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Файл:From a word to an idea. Part 1. Учебное пособие
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variation.
A lot of stylistic means are based upon the principle of recurrence:
a) multiplication – He spoke with the flat ugly "a" and withered "r" of
Boston Irish, and Levi looked up at him and mimicked "All right, I'll give the caaads
a break and staaat playing";
b) repetition – You absorb, absorb, as if you must fill yourself up with
love, because you've got a shortage somewhere;
c) synonymic repetition – Joe was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered,
easy-going, foolish fellow.
1.2.2 Practical tasks
Task 1. Read the following extracts, find stylistic devices in them. Say
what principles of poetic structure cohesion are observed in them. Dwell upon
the main idea of each extract:
a) That evening for the first time in his life, as he pressed through the swing
door and descended the three broad steps to the pavement, old Mr. Neave felt he
was too old for the spring. Spring - warm, eager, restless - was there, waiting for
him in the golden light, ready in front of everybody to run up, to blow in his white
beard, to drag sweetly on his arm. And he couldn't meet her, no; he couldn't square
up once more and stride off, jaunty as a young man. He was tired and, although the
late sun was still shining, curiously cold, with a numbed feeling all over. Quite
suddenly he hadn't the energy, he hadn't the heart to stand this gaiety and bright
movement any longer; it confused him.
from “An Ideal Family” by Katherine Mansfield
b) Followed a dark and bitter time. The poor child. The poor, poor child, how
she suffered, an agony and a long crucifixion in that nursing home. It was a bitter
six weeks which changed the soul of Winifred forever. As she sat by the bed of her
poor, tortured little child, tortured with the agony of the knee, and the still worse
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agony of these diabolic, but perhaps necessary modern treatments, she felt her heart
killed and going cold in her breast. Her little Joyce, her frail, brave, wonderful, little
Joyce, frail and small and pale as a white flower! Ah, how had she, Winifred, dared
to be so wicked, so wicked, so careless, so sensual.
from “England, my England” by David H. Lawrence
c) It was like a journey into space. I was standing on Mars, knee-deep in
thyme, under a sky that seemed never to have known dust or cloud. I looked down
at my pale London hands. Even they seemed changed, nauseatingly alien, things I
should long ago have disowned.
from “The Magus” by J. Fowles
Task 2. Read the story “The Lady’s Maid” by Katherine Mansfield and
analyze it according to the questions given below:
1. What is the story about?
2. Who is the main character and how does the author portray him (her)?
3. What are the three central episodes of the maid's story? Point out the
connection between them. What light do they throw upon her life and character?
Could you say that Ellen had her moments of rebellion?
4. How does the writer convey the wretchedness of the girl's childhood?
Comment upon the incidents of the little wigs.
5. How does the author portray Ellen’s grandfather? Does Ellen accuse him of
cruelty? Is she indignant at the punishment he inflicted upon her? In what way does
the reader learn of the pain she suffered?
6. Note the significance of Ellen mentioning her uniform in the donkey-
episode and again in the scene with her former fiancé.
7. Why does Ellen repeatedly say "People must have laughed when they saw
me..."?
8. Comment upon Ellen's dreams of her future happiness. What are the details
that help us to understand the naiveté of these dreams?
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9. What are Mansfield's ways of characterizing "my lady"? Speak of the
meaning of the "little red book", of her rejection of the eider-down and the
explanation she gave.
10. In what way is it made clear that Ellen's life was sacrificed to her lady's
selfishness? Is the reader as sure as Ellen that the mistress did not mean the maid to
see her put a hand on her heart?
11. How do you understand Ellen's parting words? Why are they pathetic?
12. What epithets recur most frequently in the maid's story? Explain their
nature.
13. What peculiarities of Ellen’s speech reveal her timidity?
14. Can you see the author's own attitude to the "lady's maid"? How is
that attitude disguised?
THE LADY'S MAID
Katherine Mansfield
Eleven o'clock. A knock at the door.
...I hope I haven't disturbed you, madam. You weren't asleep — were you?
But I've just given my lady her tea, and there was such a nice cup aver, I thought,
perhaps...
...Not at all, madam. I always make a cup of tea last thing. She drinks it in
bed after her prayers to warm her up. I put the kettle on when she kneels down and I
say to it, "Now you needn't ' be in too much of a hurry to say your prayers." But it's
always boiling before my lady is half through. You see, madam, we know such a lot
of people and they've all got to be prayed for — every one. My lady keeps a list of
the names in a little red book. Oh dear! whenever someone new has been to see us
and my lady says afterwards, "Ellen, give me my little red book," I feel quite wild, I
do. "There's another," I think, "keeping her out of her bed in all weathers." And she
won't have a cushion, you know, madam; she kneels on the hard carpet. It fidgets
me something dreadful to see her, knowing her as I do. I've tried to cheat her; I've
spread out the eider-down. But the first time I did it — oh, she gave me such a look
— holy it was, madam. "Did our Lord have an eider-down, Ellen?" she said. But —
I was younger at that time — I felt inclined to say, "No, but our Lord wasn't your
age, and He didn't know what it was to have your lumbago." Wicked — wasn't it?
