Raymondin, ridden with both guilt and an insatiable desire to know what Melusine does on Saturdays, forces his way into her chambers. As Raymondin first makes his way towards Melusine “The little door violently broke down…He climbed quickly in his eagerness to strike” (Lebey, 121). This is not a scene of discovery, it is a scene of violence, first setting the tone as he breaks down the door, Raymondin violating his wife’s privacy and trust. The use of the word “strike” further implicates the use of violence in his planned encounter with Melusine. The path to Melusine’s chamber is not an easy one, he must climb “the narrow winding stair, steeper and steeper, to the very top. There where he had never been before. Neither he, nor anyone else, except her” (Lebey, 121). The steep winding stair, to a place only Melusine has access to, enforces the notion that this is a private place of hers. This is “no man’s land”, which is reinforced in later scenes. Upon finding the final obstacle to Melusines chambers, it is described as an “almost imperceptible line between two of the thick polished planks of which the door was made. Even though they were mortised into one another to make one seen like all the rest, there was a tiny space visible at the point of joining” (Lebey, 122). Oxford English Dictionary defines mortise as “a cavity, hole, or recess into which the end of some other part of a framework or structure is fitted so as to form a joint”. These planks, which Raymondin must break through, serve as a symbol for the female genitalia. Later, his knife as a symbol for the male counterpart. Forcing his way into the planks, “He pulled out his flat knife… held his breath as he started to slide in the blade and push it slowly, leaning on it with all his strength and weight. The blade entered a little, so slowly that he almost began to despair” (Lebey, 122). The next few pages of the novel center around Raymondin breaking through the planks, though not innately sexual, the word choice and imagery contribute to the sexual overtones. “As he inserted a little more of the thin blade to enlarge the space he had with such difficulty obtained, it snapped with a dry, clear, crystal sound” (Lebey, 123). The word choice of “inserted” and “enlarge” emphasizes the sexual tone. The planks finally begin to give way with a sharp, violent sound. Raymondin’s efforts, and the sexual connotations continue, “his efforts against the wood… feeling the sweat on his brow and down the length of his body” (Lebey, 123). Raymondin feels that he has “struggled well”, again adding to the sense that this is a struggle, he is unwelcome, and violating privacy (Lebey, 123). The descriptions further: “The blade entered better, and engaged the length of three angles already. He had raised it, and putting it back he leaned against it with all his might. Then, wedged against it to get more leverage, he felt the wall suddenly give, heavily and slowly behind him” (Lebey, 123). Finally, Raymondin breaks through, the wall giving with heavy, slow reluctance. This, despite what the title of the novel suggests, is not a romantic scene. 

As Raymondin creeps towards Melusine,  “in the moonlight that made his coat of mail glisten, he had the appearance of a strange serpent with iron scales” (Lebey, 124). This hints that he himself is in the wrong, rather than Melusine who, even in concealing her identity, provided for Raymondin. “He slid”, as a serpent, as he violated Melusine’s promise. As he recognizes the wrong he has committed against Melusine, he reflects on the life that has been given to him, “it shone sweetly, polished like a mysterious otherworld fruit. But then the fruit disappeared, as if it had ever been only a dream” (Lebey, 125). The symbol of the fruit stands out. The religious connotation is relevant during this time in medieval France, and the characters of the novel hold Christians beliefs. In this case Raymondin beholds the fruit, but instead of Eve or Melusine, it is him who takes a bite of the apple. His promise to her broken, her trust violated, forcing her to leave him forever. 

