ENGL 4310

I keep writing about the stories that just “get me.” So I thought, for a change, that I would go back through the stories that we’ve read and do a bit-o-blogging on one of the stories that didn’t catch my fancy or that I predict I won't say, “OH man…” to in three more years… Maybe it would be The Enduring Chill? So what do I attribute this forgetability to?

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy reading the story. Because I did.
It’s not that there weren’t unforgettable details. There were.
It’s not that I don’t identify with the character in the story, because I do (unfortunately).

Maybe it’s that I don’t have much sympathy for Asbury. I mean, in Pale Horse, Pale Rider, I feel for Adam and Miranda. In The Lame Shall Enter First, I feel for Norton. In Parker’s Back, I want to simultaneously smack Parker upside the head and hug him with tears in my eyes, yelling at Sarah Ruth to see what’s he trying to do for her. But with Asbury, he had too much sympathy for himself for me to feel like I should dole any out.

This is going to be off-topic, but I remember reading an essay of waiting tables. (Surprisingly not a gender-based one—but for the record women do make more tips than men.) Oh, no! It was an episode of This American Life, I think. Anyway, the results of this little experiment-type thing were that the servers who were super-happy and helpful got worse tips than the ones who seemed like they were having a crumby day, but service didn’t suffer. The servers who were clearly negative, unhelpful, and who were too bummed out also got crappy tips.

Moral of the story: If a character doesn’t need my sympathy (tips), then I don’t give them. If a character is demanding that I give them my sympathy (tips) then I am resistant. It’s those characters smack in the middle, like Parker, that end up winning the “Aw…poor guy/girl!” factor in my book.

There have been a couple of posts referencing the potential significance in the names of the characters of the stories we’ve been reading. Other names, or lack thereof, have not been touched upon. Perhaps we haven’t brought them up because they seem almost too obvious, to simple. Or perhaps we missed their importance because they seem so simple, like the color black representing death, that we just sort of glazed over them. In any case, I thought it might behoove us to compile a list of noteworthy character names and see what comparisons can be drawn between the character’s and their situations.

FYI, I intend to do a blog soon about the power of names themselves for specific characters. This blog is meant to be more of a list.

NAMES IN PORTER

Granny Weatherall: views everyone around her as a child or inferior for having not “weathered” as much as she has in her life including her “jilting.” Yet, of course, she ultimately cannot weather death.

Maria Concepcion: If you remember back, in class we touched on the significance that there were two “Marias” and both names could relate either to Mary, Mother of Jesus one to her and one to Mary Magdalene. “Concepcion” naturally invokes the concept of “immaculate conception” in the same way Maria Concepcion’s handling of the child at the end of the story is invocative of the Madonna and Child.

Him and Her in “Rope”: If their names were mentioned I don’t remember them, and leaving the two characters nameless in the story allows the reader to fill in the character’s names with those of the husband and wife of any couple.

He from “He”: “He” is not given a name because “He” is not even considered to be a whole person.

NAMES IN O'CONNOR

The Grandmother from “A Good Man is Hard to Find”: Like “He”, the grandmother is ignored and diminished, nothing more than an annoyance to the rest of her family. Her lack of a name cements this.

Joy/Hulga from “Good Country People”: Joy rejects her birth name and all of it’s connotations for the ugliest name she could’ve chosen, simultaneously rejecting the optimistic name that her mother gave her. However Hulga considers her name a “personal affair” and is upset when Mrs. Freeman addresses her by it. Hulga chose her name “at first purely on the basis of its ugly sound and then the full genius of it had struck her. She had a vision of the name working like the ugly sweating Vulcan who stayed in the furnace and to whom, presumably, the goddess had to come to when called. She saw it as the name of her highest creative act. One of her major triumphs was that her mother had not been able to turn her dust into Joy, but the greater one was that she had been able to turn it herself into Hulga” (p.266-67)

Mrs. Hopewell from “Good Country People”: While looking at her daughter in the kitchen Mrs. Hopewell thinks, “if only she would keep herself up a little, she wouldn’t be so bad looking. There was nothing wrong with her face that a pleasant expression wouldn’t help” (p.267). The next line continues this optimistic outlook with, “Mrs. Hopewell said that people who looked on the bright side of things would be beautiful even if they were not.” Mrs. Hopewell’s attitude about life certainly reflects her name. O’Connor even calls attention to Mrs. Hopewell’s name when the bible salesman even makes a little joke of it by saying to her, “I hope you are well” (p.269). Also perhaps noteworthy is that the bible salesman mistakes Mrs. Hopewell for Mrs. Cedar because he claims that is the name on the mailbox. Whether this is just another little joke of his, or perhaps foreshadowing of his revelation that the name he calls himself is not his real one could be an interesting discussion topic.