But she's too good, you know, madam. When I tucked her up just now and seen —
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saw her lying back, her hands outside and her head on the pillow — so pretty — I
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couldn't help thinking, "Now you look just like your dear mother when I laid her
out!"
...Yes, madam, it was all left to me. Oh, she did look sweet. I did her hair,
soft-like, round her forehead, all in dainty curls, and just to one side of her neck I
put a bunch of most beautiful purple pansies. Those pansies made a picture of her,
madam! I shall never forget them. I thought to-night, when I looked at my lady,
"Now, if only the pansies was there no one could tell the difference."
...Only the last year, madam. Only after she'd got a little — well — feeble2 as
you might say. Of course, she was never dangerous; she was the sweetest old lady.
But how it took her was3 — she thought she'd lost something. She couldn't keep
still, she couldn't settle. All day long she'd be up and down, upland down; you'd
meet her everywhere — on the stairs, in the porch, making for the kitchen. And
she'd look up at you, and she'd say — just like a child, "I've lost it; I've lost it."
"Come along," I'd say, "come along and I'll lay out your patience for you." But she'd
catch me by the hand — I was a favourite of her — and whisper, "Find it for me,
Ellen. Find it for me." Sad, wasn't it?
...No, she never recovered, madam. She had a stroke at the end. Last words
she ever said was — very slow. "Look in — the — Look — in — " And then she
was gone.
...No, madam, I can't say I noticed it. Perhaps some girls. But you see, it's like
this, I've got nobody but my lady. My mother died of consumption when I was four,
and I lived with my grandfather, who kept a hairdresser's shop. I used to spend all
my time in the shop under a table dressing my doll's hair — copying the assistants, I
suppose. They were ever so kind to me. Used to make me little wigs, all colours, the
latest fashions and all. And there I'd sit all day, quiet as quiet — the customers
never knew. Only now and again I'd take my peep from under the tablecloth.
...But one day I managed to get a pair of scissors and — would you believe it,
madam? - I cut off all my hair; snipped it all off in bits, like the little monkey I was.
Grandfather was furious - caught hold of the tongs — I shall never forget it —
grabbed me by the hand and shut my fingers in them. "That'll teach you!" he said. It
was a fearful burn. I've got the mark of it to-day.
feeble — here: weak-minded
how it took her was — here: with her it was like that
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...Well, you see, madam, he'd taken such pride in my hair, lie used to sit me
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up on the counter, before the customers came, and do it something beautiful — big,
soft curls and waved over the top. I remember the assistants standing round, and me
ever so solemn with the penny grandfather gave me to hold while it was being
done... But he always took the penny back afterwards. Poor grandfather! Wild, he
was, at the fright I'd made of myself. But he frightened me that time. Do you know
what I did, madam? I ran away. Yes, I did, round the corners, in and out, I don't
know how far I didn't run. Oh, dear, I must have looked a sight, with my hand rolled
up in my pinny4 and my hair sticking out. People must have laughed when they saw
me...
...No, madam, grandfather never got over it. He couldn't bear the sight of me
after. Couldn't eat his dinner, even, if I was there. So my aunt took me. She was a
cripple, an upholstress. Tiny! She had to stand, on the sofa when she wanted to cut
out the backs.
And it was helping her I met my lady...
...Not so very, madam. I was thirteen, turned. And I don't remember ever
feeling — well — a child, as you might say. You see there was my "uniform, and
one thing and another. My lady put me into collars and cuffs6 from the first. Oh yes
— once I did!, That was — funny! It was like this. My lady had her two little nieces
staying with her — we were at Sheldon at the time — and there was a fair on the
common.
"Now, Ellen," she said, "I want you to take the two young ladies for a ride on
the donkeys." Off we went; solemn little loves they were; each had a hand.7 But
when we came to the donkeys they were too shy to go on. So we stood and watched
instead. Beautiful those donkeys were! They were the first I'd seen out of a cart —
for pleasure, as you might say. They were a lovely silver-grey, with little red saddles
and blue bridles and bells jing-a-jingling on their ears.
And quite big girls — older than me, even — were riding them, ever so gay.