Rather than just focusing on the violation Melusine endures, the novel provides a different perspective and challenges common beliefs surrounding female sexuality during this time. When Raymondin first views Melusine in her natural form, she is described as holding “a mirror, its crystal reflecting the moonlight on her face, which despite the life that animated it as she slowly smiled to herself, gave it an almost lifeless quality” (Lebey, 125).  Melusine “smiled to herself”, taking pleasure in viewing herself in her moment alone. The belief that women were not sexual beings stood firm for many centuries. Female sexuality was ignored or simply denied as possible. Sex was solely for the man, women serving as an accessory in the act. It is undeniable that mermaids of Western heritage were often used as a symbol of sexuality, but sexuality from the perspective of the patriarchy, or for men alone. Instead of serving just as a symbol of temptation, it is important to note the anatomical fact that mermaids were rarely pictured with a vagina. Mermaids could be used by men without consequence. Mermaids, without the ability to reproduce, could not produce bastards. This single, yet powerful scene challenges these ideas. Melusine offers an alternative perspective. A perspective that emphasizes the importance of recognizing female sexuality. Instead of just viewing this as the moment Raymondin discovers Melusine in her natural form, this is a female, self pleasure moment. Melusine asks for a single day alone, and when Raymondin cannot respect or understand her needs, his life explodes. His life and success was contingent on a day of pleasure for Melusine. She provided him with wealth and an empire, as long as she was provided her day of pleasure alone. The legend of Melusine was often used as the founding folktale, attributing France’s prosperity and success to Melusine. Ruling houses even claimed to be descendants of the faery Melusine. This is a success that Melusine was responsible for, and based upon her day of pleasure. Without Melusine, a woman, faery, and mermaid combined into one, Raymondin, and France’s, success would not have been possible. 

Stories, legend, and folklore are important conduits for challenging common ideas, offering alternative perspectives of what we previously believed to be true. The Romance of the Faery Melusine, turns out to not be a romantic tale between a man and a woman. Instead, a tale of violence enacted upon a woman, and a story challenging long standing beliefs surrounding female sexuality and pleasure. In recent years, we more often see mermaids as a symbol of feminism, empowerment, and female sexuality. This was not the case during the origins of the legend of Melusine. Though not recognized as such during her time, Melusine stood at the forefront of the feminist movement. Female pleasure is real, and as important as male pleasure. Melusine alone offered a new kind of mermaid. A mermaid, hybrid, and woman, who found pleasure in herself.

Week 15: We are Mermaids

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“The salt of the ocean is always the salt of tears, melancholy but at the right dilution, or concentration, life giving”. Stephanie Burt opens her poem, “We are Mermaids”, with this line. Though we cannot survive in the ocean, we cry the same salty tears. The ocean, and our tears, are life giving. I think this poem can be connected to the human condition, and the things that make us human. “It has been there since before the beginning of tragedy, when what would become us was just trying to get through the day” (Burt). The ocean has always been witness to humans, through tragedies, and will continue to be there even as we, as individuals, try to get through each day. The poem attempts to inspire a different kind of living, “We know the consistent waves…sacrificing their poise for their careers, need not be the only mode of living” (Burt).  We may not be able to live in the ocean “whose sulfur steam would kill a human being”, but we can still learn from it. The creatures, the “mottled, diffident ray finned fish… choose to nose along the floor of the rough world”. Despite the world at the bottom of the sea being rough and dark, “they love it here” (Burt). The sea creatures are content, freed from the pressures and expectations of the human world. In the ocean “You don’t have to be useful. You are not required to come up with something to say” (Burt). “You can spend your life benthic, or brackish…exploring the estuary… and congeries of overlapping shores”. Perhaps if we allow ourselves the freedom as they do, we too can “love it here”. We should be inspired by the creatures of the oceans, by the mermaids, and try to live more freely, with less expectation, as they do. We should be, and are, mermaids.

Week 14: The Deep

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For the Wajinru, the role of the Historian greatly differs from historians for us as humans, or “two-legs”. When Yetu reveals her role as historian to Oori, Oori asks Yetu “‘Were you like a storyteller then?'”. For humans, being a historian is the same as a storyteller, sharing our histories throughout the ages with stories.

While our history can often be painful, we do not experience it in the same way as Yeti, but are not completely void of it as the rest of the wajinru. We are able to share histories both verbally through stories and recorded in words. We have the pleasure of being able to pick up a book and read history, a luxury the wajinru do not get in the ocean. We learn in chapter 6 that even sharing the history verbally with other wajinru is not possible, or too painful an experience for anyone other than Yetu. When she tried to tell her Amaba about her rememberings “frothy water spewed from Abama’s mouth as she made gurgled, choked noises. This is why Yetu was to remain silent about the things she knew” (Solomon, 100).

