Raymond Carver, the author of Cathedral, wrote the following in an article about literature: "It is possible, in a poem or short story, to write about commonplace things and objects using commonplace but precise language, and to endow those things -- a chair, a window curtain, a fork, a stone, a woman's earring -- with immense, even startling, power. It is possible to write a line of seemingly innocuous dialogue and have it send a chill along the reader's spine. That's the kind of writing that most interests me."
After reading, re-reading, and annotating Cathedral (I have noticed that some of you are skipping steps two and three, i. e. you are reading but not reading closely), choose a passage or line to discuss that strikes you as masterfully written. Masterful writing, by the way, need not be deadly serious. Power is power, whether used in the service of humor, irony, or the pulpit. Explain your reasons for your choice and respond to the choices of your colleages.
Reminder: (1) Get a copy of Perrine's Sound & Sense: Introduction to Poetry (ed. 9, 10, 11, or 12) and bring it the first day of class after finals. (2) Get a copy of Crime and Punishment and get started -- discussion begins right after the poetry unit. (4)
If you have lost your copy, you may find Carver's story at: http://www.ndsu.nodak.edu/instruct/cinichol/GovSchool/Cathedral2.htm
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For me, it was the very end of Cathedral that I found to be the most masterfully written. It may have more so to do with the context than the actual writing, but it was the part I thought was most interesting.
From the point when the blind man tells him to close his eyes to the end of the story is the passage that intrigued me the most. When he says, “It was like nothing else in my life up to now” (132), in regards to drawing with closed eyes, he seems to have an epiphany. Closing his eyes is the closest thing he could ever experience to really being blind. The short experience seemed to open his eyes, even though he was the one that could see. It appeared to give him a sense of respect for Robert and what he went through everyday.
Since the start of the story, he had done nothing but make it very clear he did not like even the idea of the blind man at his house. Everything he knew about the blind (which was actually nothing) told him it was not going to be a good experience. Robert proved all his assumptions to be wrong and to in fact be a funny and interesting person. It is clear he sees this when he says, “It’s really something” (137), and he hasn’t yet opened his eyes.
"I thought it was something I ought to do."
Last page, fourth to last paragraph
Bub is quite similar to my Uncle Mark. They’re both arrogant and not accepting of "different" people, overeat, drinks a bit, don’t know what to say exactly, watch television a lot, married to condescending women, don’t know how to act in new situations, dry and impersonal, don’t fancy poems, smoked, don’t like their work and only with it for a short while, seems religious, amazed by those who externally appear different than originally assumed, and not very empathetic.
I even mentally gave Bub the pretend name of Mark before reading the "Bub" part.
But like Shea mentioned, the end is very interesting. At the end of the short story, Bub is depicted a little another way. Although he made it quite evident that he did not want to get too close to Robert (I thought it was weird how he and his wife are the only characters with real names) throughout most of the story, at the end he’s touching hands and experiencing the same senses as the blind man. He’s voluntarily exposing himself to something he walked around – like, he kept wondering what it was like to be blind (perhaps not so directly) and then finally imagined himself as so. He tried to be empathetic.
That’s where he stopped being so much like my uncle. [Near the end of my reading journey of course.] I thought "I thought it was something I ought to do" covered over a lot of grounds. It was still in his style syntactically and personality-wise. And it explained why he felt the need to keep his eyes closed without explaining anything with words.re
I agree with Shea, for me the end of the piece was quite striking. The fact that he was experiencing something so vastly different from anything he ever had before, was extremely eye opening (no pun intended!) for him, to say the least. As well as how Carver kept his writing very simple at the end, yet there was a lot depth within it shows it was definitely, “masterfully written.”
However, another line or so that I also though to be “masterfully written” is while the narrator (it bothers me that he doesn’t have a name) is listening to Robert talk about how he owns two TVs, and that he usually uses the color one, and the narrator then goes on to say to himself, “I didn’t know what to say to that. I had absolutely nothing to say to that. No opinion” (47). I believe that to be intriguing because before this event happened, the narrator always had a distinct opinion towards Robert and his blindness, mainly in a negative manner, and finally the fact that he did not have single thought about it was amazing. There is a sort of depth to this sentence, I think, that is quite mysterious. We usually have an opinion towards almost everything, whether we believe it or not. Moreover, when those moments do not happen, when we cannot proceed to a distinct view or choice, then there must be some deep reason for this. Therefore, there is something very gravitating and transcendent to this simple quote, which shows Carver’s impeccable style of profound simplicity.
Wow, this is my second post in a row that is on time! It must be a record for me!