Not at all common. I don't mean, madam, just enjoying themselves. And I don't
know what it was, but the way the little feet went, and the eyes — so gentle — and
the soft ears — made me want to go on a donkey more than anything in the world!
...Of course, I couldn't. I had my young ladies. And what would I have looked
like perched up there in my uniform? But all the rest of the day it was donkeys —
pinny — pinafore
the backs — here: the backs for the upholstery
collars and cuffs — part of a maid's uniform
each, had a hand — I gave a hand to each
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donkeys on the brain with me. I felt I should have burst if I didn't tell someone; and
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who was there to tell? But when I went to bed — I was sleeping in Mrs. James's
bedroom, our cook that was, at the time — as soon as the lights was out, there they
were, my donkeys, jingling along, with their neat little feet and sad eyes... Well,
madam, would you believe it, I waited for a long time and pretended to be
asleep, and then suddenly I sat up and called out as loud as I could, "I do want to
go on a donkey! I do want a donkey-ride!" You see, I had to say it, and I thought
they wouldn't laugh at me, if they knew I was only dreaming. Artful — wasn't it?
Just what a silly child would think...
...No, madamy never now. Of course, I did think of it at one time. But it
wasn't to be. He had a little flower-shop just down the road and across from where
we was living. Funny, wasn't it? And me such a one for flowers. We were having a
lot of company at the time and I was in and out of the shop more often than not, as
the saying is. And Harry and I (his name was Harry) got to quarrelling about how
things ought to be arranged — and that began it. Flowers! you wouldn't believe it,
madam, the flowers he used to bring me. He'd stop at nothing. It was lilies-of-thevalley more than once, and I'm not exaggerating! Well, of course, we were going to
be married and live over the shop, and it was all going to be just so, and I was to
have the window8 to arrange... Oh, how I've done that window of a Saturday! Not
really, of course, madam, just dreaming, as you might say. I've done it for Christmas
— motto in holly9, and all — and I've had my Easter lilies with a gorgeous star all
daffodils in the middle. I've hung — well, that's enough of that. The day came he
was to call for me to choose the furniture. Shall I ever forget it? It was a Tuesday.
My lady wasn't quite herself that afternoon". Not that she'd said anything, of course;
she never does or will.
But I knew by the way that she kept wrapping herself up and asking me if it
was cold — and her little nose looked... pinched. I didn't like leaving her; I knew I'd
be worrying all the time. At last I asked her if she'd rather I put it off. "Oh no,
Ellen," she said, "you mustn't mind about me. You mustn't disappoint your young
man." And so cheerful, you know, madam, never thinking about herself. It made me
feel worse than ever. I began to wonder... then she dropped her handkerchief and
began to stoop down to pick it up herself — a thing she never did. "Whatever are
you doing!" I cried, running to stop her. "Well," she said, smiling, you know,
the window — the show-window
motto in holly — the motto "Merry Christmas" laid out with leaves of holly
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madam, "I shall I to begin to practise." Oh, it was all I could do not to burst crying. I
went over to the dressing-table and made believe to up the silver, and I couldn't keep
myself in, and I asked In she'd rather I ... didn't get married. "No, Ellen," she said —
that, her voice, madam, like I'm giving you — "No, Ellen, not for wide world!" But
while she said it, madam — I was looking in glass; of course, she didn't know I
could see her — she put her little hand on her heart just like her dear mother used to,
and lifted her eyes... Oh, madam.
When Harry came I had his letters all ready, and the ring and a ducky little
brooch he'd given me — a silver bird it was, with a chain in its beak, and on the end
of the chain a heart with a dagger. Quite the thing! I opened the door to him. I never
gave him time for a word. "There you are," I said. "Take them all back," I said, "it's
all over. I'm not going to marry you," I said. "I can't leave my lady." White! He
turned as white as a woman. I had to slam the door, and there I stood, all of a
tremble, till I knew he had gone. When I opened the door — believe me or not,
madam — that man was gone! I ran out into the road just as I was, in. my apron and
my houseshoes, and there I stayed in the middle of the road... staring. People must
have laughed if they saw me...
...Goodness gracious! — What's that? It's the clock striking! And here I've
been keeping you awake. Oh, madam, you ought to have stopped me... Can I tuck in
your feet? I always tuck in my lady's feet, every night, just the same. And she says,
"Good night, Ellen. Sleep sound and wake early!" I don't know what I should do if
she didn't say that, now.
...Oh dear, I sometimes think... whatever should I do if anything were to...
But, there, thinking's no good to anyone — is it, madam? Thinking won't help. Not
that I do it often. And if ever I do I pull myself up sharp. "Now then, Ellen. At it
again ' — you silly girl! If you can't find anything better to do than to start
thinking...!"