The wajinru are “consumed with desire” to know the history and understand the past (Solomon, 8). But for Yetu, she describes her role to Oori as holding all the memories of the generations inside her as “six hundred years of pain” (Solomon, 94). A fight sparks between Yetu and Oori when Oori learns that Yetu gave up the memories of her ancestors. Oori explains “‘I would take any amount of pain in the world if it meant I could know all the memories of the Oshuben… Doesn’t it hurt not to know who you are?'” (Solomon, 94). For Oori, a human, it is difficult for her to understand why Yetu would let go of her memories of the past. Especially as a person who has lost all of her history. However, the history of the ocean cannot be recorded in the same way as the history of the land. The characters different orient of views, ocean and land, creates a rift between them. The novel reveals a lot about the importance of history, how we view history, desire of knowledge of the past and self, and the weight the truth carries.

Week 13: African Mermaids and Water Spirits

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It was interesting to read about African mermaids and water spirits in comparison to the other Western or European mermaids we’ve read previously. One thing that stood out to me was what the African spirits personify nature or the sources of water that they reside in, rather than personifying human concepts or religion. Aganju and Yemaja, and they’re parents, Odudua and Obatala, personify land, water, air, etc. While mermaids such as Melusine, Undine, and the Little Mermaid personify Christian belief. Such as Undine and the Little Mermaids need for a (Christian) soul.

In Ti Jeanne, Maman Dlo, “mother of the water”, protects the forest and its waters. If “mortal men who commit crimes against the forest… could find themselves married to her for life” (277). While Maman Dlo, protects the forest, she also seems to condemn vanity, though one of her own forms is an elegantly dressed woman. She even is a seductress herself and “not above sleeping with her devotees” (274). Despite this, she condemns Ti Jeannes vanity, turning her into a mermaid to serve her forever after. This story presents moral warnings against harming nature, but also against vanity. Compared to other stories we’ve read, some Western texts warn against vanity and encourages humbleness, but not harming nature, and vice versa.

Close Reading #2: Melusine

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Myles Wright

Professor Pressman

ECL 305

14 April 2024

The Romance of the Faery Melusine: Not a Romance

The Romance of the Faery Melusine, written by Andre Lebey, retells the medieval France legend of the Faery Melusine. The legend follows Raymondin who accidentally kills his uncle while hunting. Fleeing deep into the forest, Raymondin encounters Melusine, who promises to help him evade his fate by marrying him, making him the greatest and wealthiest lord of his time. However, Raymondin must swear to Melusine that on “each Saturday, from sundown to dawn on the following day, never must (he) try to see (Melusine) in any way whatever” (Lebey, 27). Eventually, Raymondin is driven to break his sacred promise to Melusine, causing her to leave him and never return. The legend is originally dated back to 1393, and many variations of the story have been told. Across many countries and cultures we see recurring stories of supernatural or shapeshifting women marrying human men. The medieval French legend of Melusine, being one of the most widely known. Why is this narrative so common? What ideas might these stories across lands, seas, and cultures share? Through diction and imagery, The Romance of the Faery Melusine, reveals the ways in which female sexuality was abused and persecuted in Medieval Europe. 