Anyhow, the line that struck me the greatest was the passage where the Husband is describing how they ate. He states, “We dug in. We ate everything there was to eat on the table. We ate like there was no tomorrow. We didn’t talk. We ate. We scarfed. We grazed that table. We were into serious eating.” (3rd page, beginning of 5th paragraph) This passage is just fantastic. In this passage Raymond Carver explains every single possible way in which to eat but he does it with such eloquence that I wish that he had been able to keep describing and describing. There is power in this passage. There is parallelism, meaningful syntactical structure, imagery, and colloquialisms. It is a simple task, to eat a meal, but Carver explains it with such intrigue that it makes me wish that I had been there. I also think that this passage is important as a whole because this is where the husband begins to loosen up a little bit to Robert and becomes a least a little bit comfortable with him as well. But in general I don’t think that there is a huge, great meaning to this passage, it is just raw writing power. Carver begins each sentence with ‘we’ and in every sentence he describes a way to eat, they ‘scarfed’, they ‘dug in’, they ‘grazed’, they ate in every manner that was possible and that is pretty cool. This is masterful writing, turning a few brief sentences on the passage of a meal into an intriguing and engaging passage is not an easy thing to do. It was actually such an interesting (like a ‘hmm why did he write it that way’ interesting, not a ‘WOW that was really interesting’ interesting) passage to me that I actually thought about it after finishing the reading trying to figure out why he had emphasized that passage. And even still I am not quite sure why Carver did write it that way (any insights would be awesome), but regardless this passage holds some serious power.
The end of “Cathedrals” will stay with me for awhile, and for this reason, it’s what I picked it as the passage I see as most masterfully written. It’s hard to describe exactly what about it made it powerful to me—I could attempt to technically explain how the concise language and use of dialogue added to the overall effect and whatnot, but that doesn’t really sum it up for me. The last passage was, without any sort of technical language, a moment that struck me. The blind man and the narrator were suspended in time, it seemed, in a place where even the wife’s probing questions were ignored, and it was just particularly touching to me.
The moment seemed poised on a point, sharp and diamond-like. I know that probably sounds ridiculous, but that was the feeling it drew from me. There was no real embellishment; the moment was allowed to be what it was. A strange, indescribable moment between a blind man with more sight than the bullheaded man who could see. Part of this passage that made it so masterfully written was the fact that it evoked a feeling in me that I couldn’t describe for this blog post, a need to write about this passage in particular. If a piece of writing can draw a response that stays with the reader—whether it emotional, humorous, or simply thoughtful—then a writer has done his or her job. The feelings stirred up by a piece of writing shouldn’t be able to be contained by a blog post. In fact, it is when a piece of writing leaves a reader particularly UNABLE to describe their thoughts or feelings, that’s when a writer has done something remarkable.
Anyway, that is probably the biggest lot of rambling I have ever braved to submit to the blog, so I’ll attempt to wrap up my thoughts in AP Lit-esque style. I found the strange bond that emerged between the two men over the course of the short story to be .. to be what? Once again, there’s my inability to describe my thoughts. The blind man asks the narrator to help him ‘see’ through describing the cathedrals, but he is unable to do so. Is this suggesting that the narrator is perhaps just as blind to the cathedrals as the blind man? That’s a question I’ve thought about but have no solid answer to.
I like this story.
I've read it quite a few times since Monday. By now, dissected it pretty well.
Short stories are pretty great. They're like puzzles. Awesome.
In any case, one bit I thought was masterfully written:
>His fingers rode my fingers as my hand went over the paper. It was like nothing else in my life up to now.
>Then he said, “I think that’s it. I think you got it,” he said. “Take a look. What do you think?”
>But I had my eyes closed. I thought I’d keep them that way for a little longer. I thought it was something I ought to do.
>“Well?” he said. “Are you looking?”
>My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything.
>“It’s really something,” I said.
... Yeah, it's just the ending. I bet quite a few people will be talking about the ending.
I really tried to find something else, I did. But this ending is just handled so well. With such subtlety.
Our narrator isn't too great with words. His sentences are clipped. Chopped up.
He also doesn't really believe in much. In anything. Sometimes it's hard. You know? His marriage isn't that great. He doesn't really like his job. He doesn't really seem to have any purpose or joy in life.
But Robert (who's kind of the hero here) shows him something amazing.
Even though he's just drawing a picture on a paper bag for a blind man, our lonely narrator is possessed by a creative spirit. There's some serious vision going on here. Flying buttresses. Great, hanging doors. He can't stop.
To our insecure, ignorant, insensitive, lonely narrator, this is a pretty big deal.
Robert, an amazingly perceptive blind man, has opened our narrator's eyes to the fact that he's been blind all this time: to the liberating freedom of blindness, to Robert's humanity, and to the humanity in himself. (I can't exactly articulate what I mean by "the humanity in himself," and part of that's probably Carver's intent for reasons I'll get into in a bit. The rest is because I haven’t really decided yet, myself. On an unrelated note, I really liked writing that sentence about blindness just now.)
But he can't really put it into words too well. Hell, he can't even describe a cathedral if his "life depended on it. . . threatened by an insane guy who said [he] had to do it or else."
But this is a pretty enlightening, even liberating, experience he's got here. He didn't think he could. But he can.
