What stood out to me was the way the narrator continued to start his sentences with phrases like "I should.." or "I should describe for you.." when he starts to discuss the ball, but then continues to give a brief description of what he made it sound like he should tell the reader about, but wasn't going to. It felt as if the narrator told us anyway, just not in such detail. I thought the way we first see the ball from the narrator's point of view was helpful to set the actual scene, because Golyadkin will have an altered perception from what is really going on. I think the ball sequence is important to showing how Golyadkin behaves and feels in social situations. This scene gives us a true look at his behaviors around others, or how his mind works when there is so much going on around him. First, we see him take two and a half hours before he steps into the ball, clearly displaying anxiety. What I noticed the most, though, is how much Golyadkin was a scatterbrain. For example, on page 29, he is thinking about how one man has a wig on, and the next moment, he's thinking about how he could save Klara if the chandelier fell. What is especially important in this chapter, is the readers and Golyadkin's first hearing of the man with the same name as Golyadkin, his possible doppleganger. I thought Golyadkin's reaction to this was similar to how he feels about her personality: in denial. Golyadkin constantly tells himself that he can behave like everyone else, and that everything is okay, but he's denying it, just as he is unwilling to accept the possibility of a doppleganger.
I believe the function of the ball sequence was to once and for all show that Golyadkin does not belong with these members of the upper class. Even though he is right on the edge of becoming one of them, he just isn't fit for it. Not only does he not have a good last name for it, he can't even function around them. He stammers his words and struggles to make conversation. Golyadkin is just plain socially awkward. It's clear that he is trying way too hard to become something that he just isn't. Golyadkin is a copier and that's all he will ever be, and this is what drives him mad. In the mean time he can play pretend for a while, but eventually his actions will catch up with him. He must stop meddling in the business of his superiors, or he will surely be punished. Especially after crashing the ball uninvited.
From the beginning this chapter seems to represent the jealousy Golyadkin feels toward the upper class and his inability to socialize amongst them. The chapter starts off in what Golydakin describes as a “poetic” description of what is going on. The writing fluxuates between fantasy and jealousy. One moment Golydakin is describing “all the mirth, playfulness of these wives and daughters….more like fairy ladies… with their lily shoulders and their rosy faces..” (Dostoyevsky 24). Than the next moment he is wondering things like “why do I not possess the secret of lofty powerful language, of the sublime style, to describe these grand and edifying moments of human life..” (23) Eventually Golydakin explains that he has been standing between a cupboard and screen near the garbage; waiting to sneak into the party. The symbolism of standing in “rubbish” is quite literal to me. To the people inside the party, our hero is not much of a hero at all, in fact he’s nothing. When Golydakin does enter the party it becomes a quest to seek out his desired lover, Klara Olsufyevna. Going back and forth with banter to himself, Golyadkin finally works up the courage to speak to her and once he does he stutters, blushes and creates a spectacle of himself. Everyone eventually ends up staring at our poor hero and he feels that he must “gain footing and retrieve his social position” (28) With even more bumbling around an stuttering, Golyadkin only digs himself into an even deeper hole. On page 29, after he is thoroughly humiliated, Golyadkin makes a comment about the white wig a man is wearing. This is of course, a symbol of wealth that Golyadkin connects to turbans worn by ‘Arab Emirs’ that signify their “descent from the prophet mahomet” (29). Making the connection that underneath the wig or the turban, the person underneath could be bald or shaven much like that of his own. As we know, Golyadkin is ousted from the party after causing much calamity. This chapter signifies the relationship the main character has with the upper class. The jealousy and hatred he feels towards them, coupled with the fantasy of being one of them go through his brain constantly. This goes to the point where he finds himself attempting to fit in and when he does he stands out like a sore thumb and these situations never end well. All these things combine to form a vicious cycle in Golyadkin life, a cycle that will eventually lead him to conclude he never had a chance in the first place.
