CHST 332: The Chicana/o Gothic

The Legend of Nahuales in Tuzantlán, Part 2

Posted on May 1, 2014 by Dulce

In my first blog post, I wrote about my father’s experiences with Nahuales. Most of his experiences with Nahuales were not bad. As I asked my mom to tell me what she had witnessed, I noticed that it was difficult for her to start talking.

My mom explained to me that in her opinion, Nahuales are evil. She believes this because a Nahual used her powers to cause physical and emotional pain to my grandmother. Before giving birth to my aunts, mother, and uncle, my grandmother, Balbina had four failed pregnancies.

I have translated what my mom said to me in regards to the Nahuales.

“Every time my mamá was pregnant, she suffered. Whenever she was about to give birth, she said she saw a black dog with red eyes at night time. She lost four children. They died before she could even give birth to them. My mom was always sick. It was strange because her stomach would get purple then black. She would get really depressed.

My father took my mother to a curandera because many people advised them to go with her. Her name was Octavina. Octavina assured my parents that she would heal my mamá since the first time she saw them. But she was not a bruja, she was a curandera. My mom used to tell me that Octavina gave her liquid herbal medicine, but she did not know exactly what was in them and she prayed a lot. She had catholic saints in her home, and she prayed a lot for my mom. She had an altar. And she performed a limpia(cleansing). This curandera told my mom that it was an evil Nahual causing her suffering. Octavina said that the Nahual was a woman who was in love with my father. Her name is Agueda Mejia. This lady wanted revenge because my dad ended up marrying my mother instead of her. She used her powers for evil, she was the black dog that my mother would see at night. But, Octavina healed her. Thanks to Octavina, my mother was able to give birth to me, your aunts, and uncle. She healed my mom! If it wasn’t for Octavina, we wouldn’t be here. After all of this, Carla (sister) was born.

Because of that woman, Nahual my mom suffered a lot. She was just jealous. It’s a shame.”

As my mom was telling me my grandma’s story, and about Octavina, the curandera, I remembered Ultima. When Antonio’s uncle Lucas was very sick, Ultima was their only hope. Octavina was my grandmothers only hope. Octavina’s and Ultimas healing methods were very similar. Although the church did not approve either Ultima’s or Octavina’s methods, the Marez family and the Torres Garcia (my mother’s family) family were very thankful to the curandera.

Works cited

Anaya, Rudolfo A. Bless Me, Ultima. New York: Warner, 1994. Print.

Torres, Otilia. Personal Interview. 27 April. 2014.

Image: wikimedia <http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e6/Ghost-BlackDog.jpg>

The Legend of Nahuales in Tuzantlán Part 1

Legend of Nahuales Final Post

An Overview of Chicano/a Gothic: Final Project

Posted on May 1, 2014 by Rachel Rios

For my final project, I made a tumblr (http://chicanaogothic.tumblr.com/) about the Chicano/a Gothic. My tumblr acts as a companion to our class, featuring information on five of the six books we have read, as well as work towards defining what Chicano/a Gothic is. Essentially, it follows my process of deducing what Chicana/o Gothic Literature is and how the works we have read in class fit into this definition.

I chose to use the social blogging website tumblr.com because it allowed me to interact with other blogs by reblogging information from them and tagging my posts, making them accessible through tag searches. This medium, paired with posts working on the definition of Chicano/a Gothic, allows people who view my blog to quickly grasp the definition and ideas pertaining to this genre, and potentially spark a dialogue about it. While I have not received any comments or questions, some of my posts have been reblogged and a number of people have followed/subscribed to the blog.

For each book, I made blog posts listing the Chicana/o features, the Gothic features, a brief synopsis, images relating to the novel, and a short essay pertaining to an interesting facet of the novel.

