King Lear

Shakespeare’s plays always seem to be hit or miss. I haven’t met someone who has been on the fence about his works; you either love it or hate it. As someone who didn’t like Romeo and Juliet but appreciated Hamlet and A Midsummer Night’s Dream to name a few, I enjoyed reading King Lear.

Although I’m a female, I never put much stock in feminists or their arguments, so of course I went into this assignment with reservations. At first, I read Coppelia Kahn’s (whose name bears some semblance to an illustrious Mongol emperor) interpretation and immediately wrote half of my blog about how much I disagree with her standpoint and how she only sees the big picture and not the details. Then, I read the e-mail excerpt a second and third time and found myself agreeing with it more each passing.

In King Lear, there was a painfully obvious lack of maternal figures. Being older than 80, there’s no doubt that Lear’s own mother was dead, and his wife (or at least a baby-momma to put it modernly) is scarcely mentioned. Reflecting on the time, men were expected to act differently from women, suppressing ideals, views, or actions considered feminine. It wasn’t normal for men to act maternally, especially the king. Because Lear’s offspring were depraved of maternal figures, two out of his three children repressed their feminine emotions, as well. It was only Cordelia, feminine and nurturing character, that held the brunt of the maternal weight.

With most Shakespearian and even Greek tragedies, it’s the characters pride that brings the characters to their demise, and King Lear is no exception. It’s always easy to ask “what if?” in Shakespeare’s works. What if Lear actually listened to Cordelia in the first Act instead of casting her out before she’s heard? What if he thought before he acted impulsively on anger? But if things were different, and there was no “what if”, then it wouldn’t be a tragic at all. If Lear had accepted Cordelia’s answer and let her take care of him in his age, the remaining sisters wouldn’t rebel and there would be no drama, action, or interest in the play.

As the play carries on, Lear realizes his mistakes, and at the very end of King Lear, he asks for forgiveness for his rashness. However, Lear’s acceptance of his human limitations and his reverence for Cordelia don’t necessarily mean he’s stopped avoiding the tears referred to as “women’s weapons”. Lear has just acknowledged his wrongdoings and through his age, he learned to be vulnerable. Ultimately, being prideful did nothing but stick him in a rainstorm.

Persepolis

I apologize to Ebi, Marjane’s father, but I strongly disagree with him. To say that politics and sentiment don't mix is like suggesting that humankind is completely devoid of emotion. It’s impossible to run a country without any kind of passion. Mostly (with exceptions, of course), humans make decisions based off of self-interest, and self-interest is motivated by emotions.

In this specific instance in Persepolis, the Shah of Iran stepped down from his throne and the King of Egypt accepted the former Shah into the country. Marji suggested that his acceptance was possibly because of the Shah’s first wife, who was Egyptian, in which her father says “surely not! Politics and Sentiment don’t mix.” However, many political marriages were arranged to strengthen ties or alliances in countries. If Ebi were to say that on September 20, 2001, the day the United States declared war on “terrorism,” I’m sure he would encounter a very different response.

Not only do I disagree with Ebi, but I believe that our little protagonist does as well. At the time, Satrapi seems to kind of brush her father’s words off of her shoulders. I don’t think she seriously dwells on his words right after they are said. Yet as the book (and her life) continue, Marji seems to find fault in Ebi’s statement. In fact, when the family returns from their trip to Madrid, Spain, they meet with Marjane’s grandmother. The old woman explains to the family that there was official announcement of the Iraq invasion just two days prior to their arrival. Marji writes, “My blood was boiling… I wanted to fight.” By this time, Marji may not audibly or narratively recognize it, but she realizes that her father was wrong and emotions may blend with politics.

Though I have a feeling that Marjane’s grandmother thought sentiment and government cannot be separated, she did her best to keep it divided in her own life. Grandma’s husband, who was the former prince of Iran, was tossed aside by his country when the Shah took the throne. Her grandmother and their children were immediately thrown into poverty, but while she was telling Marji the story, she had a peaceful demeanor. At the end of the novel, she told Marjane when she meets people that hurt her she should blame it on their stupidity to prevent responding to their unkindness, “Because there is nothing worse than bitterness and vengeance.”

Marjane's mother, Taji, is harder to pinpoint. Her whole character in the book just tries to do anything and everything that is right or will benefit her family.

Should politics and sentiment mix? I don’t think so. Does it happen regardless? Indefinitely.