Chapter 14, “Betrayal”, best shows how even in marriages built on trust, women were abused and taken advantage of sexually during this time. The descriptions in the chapters serves as an allegory for marital rape. In this chapter, Raymondin, ridden with both guilt and an insatiable desire to know what Melusine does on Saturdays, forces his way into her chambers. As Raymondin first makes his way towards Melusine “The little door violently broke down…He climbed quickly in his eagerness to strike” (Lebey, 121). This is not a scene of discovery, it is a scene of violence, first setting the tone as he breaks down the door, as Raymondin violates his wife’s privacy and trust. The use of the word “strike” further implicates the use of violence in his planned encounter with Melusine. Upon finding the final obstacle to Melusines chambers, it is described as an “almost imperceptible line between two of the thick polished planks of which the door was made. Even though they were mortised into one another to make one seen like all the rest, there was a tiny space visible at the point of joining” (Lebey, 122). Oxford English Dictionary defines mortise as “a cavity, hole, or recess into which the end of some other part of a framework or structure is fitted so as to form a joint”. These planks, which Raymondin must break through, serve as a symbol for the female genitalia. Later, his knife as a symbol for the male counterpart. Forcing his way into the planks, “He pulled out his flat knife… held his breath as he started to slide in the blade and push it slowly, leaning on it with all his strength and weight. The blade entered a little, so slowly that he almost began to despair” (Lebey, 122). The next few pages of the novel center around Raymondin breaking through the planks, though not innately sexual, the word choice and detailed descriptions contribute to the sexual undertones. “As he inserted a little more of the thin blade to enlarge the space he had with such difficulty obtained, it snapped with a dry, clear, crystal sound” (Lebey, 123). The word choice of “inserted” and “enlarge” emphasizes the sexual tone. The planks finally begin to give way with a sharp, violent sound. Raymondin’s efforts, and the sexual connotations continue, “his efforts against the wood… feeling the sweat on his brow and down the length of his body” (Lebey, 123). Raymondin feels that he has “struggled well”, again adding to the sense that this is a struggle, he is unwelcome, and violating privacy (Lebey, 123). The descriptions further: “The blade entered better, and engaged the length of three angles already. He had raised it, and putting it back he leaned against it with all his might. Then, wedged against it to get more leverage, he felt the wall suddenly give, heavily and slowly behind him” (Lebey, 123). Finally, Raymondin breaks through, the wall giving with heavy, slow reluctance. 

As Raymondin creeps towards Melusine,  “in the moonlight that made his coat of mail glisten, he had the appearance of a strange serpent with iron scales” (Lebey, 124). This hints that he himself is in the wrong, rather than Melusine who, even in concealing her identity, provided for Raymondin. “He slid”, as a serpent, as he violated Melusine’s promise. As he recognizes the wrong he has committed against Melusine, he reflects on the life that has been given to him, “it shone sweetly, polished like a mysterious otherworld fruit. But then the fruit disappeared, as if it had ever been only a dream” (Lebey, 125). The symbol of the fruit stands out. The religious connotation is relevant during this time in medieval France, and the characters of the novel hold Christians beliefs. In this case Raymonid beholds the fruit, but instead of Eve or Melusine, it was him who takes a bite of the apple. His promise to her broken, her trust violated, forcing her to leave him forever. When Raymondin first views Melusine in her natural form, she is described as holding “a mirror, its crystal reflecting the moonlight on her face, which despite the life that animated it as she slowly smiled to herself, gave it an almost lifeless quality” (Lebey, 125). Female sexuality was persecuted during this time, seen as unholy or unnatural, and mermaids were often a symbol of sexual temptation. This scene can be viewed as a female pleasure moment, Melusine enjoying or taking pride in herself. Raymondin views Melusine’s private moment of pleasure as lifeless, reflecting the common beliefs of this time.

Across cultures, women have endured brutalities, even in marriages built upon trust. This could be one possible explanation for the recurring supernatural bride across a variety of cultures. These stories are so common because they reflect a shared sense of violation for women throughout various histories. This particular novel, The Romance of the Faery Melusine, reveals the ways in which female sexuality was abused and persecuted in Medieval Europe.

Week 11: Sirenomelia

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This was a very interesting short film, Sirenomelia, by Emilija Skarnulyte, but left me confused as to what it was trying to convey. The first thing that caught my attention was the strange background noise. The first, and only text, in the video states the location is a classified, decommissioned NATO submarine base above the Arctic Circle. The setting reminded me of last weeks discussion of how we see the ocean, and how those views changed after submarines were introduced to modern warfare, and the ocean becoming a battleground. The water temperature is 2 degrees Celsius, and the white noise sound was recorded at the Norwegian Mapping Authority Geodetic Observatory in Spitsbergen. The short film included beautiful shots of the Arctic, white snow covered mountains, and glaciers in the water. These shots of nature were often contrasted with shots of the white machinery at the decommissioned NATO base. We see the stark difference between nature and machine. In the final scene, the mermaid, dressed in a tail, wetsuit, and goggles, swims between a channel, trapped between two concrete sides. Finally, it appears she makes it to the open sea. After watching the film, I read the description. Sirenomlia is a rare congenital deformity called Mermaid Syndrome where newborns are born with legs joined together creating a mermaid like appearance. Based on what I read, it is extremely rare (1 in 100,000 births), and most cases die shortly after birth. Could this be commenting on the harshness of nature, or conversely, the harshness of human nature? Still, I’m unsure of the meaning, I am excited to hear about what others made of this short film.