The following lists detail the posts that were unique to certain books:

Calligraphy of the Witch

Notes from Alicia Gaspar de Alba’s interview
A close read of the poem by Sor Juana featured in the novel and how it informs COTW
Short Essay Topic: Concepcion’s adoption of a male identity (Riddle Wolf) and how this is informed by Sor Juana’s poem

Bless Me, Ultima

An argument for whether Ultima is a witch or a curandera
Production stills from the movie adaption
Short Essay Topic: Antonio as a classic Gothic hero

The Hungry Woman

Classical tragic elements in THW
Information on La Llorona myth and how it informs the play
Information on Medea myth and how it informs the play
Information on the Hungry Woman myth and how it informs the play
Production photographs
Short Essay Topic: a further look into the Medea myth and how it informs the play

Gods Go Begging

Brief introduction to the Vietnam War
Pictures from the Vietnam War
San Francisco and Vietnam as Gothic settings
Short Essay Topic: Sexual violence as an allusion to war

What You Seen In the Dark

Synopsis of the film Psycho
Gifs from the film Psycho
Similarities between WYSITD and Psycho
Tropes of a Serial Killer
The meaning of the title
Short Essay Topic: The mothers of Psycho and WYSITD (Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Bates)

The Legend of Nahuales in Tuzantlán Part 1

Posted on April 30, 2014 by Dulce

Sitting down at the kitchen table while eating dinner, my parents always had stories to share about their childhood. Both of my parents were born in a small pueblo in Puebla, Mexico named Tuzantlán. One of the stories that always scared me was the one about Nahuales. I didn’t recall much about the Nahual stories because as a child I was scared. Recently, I asked my parents to sit down with me and tell me all that they remember. I am going to start with my fathers version. He focused more on the good side of Nahuales.

Although legends like La Llorona were heard of in Tuzantlán, the legend of Nahuales was the legend that people talked about the most in that town. My father enjoyed talking to the elders in his pueblo, he specifically remembers an old man by the name of Atilano, telling him about nahuales. My dad was about ten years old when he first heard about Nahuales. According to my father, Nahuales are supernatural people or brujos with tremendous amount of powers. At night, and only during the night time, these people have the ability to transform into an animal; animals such as dogs, snakes,cats and many others. These beings were even more powerful in animal form. They have the option of choosing whether to use their powers for good or evil.

It was easy to spot which people in this pueblito were Nahuales because these persons liked wondering at night. Atilano knew that one of his neighbors was a Nahual. He thought this because a dog would walk out of the front door . Atilano never saw his neighbor leaving his house yet, hours after the dog had left, his neighbor would be the one walking through the front door. He witnessed this multiple times.

My papá and other people in Tuzantlán believed that his grandfather, Luz Ruiz was a Nahual. My great grandfather loved walking at night, and no one could understand why. No one knew his whereabouts or what he did at night. It was all very mysterious. When Luz had to travel to nearby pueblos, he would leave at night time. This was very strange because everybody who had to travel to distant places would do so during the day. This was another reason for people to believe Luz was a Nahual. My dad believes that if his grandfather was a Nahual, he used his powers for good.

My parents also believe that my grandfather, my dad’s father is a Nahual. However, they believe that he uses his powers for evil. My dad is almost certain that his father is a Nahual because he says that his father has always liked walking at night. He had no business to take care of out there but still, he wandered off. My father found this very strange because as a child and even as a teenager, he was scared to walk around the pueblo late at night.

My parents would not specify why they believe my grandfather is a Nahual. My mother concluded by saying that every time he was upset with them, something bad would happen at night. They recall seeing a snake every time one of these events happened.

I will continue to explore the evil doings of Nahuales through my mother’s eyes on my next blog post.

Works Cited

Ruiz, Mario. Personal Interview. 27 April. 2014.

Torres, Otilia. Personal Interview. 27 April. 2014.

The Legend of Nahuales in Tuzantlán, Part 2

Legend of Nahuales Final Post

Behind the First-Gen: A Reflection

Posted on April 30, 2014 by Genesis

For this project, I really wanted to explore the first generation college experience through a gothic lens. At first I did consider doing further extensive research on other narratives from other students and finding the uncanny and the abject in their experiences. However, as I started reflecting on my own experiences I realized that in a matter of only two years, I was already able to pin-point these feelings of distance, the uncanniness of coming from different backgrounds in comparison to the majority of my peers, the confusion in trying to figure out my financial issues. Thus, I decided to change it from just research-based to a creative piece.