“Pointer” from “Good Country People”: As he is about to leave “Pointer” the bible salesman says, “And you needn’t to think you’ll catch me because Pointer ain’t really my name. I use a different name at every house I call at and don’t stay nowhere long” (p.283). This raises interesting implications about the power of names, changing them, and mistaken identities that I plan to address in a forthcoming blog.

The Guizacs/Gobblehooks from “The Displaced Person”: The nickname for the Guizacs not only is belittling, suggesting a fish gobbling greedily from a hook, but it diminishes the Guizacs as people. Furthermore, the renaming of the Guizacs by the other characters shows that other people are too lazy, ignorant, and jealous to make the effort to accept the “displaced people” and give them a new home.

Obadiah Elihue Parker: Neena wrote in her post, “Obadiah means servant of the Lord. In 1 Kings 18 the steward of Ahab who protected the prophets of God from Jezebel was named Obadiah. In 2 Kings there is a prophet named Obadiah. I also tried to look up Elihue. Elihu means God is he.” We also discussed in class that Parker has two encounters with Sarah Ruth when it is his full name that encourages her to open up to him. Like Joy/Hulga there is significance in Parker having chosen to go by a different name, O.E., instead of his full name.


Sarah Ruth from “Parker’s Back: As Brittni pointed out in this post, “The biblical implications of the names. Sarah who followed her husband to Canaan, and who's beauty forced her to hide. Then Ruth who was the faithful daughter in law. She followed Naomi...”

Mr. Shiftlet from “The Life You Save…”: I refer to Rebecca’s blog post

Old Lucynell and Lucynell from “The Life You Save…”: I find it significant that Old Lucynell gave her daughter the same name. I understand that names are often passed along the generations, but in this story, like in “He” the young Lucynell is “broken.” By not giving the young Lucynell her own name, her mother doesn’t give her a fully personal identity.

Asbury from “The Enduring Chill”: This may be a stretch, but I find it interesting in a story where this character has a preoccupation with dieing his name has to do with what happens with a body when someone dies. People can be cremated into ashes, “As”, or buried, “bury.”

I’ve noticed a pattern.

The first sentence in The Displaced Person is, “The peacock was following Mrs. Shortley up the road to the hill where she meant to stand.”

The first one in The Life You Save May Be Your Own is, “The Old Woman and her daughter were sitting on their porch when Mr. Shiftlet came up their road for the first time.”

The first sentence in Parker’s Back: “Parker’s wife was sitting on the front porch floor, snapping beans.”

A Good Man Is Hard To Find: “The Grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida.”

The Artificial Nigger: “Mr. Head awakened to discover that the room was full of moonlight.”

The Crop: “Miss Wellerton always crumbed the table.”

A Late Encounter with the Enemy: “General Sash was a hundred and four years old.”

The Violent Bear It Away: “Francis Marion Tarwater’s uncle had been dead…”

Greenleaf: “Mrs. May’s bedroom window was low and faced on the east…”

Wise Blood: “Hazel Motes sat at a forward angle…”

Judgment Day: “Tanner was conserving all his strength…”

The Geranium: “Old Dudley folded into the chair…”

The Lame Shall Enter First: “Sheppard sat on a stool…”

A Stroke of Good Fortune: “Ruby came in the front door…”

The Enduring Chill: “Asbury’s train…”

The Comforts of Home: “Thomas withdrew…”

The Partridge Festival: “Calhoun parked…"

28 stories. 17 with a name as the first word(s). 6 more with a character named in the first sentence. There is one that starts out with pure description.

So I’m thinking, what does this mean for Flannery O’Connor? Does this mean that she got into a rut on how to start a story? Does this mean that the setting and/or the themes are really secondary to her characters? Does this mean that she focuses on the characters? I got a little obsessed with this idea last night and Sara helped me go through 12-ish books of short stories (anthologies and collections). The verdict is that a little over half started out with a sentence naming a main character. That was sobering. I actually thought the number would be a lot lower, but it still doesn’t disprove anything. I still maintain that O’Connor starts her stories out with what is most important to her: her characters.

Maybe because of my experience with theatre, my mind reads for characters—what they say, their direct actions, and their settings are what are important to me. But I don’t really concern myself with a history of general characters or the beauty of a sunset… unless Mr. Shiftlet is standing in front of it with his arms raised in a twisted cross.

Because of blessed undergrad work, I am familiar with science and psychology and such, and I realized that there might be a bias in play in my late-night study. I know that I am more compelled to like stories that are character-centered, hence there would be resting on my bookshelf.

So, I am pretty sure I have a bias toward writers who would start out their stories with “Ms. Suzie Mae…”. One of these days, I would be interested to just go scan the library shelves and read first sentences (a wonderfully entertaining activity on its own) to look for main characters’ mention in the first sentence. But even still, I think Flannery O’Connor is an exception to that. I mean, come on, 82% of her stories name a main character in the first sentence. 82% is a big percent.