Week 10: Oceanic Thinking

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Previously, the ocean was viewed as a place of changeless space, and one without any history. “The Ocean Reader: Theory, Culture, Politics”, by Eric Paul Roorda, and ” Vast Expanses: A History of the Ocean”, by Helen M. Rodzadowski, discuss how the ocean is place of vast history, guaranteeing “that we see reflected back from its surface our fears and desires” (Rodzadowski, 12). Rather than simply land, the ocean is also at the center of human history.

Our past views of the ocean have often been two dimensional, horizontal. Events that occurred at sea were were often narrated as though the ocean was flat, similar to land, having only 2 dimensions instead of three. The two dimensional view changed with the First World War. Submarine warfare introduced the three dimensional and vertical perspective in global geopolitics (Rodzadowski). It is interesting that the ocean became viewed as three dimensional when it became a place useful for warfare, a battlefield. “Because the Ocean can’t be plowed, paved, or shaped in ways the eye is able to discern, it has seemed to be a constant, while the land has changed drastically over the centuries” (Roorda, 1). In many of the early stories we read, the mermaids/creatures come out of the sea, the unknown, to live on land. Rarely are the oceanic worlds explored in these stories.

Rodzadowski explains that “Dry land is the presumed norm. Even coasts and coastal dwellers have been viewed as marginal and exceptional, as have swamps, marshes, cays, reefs and other littoral areas that are neither entirely wet nor dry” (7). As we have previously discussed in class, cultures have been connected and using the ocean throughout history, though some of these histories have often been overlooked or ignored. I find it particularly interesting that “areas that are neither entirely wet nor dry” have been viewed as “marginal and exceptional”, since mermaids are of the same classification, neither wet or dry, neither human or fish, but a hybrid.

Rodzadowski also points out that “Humans make their appearance as part of nature, within the natural history of the planet rather than separate from it, and ocean-oriented activities of early hominids and of Homo sapiens appear to have played an important role in the evolution of our species” (9). Human view and relation to he ocean is ever changing, and varies between cultures. Through learning the history of the ocean, we can learn about ourselves. However, in brief studies of early hominids and homo sapiens, I have learned very little about their relation to the ocean and the role it played in the evolution of our species, this is something I’d like to learn more about.

 

Week 9: Environment Humanities

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This weeks reading, “The Emergence of Environmental Humanities”, adds to and further expands on topics we discussed last week. The book traces the emergence of environmental humanities, tracings it back from when the field first originated in the 1970s and 80s, through not just the field of science, but also through fields of literature, philosophy, history, geography, gender studies, and anthropology. The author argues that in order to find a solution to climate change, “It is imperative to abandon narrow disciplinary traditions in order to grasp these interconnections” (4). Meaning, the solution is not singular, science, math, literature, art, etc. are not separate, but connected. Touching on our class last week, “Human beings are not independent of the natural world, but are part of it” (9). Similarly, we cannot separate disciplines and then expect to find the solution. To understand the environment, all things must be taken into account: environmental humanities.

The global environmental crisis we are facing requires new ways of thinking, “the crisis cannot be addressed solely by finding technological solutions”, but rather an, “interdisciplinary approach to environmental change that includes the humanities, the arts, and the sciences” (7). We must bridge the academic barriers between humanities and sciences. This interdisciplinary approach applies to ideas we have known since we were young. For example, the acronym STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics), is being proposed to be expanded to STEAM to “recognize how the arts contribute to inventiveness in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics”. Storytelling, visual, and various kinds of art media through historians, writers, photographers, artists have constantly been used to “communicate the complex relationships of societies and their environment” throughout history (7).