Deciding the parts that I wanted to use was the most difficult part—especially in how I wanted to present it. The first installment, while presented as a diary entry, was more to set the stage of confusion. I feel as though it bridges the unfolding of events while also showing my present situation.

The second installment sounds more like a reflective essay. While I did try to avoid this at first, I found that this is the way the piece wanted to present itself. Since the culture boundary is one that has had me really explore my identity both here on campus but also on the individual level. However, its not just the cultural difference that I found myself reflecting on but the actual presence of my major. In a way, your major defines a part of who you are as an undergrad. At least, that’s how I see it for myself: I am an English major who values literature and the art of storytelling with the dream of being a writer. It has been a part of my identity for as long as I can remember. However, just because I recognize does not mean everyone does. Thus, came about the portion of my parents and the struggle it is to bridge the gap between the traditional Mexican ways and the societal norm of an education here in the United States.

The last installment details certain dates that occurred during my leave of absence. These chosen dates and the pieces accompanying it are actual diary entries that I found in one of my journals. In just copying what I wrote for those days as opposed to rewriting and trying to imitate, I find the feelings to be much more predominant and raw. The poem written for “March 25” was a poem I had written in response to my mother’s efforts to convince me not to transfer to a school in New York. Even now, it stands as an argument as to why it would be okay for me to move to New York after graduation.

In presenting these installments in non-chronological order, the gothic element of disorder is added which also reflects the experience I had as the financial issues that lead to my leave occurred. Further, each individual piece has its own central gothic element. The Chicana experience shows in the fact that I am Chicana. These are my experiences; my identity finds its way to shine on through.

The Gothic Short Story Across Cultures: Reflection

Posted on April 29, 2014 by Danielle

My project explored the gothic short story across cultures. I wanted to look at the work of three different authors whose work could be categorized as gothic. I started with Gabriel Garcia- Marquez. I had already read his story “A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings” before and I was very interested in discussing it in terms of the gothic. I was also excited to find a collection of short stories by Rudolfo Anaya, who we previously discussed in class. His short story “The Silence of the Llano” had many gothic elements that made it relevant to my project. Finally, I’ve always been a big fan of Edgar Allan Poe and I was happy to incorporate his famous story “Berenice” into my project.

In our class we have explored Chicano Gothic literature. I was interested in seeing how different cultures dealt with the gothic genre. I wanted to explore just how much ones culture affects their writing, and whether or not this culture shows in their writing. I found that each author’s culture does in fact affect their writing a great deal, and each story gives us a sense of the environment in each each author was writing. I think this is important and relevant to our class because we have been studying the Chicano gothic and how the Chicano culture informs these texts. It is important to know that many other cultures have produced gothic texts that are similar to the Chicano texts yet unique in that they represent the voice another culture.

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1, 2, 3

The Gothic Short Story Across Cultures: Concluding Remarks

Posted on April 29, 2014 by Danielle

This is my final post about the gothic short story across cultures. My first post can be found here, my second here, and my third here. The gothic short story can be found in many different cultures from Latin American, Chicano, and American. These stories not only give us a sense of the gothic genre but they also give us a taste of each author’s own culture. Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s stories were influenced by the tales that he was told as a young boy as well as the landscape and environment that he grew up in. Rudolfo Anaya’s writing is very reflective of his childhood on the llano. Edgar Allan Poe was influenced by the Romantic Movement and the many gothic writers that were active during his lifetime.

Each author’s style of writing is unique because of the culture that they grew up in. There are some similarities between the authors, however. For example Marquez and Anaya were both influenced by folktales that they were told as young boys growing up. They were also both influenced by the landscapes that they grew up in. All three authors grew up in relative poverty, which affected their writing.