Chapter IV is strange mainly because it is the first time that we as readers directly hear from the narrator. Prior to this moment, the narrator has occasionally referred to Golyadkin as “our hero”, but they have never explicitly made themselves known. As a result, until they explicitly refer to themselves as ‘I,’ they remain removed from the story – and our consciousness – as an omniscient, but unidentified source. By inserting themselves into the story, however, we are suddenly forced to acknowledge them where we may have previously overlooked them because, ordinarily, a faceless third person narrator is easily forgotten because it does not ask much effort of us. By becoming a thinking and expressive ‘I,’ the narrator now, crucially, has an identity just like Golyadkin or any other character, reminding us of Descartes’ “cogito ergo sum”; arguably, the narrative, even if for a little bit, becomes self-aware. Interestingly, this sort of thing never really happens again. Yet because it did, it perhaps unsettles the idea of a third person narrator as being separate from the workings of a narrative itself, and only a mouthpiece for reciting the story. For The Double specifically, the ‘I’ narrator adds an underlying sense of instability – either our own, or poor Golyadkin’s.
The ball sequence itself is even introduced strangely, and the narrator’s melodrama reads almost like an early Regency novel. The narrator laments that they wish they were a poet like Homer or Pushkin, so that they could “paint” that “glorious day… with a free brush and brilliant colours” (Dostoyevsky 22). Throughout their detailed description of the party, they constantly refer back to their apparent inability to better describe the ball: “Oh why do I not possess the secret of lofty, powerful language, of the sublime style, to describe these grand and edifying moments of human life!” (Dostoyevsky 23) As we know, they very clearly describe the party even where they say they won’t or can’t, from the celebrating guests to Klara herself, “blushing like a rose in spring, with the glow of bliss and of modesty” (Dostoyevsky 23).
The narrator’s coyness in their descriptions is deliberate, and reminded me of the kind of non-answer answer a friend might give when they say they have a secret to share, and then immediately say they can’t. That is to say, we, the readers desire to know more about the party because we already do know some about it, even if by the narrator’s noncommittal ‘refusals.’ In a way, this perhaps mirrors Golyadkin’s own thought process as he is “not at the dance, but almost at the dance”, standing, literally, among trash (Dostoyevsky 25). Ironically, the narrator actually tells us more about Klara’s party than Golyadkin, until he crashes it.
In the same way that the narrator’s waffling back and forth over describing the ball at the opening of the chapter is maddening to read, Golyadkin’s (mis)adventures and gaucheness as he forces his way into a situation where definitely doesn’t belong is virtually painful to read because it’s so embarrassing. This incident is obviously meant to emphasise Golyadkin’s deteriorating state, but more importantly, that he seems to be unaware of himself. Generally, Golyadkin seems to be a man unaware, or unable to control himself (at one point Dostoyevsky describes him as “more dead than alive” [Dostoyevsky 19]), but he somehow comes across as even more mechanical, to the point of possession. He moves not of his own volition, but “by the same spring” which had made him intrude in the first place, and acts as though he is unaware where he even is, to his own “great astonishment” (Dostoyevsky 27). It is not until he is forcibly removed that he seems to suddenly remember his “flagging energies” and everything that, peculiarly, at least according to the narrator, cannot be recalled once it has already been done (Dostoyevsky 32).
In describing the ball the narrator consistently echoes Golyadkin’s earlier claims that he “[has] never learnt to embellish [his] speech with literary graces,” yet the narrator is certainly proficient in such “graces,” and while he rambles on for a few pages his thoughts remain meticulously-detailed and coherent (Dostoyevsky 9). This coherence is refreshing in wake of Golyadkin’s generally chaotic presence, and allows readers to take in the scene (somewhat) objectively. The narrator swoops in as a temporary, omniscient anchor to reality. As “the modest chronicler of Mr. Golyadkin’s adventures,” the reverence with which he describes this upper class gathering suggests that such eliteness is not achievable for just anyone seeking to rise through the ranks; it is something one is “born” into, whether by blood or by virtue of some particular finesse, both of which Golyadkin utterly lacks (24). We know already that, were Golyadkin to enter such a scene, he would stick out like a sore thumb. When he finally stumbles in, “after waiting for almost three hours in expectation of a happy ending to his adventures,” his awkwardness abruptly violates the narrator’s previous descriptions of refinement and poise, rendering Golyadkin’s actions all the more uncomfortable to witness (25). More abomination than outsider he is repulsive to these people, a social menace. He does not belong; he will never belong. His mental decline is likewise thrown into sharp relief against this picture-perfect background. To be sure, in a fleeting moment of semi-self awareness he “[tries] helplessly to discover in the amazed crowd something on which he could gain a footing an retrieve his social position,” as though he were not already a lost cause (28).