The book also discusses the cultural/ethical implications of environmental humanities and our history with nature. Environmental humanities did not evolve from only early Western thinkers, but rather the “field has been shaped by postcolonial and feminist studies and by scholars working outside of Europe and the United States” (4). Westerners often hold an implicitly racialized ideas of the natural world: white, male, European. In policy discussions of climate change, unequal social relations and exploitation of resources often go undiscussed, revealing the importance of including the humanities in these discussions.

The book comes back to last weeks topic of untouched, pristine, and almost virginal ideas of wilderness. Yet, this pristine wilderness never existed, in order to get there, Native Americans had to be removed, “the notion of a pure, untouched wilderness implied that no human beings had ever lived there…when creating American national parks in the nineteenth century, to remove Native Americans from sites such as Yosemite and Yellowstone” (18). Again, the inclusion of all disciplines is imperative to such issues.

Discovery Assignment: “The Crane Wife”

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Myles Wright

ECL 305

Professor Pressman

6 March, 2024

The Crane Wife

The Crane Wife is an ancient Japanese folktale, which tells the story of a marriage between a supernatural, shapeshifting crane and a man. Although there are variations of the story, in most, a man witnesses a white crane shot down from the sky by hunters. When he helps it recover, the crane flies away. The next day, a beautiful woman appears on this doorstep, offering herself to be his wife. Unbeknownst to him, she is the crane he rescued. He tells her he has no money to support them, but the woman vows this will not be an issue, and they marry. However, she makes her husband promise that while she is weaving in the closed room, he must not enter. The crane wife creates beautiful woven fabrics that the husband sells, making them rich, but the husband grows greedy, urging his wife into the closed room to weave more and more. Eventually, his curiosity overcomes him and he opens the door to the closed room only to find the crane at the loom, plucking her own feathers from her body to create the fabrics. Upon seeing how the man has broken his promise, the crane flies away and never returns. 

“The Crane Wife 1 & 2” and “The Crane Wife 3” appear on the album The Crane Wife, debuted in 2006, by the band The Decemberists. The songs retell the Japanese folktale through a three part song. Part 1 of the man helping the injured crane, part 2 of the marriage and discovery, and part 3 of the man’s remorse over his broken promise. Across many countries and cultures we see recurring stories of supernatural or shapeshifting women marrying human men. One of the most popular, the medieval French legend of Melusine, closely resembles the story of The Crane Wife. Why is this narrative so common? What ideas might these stories across lands, seas, and cultures share? Through diction and imagery, “The Crane Wife 1 & 2” and “The Crane Wife 3” reveal the ways in which marriage for a woman is essentially a loss of self. 

Similar to many other countries, in early Japan women had few rights in marriage.The two songs express this struggle for women through the crane wife’s story, but from the perspective of the man. It should be considered that both the original folktale and song are from the perspective of the husband, though the story is titled after her and she is the one to endure suffering. The first line of the song introduces the setting, both literal and figurative, “It was a cold night, And the snow lay ‘round”, he is in the midst of a snowy winter season (The Decemberists). He later states he has neither wealth nor fame; his life seems empty until the appearance of the crane. After the white crane falls from the sky, the chorus repeats “And all the stars were crashing ’round, As I laid eyes on what I’d found” (The Decemberists). Now with the crane in the man’s life, the stars are around him, signifying light, hope, and good fortune. In Japanese culture, the white crane is a symbol of long life, prosperity, and happiness. The crane wife provides all of these before the man is overtaken by greed and curiosity. Upon seeing the crane, he describes it as a “helpless thing” (The Decemberists). In early culture, women were viewed as helpless, incapable creatures. In early Japan, the decision of who they were to marry was left to their families, and after marriage their lives were dictated by the husband. 

