A Tale of Two Cities, Laying Down the Line.

       One can agree that in the novel A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, Sydney Carton is certainly the hero of the day, while being much like Winnie in The Secret Agent (background yet major character-- protagonist) and Joan (sacrifice-- matyr). He defines subtle majesty, being the downtrodden wise soul, who is intimate with the protagonist, but also ends up guiding them as well, perhaps not always to their knowledge. From eavesdropping to substitution, Carton brings a certain humulity to the table that perhaps not everyone can readily believe or accept, at least not now. But to his fellows of the time, he stood a shining example of something they would probably never do given the opportunity, but should have aspired to.

      Intially, we look down on Carton, he is a wasteful drunk that while wise in how to be successful cannot bring himself to ascend his own life (a disgraceful waste of gifts). Still, he assists in acquitting Darnay from his intial trial by displaying an uncanny likeness, and later at his execution by the same right (parallel usuage). So which image do we stick with? Do we say that all would be well if he was so "lazy" or do we say that he has in a sense redeemed himself by using that useless life to stand in where one would be taken, thus ending his own? It really matters not what we think, either way he is redeemed in his eyes, and very likely in the eyes of his impossible love, Lucy, and his frenemy Darnay. Truly he is a tradgic hero in that he exemplifies the quality of rising where none would dare, to make the sacrifice so many make for what they love. He is much like a soldier, a defender of nationalty and user of faith/pride (Joan), whose purpose is to safeguard those who are helpless and lavish in the efforts of the fighters, in a sense of justice. He is much like each one of us in that he has no special background or mythical upcoming, but rather gifts that we all do have, but often choose not to utilize or share. He is a stand-in beckoning for each of us to rise to the occasion, using our time to further others, perhaps even at our own expense, not just lavish ourselves in utter ignorance. Merely realizing this is part the challenge, doing it is what really matters.

       I did compare Carton to Joan and Winnie, but in contrast he is a man of less extent whose life is the tool, much rather than a belief or a sense of being. He does not have the faith Joan utilizes in her exploits and must instead rely upon the inner realizations of utter truth of himself versus others, ultimately bringing him to the aforemetnioned conclusions. While he does in a sense have similar support, he too must function all his own at a point, but to save rather than perserve for his own demise in the face of adversity. While he may drift outside the main spotlight, at least for a time, he still has a personal brush with death as Winnie does, albeit not in passion or spite as she does in each heat of the moment. Instead, he faces killing himself in redemptive substitution in a mental enlightment over the breakdown of a widow. So while he may be similar to them in slighted ways, he too is vry different in the simple way he does those things. Now if only one was to be so brilliant.

Saint Joan, Deathly Humor?

        I have already hinted at thematic elements of death prior in The Secret Agent, but I find that the humbling nature of this force is more predominantly flaunted before us in Saint Joan by Bernard Shaw. Here, especially since in a war repleling invaders, death is a bit sublime in such a "ferocious" battle of powers, but ends up piked as a hero's head, praised yet condemned. Joan fights valiantly and wins greatness for her country of France, but ultimately her support wanes and she is incarcerated, and later executed in fire, by conspiritors, enemies, who see her zeal as a demonic manifestation. After such tragedy, she is brought up in a dreamscape to be known for her Saintly efforts, but when she offers herself to the world once more, she is quickly dismissed and left to ponder meaning. Much is the same to our own lives, as we are all our own supporter through everything, but at times that is seen to wane under the weight of many.

        This play is not exactly the most serious of pieces, although it does bring up some very stirring and abstract aspects of ourselves. Perhaps the biggest concern is the feministic aspect of Joan, that she does not want to conform to "womanly" status, but rather offer her faith as a weapon to defend her nationality (this faith is also non-conform from her mention of direct communication with saints). This not only drives the plot, but also questions it by the agast action of others, who support her efforts because of her triumphant knowledge and prowess, then abdandon her when she goes beyond their own personal limits. Reaching that limit, is where her weapon in all this, faith, is brought into question for inevitable downsprial in store for her. By her belief and procalimation of such that she is chosen by God, does His will, and direct communes with saints there so, she is then accused of blasphemy as blatantly as her victorious faith has brought her. These alone reflect some aspects of even today, as females are technically equal to men and allowed such (mostly), their still lies the prejudice and assumptions that are associated with the gender regardless. This stagnantly applies a very viscous sense of reality that varies opinions are their are hues of every color, but ultimately is usually still intact even after warring ideals convene. The future does not seem too different to change, sadly, if even now we still cannot take everyone along with us to each side of the nuances of everday life.

         Aside of all that, I found one other powerful and somewhat unrelated image in the play, the conversion of Joan's one accuser (the one that intially raves about her burning, sees her burn, then in regret converts his efforts in his career change). By transitioning from accuser to a being of regret shows that words tend to seem all well sitting there, but when they take action, horror is the result. We may condemn everyone around us for every reason to be known, but when it comes to that trigger time, one may think before, and if they proceed, the result may not be satisfaction, but irrevocable regret. Hopefully not the same can be said for Saints in the world, then all is truly hopeless for us.