Throughout the beginning chapters of the novella, the narrator speaks strictly in the third person. In Chapter IV, however, he begins to speak in the first person and in a style that sounds strikingly similar to the scattered, stumbling, and excited manner in which Golyadkin speaks. He frequently introduces aspects of the ball as topics to speak about, then expresses that he should, and would, not comment about them, only to then give a description of it after all. He would say, “I will say nothing of that” and then immediately say something about it. To me, it seemed that Golyadkin was actually narrating – that is, until the narrator says, “Let us rather return to Mr. Golyadkin, the true and only hero of my very truthful tale” (25).
In all honesty, I am rather confused by this strange change in the narrative, and I have been unable to formulate a definitive understanding of what it could mean. However, I think the nature of the scene that the narrator describes in the opening pages of Chapter IV, coupled with the narrator’s frequent reassurance to his readers of the verisimilitude of the story that he tells is important in understanding the function of this chapter. When the chapter begins, the narrator describes the ball as being a magnificent social event, one of a rare form of greatness. In giving this description, the narrator frequently tells his readers that the story is “a very truthful tale” and “perfectly true,’ which is strange (25, 26). To make this even more peculiar, the narrator speaks in the first person and sounds a bit crazy for the first time. The strangeness of this change in the narrative forces readers to actively make interpretive decisions while reading.
Personally, it immediately made me think that Golyadkin’s experience at the ball would be a terrible one, one that is completely opposite to the kind that the narrator described. Throughout the novella, Golyadkin’s intentions in social settings seem to completely contrast his reality. He wants to act normally and fit into the social sphere that he feels he ought to be a part of, but never does fit in. I think this is why I felt the ball would not bode well for Golyadkin upon reading the opening pages of the chapter. The narrator, who sounded like Golyadkin in the beginning, described a perfect social scene, therefore a terrible social experience must be in store for Golyadkin. This is very much the function of the chapter: to show that Golyadkin just cannot fit in to society, no matter how desperately he wants to.
What stood out to me was the way the narrator continued to start his sentences with phrases like "I should.." or "I should describe for you.." when he starts to discuss the ball, but then continues to give a brief description of what he made it sound like he should tell the reader about, but wasn't going to. It felt as if the narrator told us anyway, just not in such detail. I thought the way we first see the ball from the narrator's point of view was helpful to set the actual scene, because Golyadkin will have an altered perception from what is really going on.
ReplyDeleteI think the ball sequence is important to showing how Golyadkin behaves and feels in social situations. This scene gives us a true look at his behaviors around others, or how his mind works when there is so much going on around him. First, we see him take two and a half hours before he steps into the ball, clearly displaying anxiety. What I noticed the most, though, is how much Golyadkin was a scatterbrain. For example, on page 29, he is thinking about how one man has a wig on, and the next moment, he's thinking about how he could save Klara if the chandelier fell. What is especially important in this chapter, is the readers and Golyadkin's first hearing of the man with the same name as Golyadkin, his possible doppleganger. I thought Golyadkin's reaction to this was similar to how he feels about her personality: in denial. Golyadkin constantly tells himself that he can behave like everyone else, and that everything is okay, but he's denying it, just as he is unwilling to accept the possibility of a doppleganger.
I believe the function of the ball sequence was to once and for all show that Golyadkin does not belong with these members of the upper class. Even though he is right on the edge of becoming one of them, he just isn't fit for it. Not only does he not have a good last name for it, he can't even function around them. He stammers his words and struggles to make conversation. Golyadkin is just plain socially awkward. It's clear that he is trying way too hard to become something that he just isn't. Golyadkin is a copier and that's all he will ever be, and this is what drives him mad. In the mean time he can play pretend for a while, but eventually his actions will catch up with him. He must stop meddling in the business of his superiors, or he will surely be punished. Especially after crashing the ball uninvited.