Overall, each author has a very distinct voice. Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s stories are very fantastical, which is why they are typically labeled as magical realism. He allows the reader to escape into a different world that is completely unrealistic yet believable. Rudolfo Anaya’s stories give us a sense of Chicano struggle and pride. His stories show us the struggles that Chicano’s face and the pride with which they get through these struggles. Edgar Allan Poe’s stories are classically gothic. They are both terrifying and grotesque. His stories are both entertaining and thought provoking in that they make us rethink the human condition by revealing the many vices of mankind.

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Filling in Spaces

Posted on April 29, 2014 by Genesis

The third and final installment of my narrative.

For the first part click here.

For the second click here.

****************

December 24, 2012

I signed it.

I hate that I had to sign it. I keep staring at the screen—blank, as if just a few seconds ago it didn’t read out: Your leave of absence notice has been submitted. Thank you for your time. Followed by some other logistics as to what will happen after it has been processed and recorded.

It’s the logical choice. It’s done to buy more time: more time to save, more time to prepare. So then why can’t I stop the hands twisting at my heart?

I failed. My goal was to make it into school which I succeeded at but what was the point if I could not stay in? All that work was for nothing I guess. My parents say it’s not my fault, Alex says I just aimed too high. Allan is the only one that just looks at me and then gives me a pat on the back.

I think it’s supposed to be comfort.

February 5, 2013

Never thought I’d say this, but I hate school. No, not school because LMU was the best place I could have been. I hate the JC that I’m at. Maybe it’s because I have already experienced the fast-paced, never gonna stop, always stressin’ but we’re loving it pace of the four year university that this mellow, we’ll leave when we leave, I already have “too much” on my plate atmosphere suffocates me. It literally penetrates me with this knife of anxiety, as if I can’t stop fidgeting because all I want to do is move. Be involved, be pulled in twenty different, and overly stressed.

That’s what I want. What I need. In one semester it became a heroin that I apparently need injected in me every semester lest I want to go insane.

But there’s nothing to do here. I went to the club fair, and there were so few clubs available. It’s not what I’m used to.

I just really want this semester to end.

I want to be back at the school on a bluff. With a chapel that you can see once you walk down the walk of Alumni Mall. The school that’s small but does not fail to take you on an adventure with the right people. The school that is so expensive that I cry and wish for the price to go down so that it can be made easier for me to attend.

The school that I want to desperately call mine.

April 18, 2013

It still looks the same.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe for some sort of drastic change? But I think that’s my egotistical mind counting my absence as the central part of this university, when really it’s a small change.

I all but run to Student Accounts. I really don’t want to be seen by anybody. I didn’t tell anyone that I would be coming back for a few hours before I have to (forcefully) return to the real world. It shouldn’t have to be that way. I should be excited to see my friends—the friends that I already have so many memories with despite being gone for almost the entire semester. But every time I think about it, its unfathomable.

If they are going to see me, it’s going to be as a student, not this leave of absencee.

May 2, 2013

10:00 AM

I wonder if I would’ve been thrown into the fountain this morning. I was actually looking forward to it. It seemed so much fun when we did it to Lexie and Sarina. Sure, it sucked that they were being thrown into a shallow fountain filled with ice water but they got cake! And presents, sometimes a crown, and a sash. Because it was their days.

I didn’t want the crown or the sash. I wanted the chase. Pretending to run slow so they could catch me and force me over to the edge before letting me plunge into the freezing depths. Those would’ve been loud laughs and screams echoing throughout the quiet, finals-stressed campus.

11:00 PM

They did it! They decided to join SLG! I’m so happy for them! Even if I can feel my smile twitching, cheeks hurting trying to stay completely genuine. I wonder what it would’ve been if I was with them.

To wear those letters…that would have been a great birthday present.

March 5, 2013

¿Por qué no me oyes?

Don’t you hear the words I say? Don’t

you see my fingers itching for something more to grasp other than a pencil and pen?