So Carver has our narrator describe it in the only way that he can.
>“It’s really something."
Carver doesn't come out tell you exactly what this means. This is because the narrator doesn't really know exactly what he means, either. It's just really... something. Simply that, nothing more---yet so much more.
But not only that: as a reader, this meaning is only restricted by imagination itself. What exactly happened between Robert and the narrator? What sort of human connection did they share while drawing together? Go on, take a guess---Carver leaves more than enough room for it.
It seems like something grand constructed through their cooperation. A monumental achievement built by collaboration---to better understand each other and themselves.
Kind of like... a Cathedral.
wow that was a fun post / no headache today / and only an hour and a half, incredible
I very much agree with the posters above me with the statements they chose. They are deep, meaningful, simple, and masterful. The end of the story conveys a lot of emotion and portrays the change in him. What I really enjoy, not only about the lines mentioned, but the whole story itself, is the simplicity he has with his mastery. He can convey so much with simple sentences.
I thought to vary our discussions up a little bit, I would chose a quote that was different from the ones posted above me.
" My idea of blindness came from the movies. In the movies the blind moved slowly and never laughed. Sometimes they were led by seeing-eye dogs. A Blind man in my house was not something I looked forward to."
and later,
"Her officer- why should he have a name?"
These lines show us his dislike for people of different appearance who are not normal. His emphasis on outward appearance and the ignorance he has in the beginning is clear in the first line. The 2nd line shows his jealousy that he has for his wife's old husband. He refuses to name hhim. I feel like these 2 quotes simply help depict what type of person he is (or atleast was until the end). I see him as a man who is isolated from others. He does not seem to have an amazing relationship with his wife.
"My wife and I hardly ever went to bed at the same time. When I did go to sleep, I had these dreams."
HIs relationship with his wife seemed atleast somewhat strained.
Now he is spending his time with a blind man, who he had disgust for.
These lines I just posted up, I feel like conveyed his original persona which we see later got transformed. He seemed to come out of that isolation through the help of Robert.
I agree with Miranda, I think
“We dug in. We ate everything there was to eat on the table. We ate like there was no tomorrow. We didn’t talk. We ate. We scarfed. We grazed the table. We were into serious eating.” was a passage where Raymond Carver described a normal habit in a unique way it just really stood out to me. Since this passage is written in short choppy sentences it seems sharp and pointy, something strange, just there, but by putting some emphasis on it pierces you making the way they eat seem savage, making the characters animalistic. I think the different ways “Bub” and Robert eat reflect their characters, perhaps signifying how they take in information. Robert knows how most thing are or he finds out quickly, and isn’t afraid to reflect with what he learns. Bub is the opposite; he likes to distance himself from most things, and hesitates to step out of his comfort zone. But I wasn’t fully sure on the food scarfing that was happening during this scene. The way Carver describes it, makes it seems strange like some kind of a new ritual. And only after this ritual of stuffing themselves, Robert and Bub talk with more ease. This custom of breaking bread could be where Bub finally accepts Robert as his guest. After dinner the bond over some dope and this can be also seen as a part of their ritual of breaking bread, Bub eventually gets comfortable enough to start a conversation and become closer to Robert.
I agree with all those who picked the end of the short story. Those last few lines have sort of magical feel to me that had been building from the start (“‘It’s all right’… ‘It’s really something,’ I said.”).
From the start of “Cathedral” I was waiting for a change to occur in the narrator, something to change his ignorant opinions of blind people. About halfway through we see a glimpse of this change with the sentence: “I watched with admiration as he used his knife and fork on the meat.” When the narrator says ‘admiration’ it shows his softening heart. He stopped worrying about what to say and what might be offensive, and focused on Robert as a person.
At the conclusion of “Cathedral,” Raymond Carver describes the moment between Robert and the narrator with such passion. The reader can feel the change and appreciation taking place within the narrator. That type of writing is what interests me most, I love seeing relationships strengthen and characters change and develop from the experiences they go through. “It’s really something.”
The last passage is also one that really stood out from the rest of the story. "But I had my eyes closed. I thought I'd keep them that way for a little longer. I thought it was something I ought to do. 'Well?' he said. 'Are you looking?' My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn't feel like I was inside anything. 'It's really something,' I said.
After reading this specific portion of the passage for the first time, I was very confused about what the narrator felt. It seemed that as the blind man and "Bub" were drawing the cathedral, the narrator wanted to experience something new and exhilarating, but as the drawing finished, he could not distinguish anything new. "My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn't feel like I was inside anything."
However, I realized the subtlety of the narrator's epiphany. (If it can be called that) The story is filled with portions of increasing respect and understanding of the blind. From being shocked by seeing the blind man eat without hesitations and smoke freely, each slowly opens a new understanding of a different viewpoint. When the blind man and "bub" draws the cathedral, it "was like nothing else in my life up to now." The narrator becomes ensnared in a state of new boundaries that causes him to open his mind to new ideals.