The crane appears at the man’s doorstep as a beautiful woman and offers herself to him. The two “were married and bells rang sweet for our wedding” (The Decemberists). The bells ring as a sign of joy in the marriage for the newlyweds. After the discovery, the bells ring again, but signify a different meaning. Though the man is poor, the crane wife vows to make him prosperous. As the man’s wealth grows, so does his greed as he “forced her to weaving, On a cold loom, in a closed room” (The Decemberists). Though the man recognized how “she grew thin” from the weaving, he overlooked her appearance. He knows she is losing herself in her room weaving, but does nothing about it. After his discovery and her departure, the chorus repeats “Sound the keening bell, And see it’s painted red, Soft as fontanel, The feathers in the thread” (The Decemberists). The Oxford English Dictionary defines Keen as “An Irish funeral song accompanied with wailing in lamentation for the dead”. The motif of the bell appears again, only this time not only for the man’s loss of his wife, but for the crane’s loss of self. The crane used her feathers, though bloodied and weakened, to provide for her husband, yet he still broke his promise. The Decemberists use the line “Soft as fontanel”, fontanel being the membranous gaps between the bones of the skull in infants. Fontanel represents the fragility of a woman’s position in a marriage, dangerous and easily damaged. 

In “The Crane Wife 3”, the man is remorseful as he realizes he has taken advantage of his wife and driven her away. He reflects “And under the boughs unbowed, All clothed in a snowy shroud” (The Decemberists). Boughs are the limbs of trees which are often stripped off, similar to the crane wife who has stripped parts of herself. This further reveals how marriage for a woman is a form of self-annihilation. As for “clothed in a snowy shroud”, a shroud is a white cloth or sheet which a corpse is covered in for burial. This line could represent a few things. From the man’s perspective, it could be interpreted as a shroud for the death of their love and marriage, or a shroud for the crane wife as she has lost herself to their marriage. It is important to note that a shroud holds some resemblance to a wedding veil. This shows how the crane wife was doomed from the beginning, her wedding was the beginning of her end. 

Across cultures, women have endured loss of self in the face of marriage. This could be one possible explanation for the recurring supernatural bride across a variety of cultures. These stories are so common because they reflect a shared sense of loss of oneself for women throughout various histories. 

Works Citied:

The Decemberists. “The Crane Wife 1 & 2”, “The Crane Wife 3”. Genius. https://genius.com/The-decemberists-the-crane-wife-1-2-and-3-lyrics

Week 8: “The Wilderness”

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“The Trouble with Wilderness: Or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature”, by William Cronon, discusses our long and ever-changing history with the wilderness and nature. Cronon explains that nature has become a place for us to escape our own lives and civilization, the wilderness “stands as the last remaining place where civilization, that all too human disease, has not fully infected the earth”. However, the wilderness is a human creation, “a product of that civilization”, and its definition has changed greatly throughout our human history. Nature acts as a mirror which reflects ourselves, and our own constructed civilization.

I found that evolution of the word “wilderness” interesting. It used to mean “barren/desolate”. In a religious sense, the wilderness used to represent a place far from god that held the temptations of satan. The word now means the complete opposite, both literal and in a religious context. With popular environmental writers, such as Thoreau and John Muir, feelings toward the wilderness changed, “Satan’s home had become God’s own temple”. With changes in civilization during the Victorian era and the introduction of romanticism, nature became a place to protect instead of conquer. Yosemite was declared by California as a wildland park in 1864, and Yellowstone became the first national park in 1872. The wilderness becomes a place we must protect from ourselves, or protect from civilization.

This prompts the question of whether we are part of nature, or separate. Cronon says “In the wilderness the boundaries between human and nonhuman, between natural and supernatural, had always seemed less certain than elsewhere”. I enjoyed the inclusion of William Wordswort’s poem about his personal, almost religious experience of the sublime in the Alps, “Were all like workings of one mind, the features, Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree;” We are nature but also separate, nature and religion come together, “mountain as cathedral”. Is nature still the other, are we part of nature, or have we become too far separated. Is the sublime in the power of our own minds, or the power of nature and the wilderness.

This was very interesting to read, by learning and attempting to understand our relationship with the wilderness and nature, we can understand our own history. Our relationship with nature has changed, both in definition and feeling, are we part of nature, or separate? Our own notions of nature reflect human history.