¿No oyes la lagrima—desesperación en mi voz? The way I just want to run and run

far and come back when I want. When I want. Not have to, want. Óyeme, por favor.

I thought you would always listen, always support me. so why not now? When

I need it most. Usa este tiempo. Es tiempo de relajo. Tiempo de paz. Entiéndeme,

Mija. No te quieres ir tan lejos. No repites un error de familia. Family mistakes

are not mine. I want to fall over cliffs, only to grab onto branches as I fall,

pull myself up and learn the hard way how to scale the side. Yes, I will crave

for your steady hand—smooth but with hidden calluses from the rocks

that have scratched and marked you, but I can’t have it forever. You won’t

be here forever. Aproveche este tiempo, mija. No quiero que te quedes

con este dolor no ver una madre. But it’s a pain I have to learn eventually,

right? I already know the heartache. The few remaining bodies of fresh

water will become salty. Phone calls and letters will not be enough to substitute

for you. I know how hard it is to build bodies out of words. As do you.

But don’t you see your image etched into my heart? Carried everywhere,

I could never forget. ¿Cómo puedo? ¿Cómo puedo olvidar los abrazos

Que espantaron los fantasmas y las niñas que trataban de matar mi alma?

Los brazos más fuertes que yo he visto en una mujer. Hombros llenos de

paciencia aunque todos te están gritando, tu nunca usas tu voz fuerte.

My heart is not an etch n’ sketch. You cannot be erased. I can feel

you in every pulse, every breath, every step. I have more of Dad,

but I am always trying to be you.

Los Angeles and its Public Murals: Final Post

Posted on April 29, 2014 by Zach

The public art mural scene in Los Angeles contains great historical and cultural significance. Being an Angeleno, I never took the opportunity to research and enjoy the murals. As for most Angelenos, these murals are merely something to look at while driving through the Eastside, Silverlake, and parts of Downtown. Therefore, I took this opportunity to fully examine three murals that I came across initially as possibly containing Chicano and gothic elements.

The first mural, Resurrection of the Green Planet by Ernesto de la Loza, had interesting similarities with one of the course readings, Bless Me, Ultima. Images such as a curandera ties to the character of Ultima and how they both pass knowledge down generations. The way the curandera in the mural can be viewed as La Virgen incorporates Catholicism, which is a large part of daily life for many Chicanos. The mural has its dark imagery, as well, as seen in the far left hand side and top right corner.

The second mural, Y Maria Va by Leonardo Giacomuzzo and Christian Anson is located in Silverlake on the side of a Mexican restaurant. This mural has imagery that reminded me greatly of the landscape in Bless Me, Ultima. The main panel, now completely covered in graffiti, presents a scene similar to what Antonio would have looked like running to his home late at night after experiencing one of his many fatalities. The choice of red and black added to the gothic feeling of the mural along with the barren, dry, and isolated land.

The third mural, The Greatest Love by Paul Botello is located in Boyle Heights on the corner of Cesar Chavez and Soto. The street location is important to the mural, as Botello incorporated Cesar Chavez and co-founder Dolores Huerta in the left panel. This mural had similarities to Their Dogs Came With Them in regards to the specific area of Los Angeles. The surrounding neighborhood of the mural is very similar to that in the novel. The left panel has significant gothic figures that seemingly try to steer off course the ambition/mission of Cesar Chavez and Dolores Huerta.

All in all, each of the murals conveyed important and valuable messages that seem to go unnoticed in Los Angeles, as little emphasis is focused on their preservation. Graffiti has largely altered two of the murals I had examined. It is an unneeded gothic additive that represents an aspect of Los Angeles life that was not intended in the original message. The examination of these murals and subsequent analysis has been such a fulfilling experience that being an Angeleno, I was wrong in not having done so earlier.

Some Bridges are Never Finished

Posted on April 29, 2014 by Genesis

Here is the second installment to my personal narrative on my first-gen experience. To find the first installment, click here.