Looking back at my post, I might not have talked about masterful writing so much as how awesome the story was as a whole.
So here's another small offering:
>"Robert was left with a small insurance policy and a half of a twenty-peso Mexican coin. The other half of the coin went into the box with her. Pathetic."
Just above this, the narrator spent some time (11 lines) "thinking what a pitiful life this woman must have led," married to *gasp* a blind man. Just above that, he "felt sorry for the blind man for a little bit." It's pretty touching stuff. Sniff.
But then "The other half of the coin went into the box with her. Pathetic." Her death doesn't get any respect. She's just shoved in a "box." They're "pathetic."
Way to go, man.
Narrator in a nutshell, some of that right here.
Such simple style, such innocuous dialogue---but I thought that it was awesome. Carver doesn't even (needn't even) elaborate this stuff up like other writers we usually look at tend to, since its simplicity is packed.
Short stories, huh?
"But instead of dying, she got sick."
Reading back through the passages I had underlined in "Cathedral" this quote stood out to me. It is so simple and raw yet hold so much depth and meaning. Taken at face value it has a very blatant meaning; she didn't die, she just was sick. But the wording is so unusual and arranged in such a particular way to suggest a deeper meaning.
It reflects the narrators pessimistic outlook on life. Life can be looked at as either dying or living. Everyone is dying, some people just get to know why before hand. But it seams that there are people who die, just waste away waiting for the grave, and those who live, who fight for every moment and breath. The narrator is someone who is dying. He is mundane and sedimentary in his life. He 'doesn't have it in himself' to describe a Cathedral. This was another passage that stood out to me a symbol of the absence of life in the narrator. I find it interesting that he describes his wife as getting sick. I think he still views her as being sick. She is trying to escape the slow drag of death, she tries to be optimistic and her character is very resiliant. But she is still sick and self destructing, her sickness is in some ways her inability to be dying. She is trying to life, but she isn't, so she is sick. Perhaps it would be better if she just accepted the route of the dying. Her husband is dying, he has no joy, but he also feels no need to seek joy. He is content in his misery, perfectly satisfied to gripe and moan for the rest of his days. To me the only 'living' character is Robert. He is the fighting character, who is making progress walking upstream the forceful river of death. He is learning, he says he always has more to learn. Robert is also striving to create. He creates for himself the vision he has been robbed of. I found it quite ironic that it was the blind man who opened the eyes of the narrator to life. He showed him what it is to fight the drag of depression and decay, and to be victorious. His life was creating a cathedral. The narrator began the story with the ideas that there are those who are dying and those who try not to die, and are sick. But he then learned that there are those that have life.
"But I didn't feel like I was inside anything."
no longer in a coffin the narrator feels the freedom of escaping dying.
I really like the serious comments that people have posted as masterfully written, and I agree. An aspect of the short story that I believe is masterfully written does come in the form of the sarcastic humor that Carver used to excentuate the narrator and his wife's personalities. Short stories don't allow the same amount of space for character development as novels do so these little remarks made by the characters give great insight and add a personal and humane touch. "Over the years, she put all kinds of stuff on tapes and sent the tapes off lickety-split. Next to writing a poem every year, I think it was her chief means of recreation...She and I began going out, and of course she told her blind man about it...I stared hard at the shot of the cathedral on the TV. How could I even begin to describe it? But say my life depended on it. Say my life was being threatened by an insane guy who said I had to do it or else." These moments draw me into the story, making me laugh.
“I guess I don’t believe in it. In anything. Sometimes it’s hard. You know what I’m saying?” -Narrator
The narrator's response to Robert's question was initially a simple nod but this gesture couldn't convey what he meant to the blind man. Because of this communications barrier, he had to voice his verbal response, which was difficult to explain and came out as an empty/hollow answer.
In his last thoughts, "My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything." (okay before we discuss this let's disregard the fact that he may be high from smoking cannabis =p) he envisions the place and comes up empty again, even though he knows his physical location.
I really did like this short story though. The narrators dry, cynical, voice reminds me of the character House. He is so insensitive and seemingly heartless but then a little bit of humanity will leak out occasionally. Its so incredible when it does that the dry sarcastic normal parts don't seam so bad.
Now I want to go watch House.
The thing about the Peso and "pathetic", Gregory House so would say that. And the rant about the blind man's wife.
After reading, re-reading, and annotating the short story Cathedral, by Raymond Carver, I have chosen this passage to discuss that has struck me as masterfully written:
From time to time, he'd turn his blind face toward me, put his hand under his beard, and ask me something. How long had I been in my present position? (Three years.) Did I like my work? (I didn't.) Was I going to stay with it? (What were the options?) Finally, when I thought he was beginning to run down, I got up and turned on the TV. - Page 453
I thought this piece was masterfully written because we learn a lot about the narrator and a little about the blind man in just a few short sentences. This is a great example of Carver's simplistic writing. I also notice each time I read it how the narrator says, "He'd turn his blind face toward me." It sounds kind of discriminatory to me, how could he tell if he was blind? Unless he was one of those blind people that keep their eyes closed, or that wear those glasses that basically scream, "I'm blind!" I also like the way he puts the answers to the questions that the blind man is asking in perentheses, it's a unique way of writing that really fits well in this part of the story.