ReplyDeleteFrom the beginning this chapter seems to represent the jealousy Golyadkin feels toward the upper class and his inability to socialize amongst them. The chapter starts off in what Golydakin describes as a “poetic” description of what is going on. The writing fluxuates between fantasy and jealousy. One moment Golydakin is describing “all the mirth, playfulness of these wives and daughters….more like fairy ladies… with their lily shoulders and their rosy faces..” (Dostoyevsky 24). Than the next moment he is wondering things like “why do I not possess the secret of lofty powerful language, of the sublime style, to describe these grand and edifying moments of human life..” (23) Eventually Golydakin explains that he has been standing between a cupboard and screen near the garbage; waiting to sneak into the party. The symbolism of standing in “rubbish” is quite literal to me. To the people inside the party, our hero is not much of a hero at all, in fact he’s nothing. When Golydakin does enter the party it becomes a quest to seek out his desired lover, Klara Olsufyevna. Going back and forth with banter to himself, Golyadkin finally works up the courage to speak to her and once he does he stutters, blushes and creates a spectacle of himself. Everyone eventually ends up staring at our poor hero and he feels that he must “gain footing and retrieve his social position” (28) With even more bumbling around an stuttering, Golyadkin only digs himself into an even deeper hole. On page 29, after he is thoroughly humiliated, Golyadkin makes a comment about the white wig a man is wearing. This is of course, a symbol of wealth that Golyadkin connects to turbans worn by ‘Arab Emirs’ that signify their “descent from the prophet mahomet” (29). Making the connection that underneath the wig or the turban, the person underneath could be bald or shaven much like that of his own. As we know, Golyadkin is ousted from the party after causing much calamity. This chapter signifies the relationship the main character has with the upper class. The jealousy and hatred he feels towards them, coupled with the fantasy of being one of them go through his brain constantly. This goes to the point where he finds himself attempting to fit in and when he does he stands out like a sore thumb and these situations never end well. All these things combine to form a vicious cycle in Golyadkin life, a cycle that will eventually lead him to conclude he never had a chance in the first place.
ReplyDeleteChapter IV is strange mainly because it is the first time that we as readers directly hear from the narrator. Prior to this moment, the narrator has occasionally referred to Golyadkin as “our hero”, but they have never explicitly made themselves known. As a result, until they explicitly refer to themselves as ‘I,’ they remain removed from the story – and our consciousness – as an omniscient, but unidentified source. By inserting themselves into the story, however, we are suddenly forced to acknowledge them where we may have previously overlooked them because, ordinarily, a faceless third person narrator is easily forgotten because it does not ask much effort of us. By becoming a thinking and expressive ‘I,’ the narrator now, crucially, has an identity just like Golyadkin or any other character, reminding us of Descartes’ “cogito ergo sum”; arguably, the narrative, even if for a little bit, becomes self-aware. Interestingly, this sort of thing never really happens again. Yet because it did, it perhaps unsettles the idea of a third person narrator as being separate from the workings of a narrative itself, and only a mouthpiece for reciting the story. For The Double specifically, the ‘I’ narrator adds an underlying sense of instability – either our own, or poor Golyadkin’s.
ReplyDeleteThe ball sequence itself is even introduced strangely, and the narrator’s melodrama reads almost like an early Regency novel. The narrator laments that they wish they were a poet like Homer or Pushkin, so that they could “paint” that “glorious day… with a free brush and brilliant colours” (Dostoyevsky 22). Throughout their detailed description of the party, they constantly refer back to their apparent inability to better describe the ball: “Oh why do I not possess the secret of lofty, powerful language, of the sublime style, to describe these grand and edifying moments of human life!” (Dostoyevsky 23) As we know, they very clearly describe the party even where they say they won’t or can’t, from the celebrating guests to Klara herself, “blushing like a rose in spring, with the glow of bliss and of modesty” (Dostoyevsky 23).
The narrator’s coyness in their descriptions is deliberate, and reminded me of the kind of non-answer answer a friend might give when they say they have a secret to share, and then immediately say they can’t. That is to say, we, the readers desire to know more about the party because we already do know some about it, even if by the narrator’s noncommittal ‘refusals.’ In a way, this perhaps mirrors Golyadkin’s own thought process as he is “not at the dance, but almost at the dance”, standing, literally, among trash (Dostoyevsky 25). Ironically, the narrator actually tells us more about Klara’s party than Golyadkin, until he crashes it.