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2 Unit 2. Macro-components of a poetic structure
2.1 An Outline
2.1.1 Literary images
Image as an aesthetic category. Both science and the arts aim at cognizing
and interpreting the world we live in. But in contrast to science where the means of
cognition is an inductive and a deductive analysis, the means of cognition in
literature and the other arts is a re-creation of objective reality in the form of images
drawn from reality itself. Stated in general terms, the relation between reality and
literature is essentially that of an object and its image.
An image is always similar to its object, as, for example, a painted portrait of
a person is similar to the person himself. The similarity between an object and its
image is conditioned by the fact that the latter is a representation of the former. It is
implied in the word "image" itself which is defined in the dictionary as "a likeness
of a person, animal or object". The similarity between an object and its image may
be barely traceable, but there will be a similarity. A picture (or a portrait) is always
that of an object (a tree, a human being, an animal and the like). The similarity
between an object and its image may be great, nonetheless it will remain a similarity
(a likeness) and never become an identity, for an object cannot be at the same time
its own image. The two are different categories, the former being reality itself, the
latter a representation of reality. Thus, a portrait is always a representation of a
certain person, never the person himself.
Turning now to the literary work, we may say that image is always a
representation of a life situation. In other words, the literary work in its re-creation
of life gives images which are similar to but not identical with life.
If an image is not an identity of the object it represents, then the image
contains within itself not only features similar to the object but also features
dissimilar to it. Dissimilar features appear because an image is always somebody's
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creation, i.e. an image has not only its object but also its creator, the author. It
implies that:
1) An author, in setting out to re-create a fragment of reality, re-creates those
features of it which, to him, seem to be most essential. In doing this he is guided by
his own consciousness, his vision of the world (as well as by the laws of verbal art
representation). He makes a selection of the features to be represented in the image
of the re-created reality, which alone makes the image dissimilar to the object
(reality).
2) The object, i.e. reality, is neutral to the observer; the image of reality
created by the author is not. For through such an image, the author expresses his
vision of the world, his attitude towards the world. Thus, in any image of reality (in
a literary work), there are always present, side by side, with objective features,
subjective ones as well. The subjective is the organizing axis of the literary work,
for, in expressing his vision of the world, the author represents reality in the way
that he considers to be most fitting. What emerges as a result of such a
representation is a world in itself, an imagined world, based, however, on what the
author has perceived and imbibed from objective reality.
So literature recreates life in the form of images, inspired by life itself and by
the author’s vision. Image is a means of life reflection and representation. Image is a
definite reflection of an abstract notion. When a writer creates his work he does not
make it abstract, but he describes definite characters and their lives as the
representatives of the whole society and the whole epoch.
It means that, for instance, Soames Forsyte from J. Galsworthy's “Forsyte
Saga” is not just an English bourgeois, but a literary character created by
Galsworthy in precisely the way his talent, his vision, his understanding of the
English middle class life have urged him to create. In giving the image of Soames as
well as the other images of “The Forsyte Saga” the author transmits to the reader his
own philosophy of life, his ethic, and moral code.
The term “image” is referred to the whole literary work, characters, nature
and smaller meaningful units such as details and tropes. Literary image is perceived
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throughout the whole work. You can’t read the first part of a novel and see a
complete literary image. So a structure of a literary work consists in imagery
development, shifting and grouping.
Poetic structure of a literary text composes a hierarchy, an organization of
macro- and micro-images.
The basic unit of the poetic structure is the word. Words build up microimages and micro-images build up macro-images: images of characters, landscape
images, thing images. At the top of the poetic structure is macro-image – an image
of life depicted by the author.
Imagery of characters. The central part of this system belongs to imagery of
characters. The author entrusts them with his own thoughts and ideas.
The character may be introduced by:
1. A long descriptive paragraph introducing his physical appearance and
sometimes his moral and psychological nature.
2. The author may be impartial (objective) in the presentation of his
characters.
3. He may portray them ironically.
4. He may identify himself completely with his creations, which become
his mouthpieces.
5. Many writers use names, which through onomatopoeia or association
suggest certain inherent characteristics.
6. Through the very physical appearance of the characters, especially the
facial features, the author may be calling our attention to certain inner phenomena of
character.
7. Characters may be revealed through mimicry, gesture, turn of phrase, or
through the way they dress [8].
E.g.: “He was a little man, considerably less than of middle height, and
enormously stout; he had a large, fleshy face, clean-shaven, with the cheeks hanging
on each side in great dew-laps, and three vast chins; his small features were all
dissolved in fat; and, but for a crescent of white hair at the back of his head, he was
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