I also thought it was funny how, the blind man says, "My dear, I have two TVs. I have a color set and a black-and-white thing, an old relic. It's funny, but if I turn the TV on, and I'm always turning it on, I turn on the color set. It's funny, don't you think?" Why would a blind man have TVs? I guess the obvious answer is because he can still hear. Man, that would drive me completely nuts having a TV and only being able to hear from it, how would I know what the expressions on the faces of the contestants of Deal or No Deal look like when they accidentally choose their 1,000,000 dollar case? And not being able to see movies? That would be terrible, which leads me to my next quote, a couple lines down the blind man says, "This is a color TV," the blind man said. "Don't ask mehow, but I can tell." This quote reminds me of M. Night Shyamalan's 2004 movie, The Village, specifically the part where that blind girl says she sees everyone as a specific color, and knows them and recognizes them by that. That was a pretty good movie, but the kind that you can only really see once, because the next times you know what's going to happen. I mean, some movies you know what's going to happen the second time around, but it's still a good movie to watch again, but The Village leads up to one big finale, making it no fun to watch twice. It doesn't even feel comfortable saying The Village and two, or twice, in the same sentence. Ugh.
The thing I liked most about this short story is the writing style itself. His story comes off so powerful, because of the simplistic style he uses. He can describe his feelings and events with a fluid manner. The author didn’t choose to put in fancy words to stir up the story or try and make it more sophisticated. In the end, it was a raw portrayal with all the honesties intact.
My favorite part was when he thought, “I stared hard at the shot of the cathedral on the TV. How could I even begin to describe it? But say my life depended on it. Say my life was being threatened by an insane guy who said I had to do it or else.” It’s sort of comical, because he is trying so hard to impress a man that he said he wouldn’t like. Most of us feel slightly uncomfortable around the disabled; because we fear to offend them or remind them of the situation they’re in. Furthermore, we don’t want to admit we are uncomfortable, that would mean we were singling them out and admitting to ourselves that they are different. The passage perfectly captures what a regular person would feel, the desperation to try and come up with something, make the situation less awkward. It allows the reader to connect with the author and understand the story more. You weren’t just a person sitting behind a desk and annotating the story, you were the man trying desperately to describe the cathedral.
While I read "Cathedral", I was struck by Raymond Carver's depiction of eating, smoking, and drinking throughout the story. It is odd, and seems to bring the characters to a more tangible, creature-like level. For example, when they eat dinner, it seems more like a necessary procession than the ever present social lubricant. I am not sure why they devour their food, but it could highlight the tensions among themselves, and serve to trivialize Robert's blindness. I mean, if a blind man is able to graze as effectively as a seeing man, then exactly how far do their differences displace one another?
On a different note, I think I found out where Robert finds his respect for our narrator. As he first meets him, Robert asks him, "Which side of the train did you sit on, by the way?" now, this could have been a sarcastic, mean spirited question, driven by the fact that the view makes no difference to Robert, but Robert takes it very well. He seems to see the good in our narrator, and appreciate being treated truthfully, not gingerly and tenderly, as I assume most treat blind people.
Back to the eating, drinking, and smoking theme, I think one of the most chilling lines is " ... we have a little of everything. It's one of our pastimes. " It seems innocuous, but to me influences strongly the interpretation of our narrator relative to Robert. The author's characterization of substance abuse is one I would love to discuss in class.
What really strikes me about Carver’s writing is the amount of depth and emotion packed into such simple and sparse sentences. His diction and syntax seem simple at first glance, but I think they’re quite complex, as there’s just so much feeling and substance in those sentences. I agree with everyone else in that the ending is just powerful, in a very elegant way. But what really struck me were some of the other sentences Carver crafted throughout the story. These sentences don’t necessarily relate, but they have a flow that’s powerful and really showcases the narrator’s attitude and personality.
“I’m saying that at the end of the summer she let the blind man run his hands over her face, said good-bye to him, married her childhood etc., who was now a commissioned officer, and she moved away from Seattle.”
I love this sentence because 1) it really reflects the narrator’s thought process. The syntax perfectly mirrors how one rushes from thought to thought with no particular grammar, thus conveying this hurried and indignant attitude, 2) the use of the “etc.” in place of “sweetheart”. With the use of “etc.”, doesn’t it seem as if he just let that phrase drop from his thoughts? It’s as if he doesn’t want to dwell on the person he was before/that aspect of him/his previous loving relationship with his wife. (If this makes no sense, then it’s because it’s 12:30 and I need to sleep!)