The Secret Agent, Agent Conasseouir.

            The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad had a second sticky note to myself versus the novel, namely Verloc's relations. Verloc's a great character in choice and position all his own, but to me its his relations with others that really sparks my interest and the story. Really this is apparent in everything from Winnie to Bombs, and so results in a rather violent explosive result. Take away one string attached to Mr. Verloc and the whole tapestry of deceit comes crashing down with the lawful's dream of conquest (Inspector and Assistant Commissioner) and the blade of Verloc's end, passion.

          Winnie is the backbone of Verloc's transit as a villainous protagonist (more of a main character than hero to the public eye, as versus revolutionary standpoint he resides in), but does so in an enduring background sort of way. Throughout her appearance she is tied inseperably from her brother Stevie, a priorly outlined standout. She remains endearing and likeable even to the point wehre she finds out the web of deceit Adolf weaves is not only thick, but reaching into her very self, Stevie. A grand part of this heroine in the air turns the passion that drives us towards each, turns into a heated act of retribution for the painful knowledge that her charge, Stevie, is not a mere click away, or even passed, but rather splattered. All this is driven into Adolf by a blade, which in itself does seem just of passion, but after all she is his husband, a "love" relation exists in some other form to this now fatal man. This then alludes to the all too tragically familiar scene of killer turned killed, as the presumed widow casts herself from such a world of spite, for her it seemed.

        The Bombadiers are what catalyse such a volatile reaction in the first place, and while more seem to provide a context from which history is the source, revolution, still also provided a grisly face for what Adolf apparently was. Vladimir entails a human vice by his institution of incentive, do or die, a common application of people's fears to do what the threat giver feels is necessary in spite of the threatened's doubt or unwillingness to act (in a sort hesitation in this case, and alternative means-- Stevie). The Professor can be seen to be a sort of the aspect of zeal, where one is either devote or crazy enough to believe that even something that may be or grow to be, in ways, wrong (moral sense--example). Such a model is one some may wish to not exist for others less candid for the experience to follow, perhaps at times blindly or with inhibited reason. Michealis is, in my opinion, the great scapegoat of the story, as all falls to him in a wrong sense: Stevie's deadly missing case, the Revolutionary espionage (Inspector and Assistant Commissioner), and Verloc. All these characters lead Verloc not only to play the deadly game with trust in others of a similar fashion to a grim objective, but in ways lead to a much darker outcome than even onlookers percieved. With out each, one would be without a rhyme or reason, which is something revered by society, but not always transcribed in easy strokes or a delicate hand.

The Secret Agent, Agent Provocator.

             The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad is a second popular to Heart of Darkness, but perhaps in its historical context tugs at us more definitely than most. While done in myriads over, two things rather stuck to me with the story, as it is most probable that they relate well to me, one of which being: Stevie, the character.  Stevie is perhaps a bit odd out for his time, but rather with so many like him that I know, as well as experiences being like him in some respect myself, I suppose I felt a subtle connection to him that perhaps not everyone has, but is certainly nice to those who do. He tickle the sense of who we are to each other, especially when in a position to ensue judgement from and to, and who we are to ourselves (and perhaps how different that is).
          
           Stevie took on for me, specifically, a cousin of mine I met a long while ago during a party of some kind. He was incapable of coherently expressing himself with words, which only added to difficulty and fears he expressively had with the world. While not I am not entirely sure he was the pleaser Stevie apparently was, some action I observed indicated to me, my cousin might resort to this aspect when in normal settings with people of interest/power, hence his parent(s). However this does not mean he does not deviate from such a way to explore things, as he did with me once in the house's basement where we observed the many things there, one of which was a lion blanket held to block the outside entrance in a dark stairway, showing its otherwise vacant eyes as pulsating and observant. Much like Stevie versus the cab driver, we were reluctant to engage a strange incident that seeming absorbing, but regaled later about (well I did, he unfortunately is unable to). When my cousin left, to me it felt like Stevie's trip to the Observatory, seeming to be right and timed, but feeling and turning out deadened. While I do not mean this literally (as far as I know my cousin is alive, unlike Stevie), I mean to convey that my lack of seeing him again sort of sapped my positive feelings towards the event that transpired between us. But I still hold hope in the face of that uncertainty, even with a fate such as Stevie's being a gruesome possiblity.

        In hindsight, Stevie makes me wonder about the family support to one of his personal type, and how that affects such a person. Ignoring the tragic outcome, it appears to me that such people often have a protector/guardian of who they are attached (not necessarily in a positive way). This often does lead them to an appropriate response to this caretaker in accordance with themself, which is seen with him versus Winnie, but begs to me him and Verloc. Perhaps it is a transigence that one beloved of that personal attachment is given, but also perhaps it is misplaced to assume one is equal to another, or greater. When assumptions are made, one can only be lead to disappointment and tragic mishaps abound. Plan is routed in permanence, which is something only people really percieve and crave, while ultimately sacrificing the mortality given to explore that pressured mystery.