In the same way that the narrator’s waffling back and forth over describing the ball at the opening of the chapter is maddening to read, Golyadkin’s (mis)adventures and gaucheness as he forces his way into a situation where definitely doesn’t belong is virtually painful to read because it’s so embarrassing. This incident is obviously meant to emphasise Golyadkin’s deteriorating state, but more importantly, that he seems to be unaware of himself. Generally, Golyadkin seems to be a man unaware, or unable to control himself (at one point Dostoyevsky describes him as “more dead than alive” [Dostoyevsky 19]), but he somehow comes across as even more mechanical, to the point of possession. He moves not of his own volition, but “by the same spring” which had made him intrude in the first place, and acts as though he is unaware where he even is, to his own “great astonishment” (Dostoyevsky 27). It is not until he is forcibly removed that he seems to suddenly remember his “flagging energies” and everything that, peculiarly, at least according to the narrator, cannot be recalled once it has already been done (Dostoyevsky 32).
In describing the ball the narrator consistently echoes Golyadkin’s earlier claims that he “[has] never learnt to embellish [his] speech with literary graces,” yet the narrator is certainly proficient in such “graces,” and while he rambles on for a few pages his thoughts remain meticulously-detailed and coherent (Dostoyevsky 9). This coherence is refreshing in wake of Golyadkin’s generally chaotic presence, and allows readers to take in the scene (somewhat) objectively. The narrator swoops in as a temporary, omniscient anchor to reality.
ReplyDeleteAs “the modest chronicler of Mr. Golyadkin’s adventures,” the reverence with which he describes this upper class gathering suggests that such eliteness is not achievable for just anyone seeking to rise through the ranks; it is something one is “born” into, whether by blood or by virtue of some particular finesse, both of which Golyadkin utterly lacks (24). We know already that, were Golyadkin to enter such a scene, he would stick out like a sore thumb.
When he finally stumbles in, “after waiting for almost three hours in expectation of a happy ending to his adventures,” his awkwardness abruptly violates the narrator’s previous descriptions of refinement and poise, rendering Golyadkin’s actions all the more uncomfortable to witness (25). More abomination than outsider he is repulsive to these people, a social menace. He does not belong; he will never belong. His mental decline is likewise thrown into sharp relief against this picture-perfect background. To be sure, in a fleeting moment of semi-self awareness he “[tries] helplessly to discover in the amazed crowd something on which he could gain a footing an retrieve his social position,” as though he were not already a lost cause (28).
Throughout the beginning chapters of the novella, the narrator speaks strictly in the third person. In Chapter IV, however, he begins to speak in the first person and in a style that sounds strikingly similar to the scattered, stumbling, and excited manner in which Golyadkin speaks. He frequently introduces aspects of the ball as topics to speak about, then expresses that he should, and would, not comment about them, only to then give a description of it after all. He would say, “I will say nothing of that” and then immediately say something about it. To me, it seemed that Golyadkin was actually narrating – that is, until the narrator says, “Let us rather return to Mr. Golyadkin, the true and only hero of my very truthful tale” (25).
ReplyDeleteIn all honesty, I am rather confused by this strange change in the narrative, and I have been unable to formulate a definitive understanding of what it could mean. However, I think the nature of the scene that the narrator describes in the opening pages of Chapter IV, coupled with the narrator’s frequent reassurance to his readers of the verisimilitude of the story that he tells is important in understanding the function of this chapter. When the chapter begins, the narrator describes the ball as being a magnificent social event, one of a rare form of greatness. In giving this description, the narrator frequently tells his readers that the story is “a very truthful tale” and “perfectly true,’ which is strange (25, 26). To make this even more peculiar, the narrator speaks in the first person and sounds a bit crazy for the first time. The strangeness of this change in the narrative forces readers to actively make interpretive decisions while reading.
Personally, it immediately made me think that Golyadkin’s experience at the ball would be a terrible one, one that is completely opposite to the kind that the narrator described. Throughout the novella, Golyadkin’s intentions in social settings seem to completely contrast his reality. He wants to act normally and fit into the social sphere that he feels he ought to be a part of, but never does fit in. I think this is why I felt the ball would not bode well for Golyadkin upon reading the opening pages of the chapter. The narrator, who sounded like Golyadkin in the beginning, described a perfect social scene, therefore a terrible social experience must be in store for Golyadkin. This is very much the function of the chapter: to show that Golyadkin just cannot fit in to society, no matter how desperately he wants to.