“We grazed that table.” “We were into serious eating”
Carver’s use of the word “graze” is just genius; the imagery is so sharp and vivid. I immediately pictured the three of them chewing on grass growing straight from the table.
“Robert had done a little of everything, it seemed, a regular blind jack-of-all-trades.”
There wouldn’t be anything remotely special about this sentence, if it wasn’t for that single word, “blind”, which makes evident the narrator’s still present prejudice and his condescending attitude. He’s making a joke at Robert’s expense, highlighting his blindness, in order to boost his confidence and feel better about himself.
“I wished my wife hadn’t pooped out.” –> I love this just because of the word poop.
Alex, I absolutely agree with you!
That line (We have a little of everything. It's one of our pastimes) was very sinister. It perfectly showcased the Narrator's declining marriage, home life, etc. and his aptitude for substance abuse.(Mmm, I wonder what his other hobby could be...)
The portion of the story that stood out to me the most was the paragraph that the narrator spent describing the blind man's late wife, Beulah, on page 450. Reading it, I could not help but feel for her, just as the narrator did, and for her husband, the blind man, who could never appreciate her as a healthy man might. I felt that same pity of the narrator's, I shared his dissatisfaction with the situation's futility. I myself cannot imagine being denied of that attention and appreciation that is the most basic of human needs, and I felt nothing but awe and admiration for Beulah, for living contentedly without being seen by her husband, without ever receiving "the smallest compliment from her beloved". It showed to me that emotion, that love, transcends circumstances, and I felt a kind of hope I haven't felt for a long time.
To make my point a bit clearer, I've provided the following excerpt from that paragraph:
"Imagine a woman who could never see herself as she was seen in the eyes of her loved one. A woman who could go on day after day and never receive the smallest compliment from her beloved. A woman whose husband could never read the expression on her face, be it misery or something better. Someone who could wear makeup or not - what difference to him?"
I agree that the lines, “It was like nothing else in my life up to now” (132), were the highlight of the story. It was a point where suddenly a man so insensitive (yet hilarious) realizes how to maybe live his life. In closing his eyes and drawing the cathedral, he realizes that he had been living his life with his eyes closed. He was insensitive to his wife and never appreciated the beauty in even the simplest of things, such as relationships or cathedrals. With his eyes closed, his eyes are open to beauty and understanding.
I thought Bub's character was absolutely hilarious. Some of my favorite lines are: "But she was in love with the guy, and he was in love with her, etc.," and "But instead of dying, she got sick," and "'Maybe I could take him bowling,'". His nonchalance cracks me up and yet I really appreciate the development in the way he talks and reacts towards the end of the story.
Before I type out my post, I just have to say it. Everyone on the blog is thinking it but despite that, this needs to be said: Scott, you are a genius. I never would've thought to make such a strong connection between the blind man and all those TV shows.
Also, I would like to agree with David's statement that puzzles are awesome.
Aren't they? So many types, too.
Logic, mathematical, picture, word, chess, cube... connect-the-dots?
So awesome.
Puzzles...what would we do without them? I don't know and I don't want to know. However, I do know that, at least for me, this story was incredibly random. Everything seemed so ordinary and matter-of-fact. But there was a significance there among the mundane diction and short, stubby sentences.
Reading "Cathedral" was almost like reading an episode of "The Twilight Zone." Everything seems so normal, but in the back of your mind you know that there is something going on that just doesn't quite seem to fit right; as if there is some hidden question begging to be asked, or a secret puzzle pleading to be solved. While annotating, I highlighted the very first sentence and wrote "wording is wierd." I thought it would only be that sentence, but the entire story is written like that. Most sentences are very short and direct, and those that aren't are chopped into several small, direct portions. That style of writing really lent itself well to the air of peculiarity hanging over the tale.
Another thing I found strange, and almost creepy, was the way a few of the events were described. The way that Robert speaks loudly, in his "booming voice," and the way he says, "I am comfortable," for some reason sent shivers down my spine. The dinner scene was actually really scary for me, and had me looking over my shoulder (I didn't get around to reading the story until fairly late, so the house is very quiet and dark). "He'd cut two pieces of meat, fork the meat into his mouth, and then go all out for the scalloped potatoes, the beans next, and then he'd tear off a hunk of buttered bread and eat that." It just seems so animalistic, but what really got to my, the icing on the cake you might say, was the aftermath of dinner. "For a few moments, we sat as if stunned. Sweat beaded on our faces. Finally, we got up from the table and left the dirty plates. We didn't look back. We took ourselves into the living room and sank into our places again." After reading that I just kept on glancing back at the dinner table behind me, half expecting to see three strangers voraciously scarfing down as much food as they could find. Don’t laugh, you know that’s a scary thought.
One other part I found to be especially creepy was the scene which Robert and the narrator sit watching TV. It’s not hard to picture this late at night…A blind man, well dressed and wearing a beard, sitting across from a man still slightly fidgety over having a blind stranger in his house. The television is turned down low, and the rest of the lights in the room are turned off, so that the man’s sleeping wife is not disturbed. While reading, that’s the image I had in my head, and at each new paragraph, I honestly thought that the blind man would begin to do something really freaky. When he leaned in and said “Can I ask you something? Let me ask you a simple question, yes or no. I’m just curious and there’s no offense,” I honestly thought he was going to begin outlining some devious plot that he had. My mind was reeling at the possibilities.
Maybe it’s because I read it late at night, maybe I just have a too-active imagination,
but this was a seriously creepy story for me. I felt power throughout the whole thing. The strength of the words used in the story came from everything I’ve mentioned; the diction, the syntax, the blatant plainness of everything. I got to the end and, wow, there was no twist, no surprise other than the surprise of there being no surprise. And yet as I sit here typing this, I’m still afraid that an old blind man with rolling eyes will speak some word in a booming voice from just behind my ear.
Now, reading over other people’s responses I realize that I have been focused solely on after Robert arrives at the house and nothing of what leads up to that. Probably because it’s so frightening once he shows up. But, there was a lot of good stuff before Robert’s arrival.
The first thing that struck me was the mini story of how the narrator’s wife met the blind man. The way he touched his fingers to her face was just, ahhh. It’s totally understandable on one hand, because he’s blind and wants to have an idea of what his new friend looks like. But on the other hand, the way it was described just lends itself to Robert’s creepy factor.
One thing that I found to be very powerful was this line: “Her officer -- why should he have a name? he was the childhood sweetheart, and what more does he want?” The way the sentence flows (not capitalizing the “he” after the first question mark really changes how I read it), and again the way the narrator has been talking, really express a lot of emotion and feeling. From the way he says this, he comes across as a man spiteful and maybe slightly jealous of his wife’s first husband. The officer doesn’t deserve a name. He was the sweetheart, isn’t that enough? Yeah, definitely jealous. The narrator also doesn’t care much about hearing of Robert. When the wife tries to tell him, he says “Right then my wife filled me in with more detail than I cared to know.”
The entire lead up for Robert’s arrival at the house, to me conveys a sense of foreboding. I think that’s maybe another reason I was so creeped out by the story. Now, no one else seems to have had the same reaction I’m having. Am I reading it wrong? I hope not. One last thing though…
The ending. Several people have mentioned this as striking, that the narrator is experiencing something new, that he has changed somehow. Well, for me, this part was on par with the rest of the story in terms of how eerie it was. I really wanted him to open his eyes and just look at it. The longer he had his eyes closed, the more unnerved I became. The fact that at the end, he still hasn’t opened his eyes, frightens me like nothing else. I came away with the feeling that Robert had stolen the use of the narrator’s eyes. I’m sorry everyone, but, to me, this story wasn’t about the changed perception of someone who couldn’t understand the blind, or of acceptance, or anything else nice and happy like that. For me, this story was just flat out scary.
(((((((((((((((((((((((First off: marijuana is not dope; heroin is dope. That was a small thing that annoyed me.
As for the most powerful line, I think the line where the blind man asked “Is it a fresco?” abotu the cathedral's paintings was the most powerful. I'm not 100% sure why, but I had to do a double-take when I read it. I suppose that I wouldn't expect a blind man to really care if a painting is a fresco or not. It was written in such a manner that it made me stop and actually think about what the man was saying.
Alex: I don't think the subject is so much substance abuse as it is something that they have in common. Like the man said at the beginning of the story, he wasn't very fond of having a blind man in his house; he's never known a blind man before. He wouldn't know what to do. So he brings out what they have in common.
First off, sorry, Mr. Duncan, that I didn't post this earlier before class. I tried checking the blog yesterday and my internet wouldn't open the page.
One line that really struck with me is when he tries to describe what cathedrals are like for Robert. He struggles for a while, talking about flying buttresses and gargoyles, but not really seeming to be able to convey what cathedrals are really like. Robert then asks him if he is in any way religious. He responds by saying, "I don't believe in it. In anything." I think this is an important clue into the narrator's character. From the beginning, he seemed somewhat jaded and not a person to really enjoy life. This line confirms that his not believing goes beyond religions. He kind of doesn't believe in any other life but his, I guess.
Another good passage to be one of the last paragraphs. It's when the narrator and Robert are drawing the cathedral, like some others above me said. The narrator's wife just woke up and is completely confused and Robert just says, "We're drawing a cathedral." together, as if it is the most normal thing in the world. He then says to the narrator (I really want to know his name!), "You got it, bub. You didn't think you could. But you can, can't you?" I think Robert says this because he's finally letting go of his prejudices. From the beginning, the narrator was prejudiced, not just against blind people, but also blacks (like the part about Beulah being a black name and disdainfully asking if she was black). He goes through a transformation as he draws the cathedral. I think this connects back to the “I don’t believe in anything” line earlier in the story. Now, I think he believes in something.
The passage that caught me was:
“Well?” he said. “Are you looking?”
My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything.
“It’s really something,” I said.
The narrator wasn't happy about having a blind man in his house at first because he had never met a blind person before and he seemes very uncomfortable with the fact that he was going to be staying with them. After drawing with the blind man he has an epiphany (like others have said) and realizes how beautiful and even freeing it is to not see the world. When you are blind it is up to your imagination to understand what the world looks like. Drawing the cathedral with his eyes closed was so thrilling for the narrator because no matter what lines his hands made, the picture of what he was drawing in his mind was beautiful.
C'mon Chelsea, you don't think it was scary when he wouldn't open his eyes? Ahhh, that part still worries me...
Such a scary story...
Okay, so I have to agree with pretty much everyone in that the most powerful and important part of the story is the very end, when the narrator is leading the blind man's hand.
But the part I wanted to focus on the most was, the blind man's encouragement to the narrator as he continues to draw.
" 'That's right. that's good.' he said. 'Sure. you got it,bub, I can tell. You didn't hink you could. But you can can't you? you're cooking with gas now. You know what I"m saying? We're going to really have us something here in a minute.'"
I'm not entirely sure why this passage in particular struck me as significant. I think i was mostly surprised at the blind mand encouraging the seeing to appreciate his ability. The man who could see was so unsure of life. He's jealous of the other men in his wife's life, he doesn't appreciate the things he has, like the ability to see cathedrals, to draw them, etc. And i know that this is a sort of cliche. But the blind man is literally helping the narrator to see his own potential. The blind man has experienced so much in life, he appreciates the little things like good conversation, friends, and the company of another person. It is through this that he can appreciate and encourage the narrator to live up to his potential, almost as if he were encouraging a child to participate in the world around him/her.
"you didn't think you could, but you can can't you?" are words from which i think we all can benefit from. The awkward situation and the pity he feels for the blind man forces the narrator into a situation in which he experiences something new and wonderful. Even he exclaims that "it's really something". High praise for someone so cynnical.
Before addressing the prompt, I would like to say that this story was incredibly powerful. Even though the blind man never directly talked about his wife, the concept of love without visual lust is quite pure and I think really aids in the development of the story. This leads into the most powerful part of the story, which I thought was not drawing the cathedral, but when Robert told the narrator everything he knew about a cathedral. All the answers had to do with the purpose and facts about what it meant to be a cathedral, not what physical form the cathedral took. He knew nothing, but he also saw the cost of the creation more than most, the manpower it took to create such a structure. The narrator only described the cathedral in flat, visual terms. Robert knew what a cathedral was and what went into it. I argue that Robert knew what a cathedral was best of all.
Like most of everyone else, I too took interest in the ending part.
Then he said, “I think that’s it. I think you got it,” he said. “Take a look. What do you think?" But I had my eyes closed. I thought I’d keep them that way for a little longer. I thought it was something I ought to do.“Well?” he said. “Are you looking?”My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything.“It’s really something,” I said.
It is very interesting why bub did not open his eyes to take a look at what he had accomplished. Near the beginning when the blind man arrives at the house, bub certainly does not feel comfortable around him. However as the evening progresses and then comes dinner, bub is taken back in awe of the spectacle he is seeing; the blind man is having no problems eating the same meal as him. I believe it was after this event that bub started to respect the blind man for his conditions and also started to enjoy his presence. Then in the end when he is told to draw with his eyes closed, he had an epiphany. I think that he was finally able to free himself from his thoughts that blind people are restricted in their lives. "But I didn't feel like I was inside anything." Just in the duration of an evening, bub's perspective of the blind man flipped 180 degrees. "'It's really something,' I said." Bub feels as if he is in the blind man's shoes and is relieved of the fact that he has realized something special; that even if you're blind, you can still enjoy life. He learns that beauty is not something only observable in the physical eye, but also in the mind and heart.
I like what Shota said before me. In fact, I was about to pick the same passage. Endings should nearly always be powerful and leave the reader with a kind of conclusion. For me, the conclusion specifically came when Bub thought, "I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn't feel like I was inside anything."
This shows the liberation Bub felt when he was freed from his sight, which, as Shota mentioned, is a complete 180. It seemed at first as though Bub held himself higher than the blind man and it took only one evening with someone who has overcome such incredible boundaries for Bub to realize that overcoming boundaries means limitless possibilities.
I think this speaks to much more than just blindness, or physical handicaps, but also handicaps set by our own minds; walls we set up within ourselves to keep us safe. Sometimes it takes inspiration from someone who has sent their wall crumbling in a great heap of forgotten baggage in order for us to realize that our wall is doing nothing to help us. These people can act like wrecking balls for us and I think Bub freed his mind enough for the blind man to start beating away at Bub's stubborn walls.
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