March 15, 2014

It was never something new to me.

I noticed it the first day I entered one of my major classes and saw a sea made up of golden hair and skin that was lighter than mine. Not that my skin is dark (I am often mistaken for being a mix of “white” and “Asian”), but entering the classroom immediately made me feel as though I might as well be wearing a stereotypical sombrero y botas. I shouldn’t have felt such gap between my classmates and myself. After all, in high school I was often the only Latina in all of my AP and honors classes.

I didn’t experience culture shock when I first stepped onto campus. Everyone talks about it, but I didn’t see it. On the contrary, I saw the opposite: a saw more Latinos on one campus than I had ever seen. My middle school was primarily white, whereas my elementary and high schools were both primarily Korean. So to go to a school and find out—not to mention see—that the Latino population is almost 25%, I wasn’t struck by differences but rather similarities.

At least, that was my first impression.

My major is one that I have come to call a “Privilege Major.” It is not one where people know exactly what you can do with. Whenever I tell someone that I’m majoring in English the first question I get is, “Oh. Are you going to teach?”

No.

I may eventually want to be a professor but that does not mean that is the only thing I can do with my major. I could’ve decided to go into law, government, advertising, public relations, etc. the only reason I didn’t was for the simple fact that they did not attract me. It may sound naïve to some, but I truly believe in doing something that I love as my career. I don’t want to suffer and dread each passing day as I go to work. If I only have one life, why am I going to waste it and make memories of moments that I dreaded rather than enjoyed?

But that’s beside the point and a rant for another day. Back to the point: because English is a major that not many know exactly what to do with it aside from teaching, I noticed that there are very few minority and first-gen students in my classes.

As if I needed another rift from my peers.

They would talk. They’d talk of how their parents encouraged them to pursue this degree as opposed to a law one; or of how they were advised to minor in bio because it would look much more appealing to med school as opposed to majoring in bio and taking the “traditional” route. The most my mom advised me on about choosing my major was always along the lines of choosing something that I liked.

My dad was a different story.

The very first thing that my dad told me in terms of choosing a major was “make sure it will leave you money.” Evidently the notion of me following my “dreams” was not much of an option. Although, looking back I know it wasn’t with the mal-intention of discouraging me but rather trying to avoid a repeat of events. Financial security for their children is every parent’s worry after all.

It’s just too bad that in his eyes, the only majors and career paths that are guaranteed to leave me money are business, finance, real estate (he especially pushed for this one), and anything in the sciences so I could become a doctor or nurse. Everything that I did consider at some point in my life but… how could I pursue them when I had my life epiphany when I was in fifth grade? (Earlier if you read my first grade and kindergarten journals that claim my lifetime goal.) It’s not as though I didn’t try. I got my real estate license to appease him; I did look into business programs. But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t find a spark with it.

My passion was, is, with words. It always has been.

Not that my dad was too happy about it. When I finally told him that I was officially going into every university I apply to as an English major the first question out of his mouth was: “what are you going to do with that?” Even after telling him my plan, he wasn’t convinced. Especially when I wanted to go to LMU.

“Why are you going to pay 50k to study something that might not even leave you half that?”

We rarely talk about it.

So when I hear my classmates talk about their own parents’ knowledge on the importance of English I can’t help but feel the tinge of jealousy tugging at my heartstrings. To have been told just exactly what I can do with literature would’ve definitely made my decision a lot easier without the side of guilt.

But I think the fact that so many of classmates have had this luxury that my professor felt it appropriate to say: “I’m sure most of you have had servants so you understand—the lower, working classes are the ones that know the secrets of the upper class.”

We were discussing Julius Caesar, I think, of the power of the lower class and the secrets they can find because of their access to upper class’ “hidden files.” While I understand that my professor said “most” I could still feel myself get on the defensive. Especially when, as I looked around my class, a lot were nodding and even laughing.

I understand, it is LMU, a school that is primarily made up of those that are well off economically, but this surge of annoyance at the ignorance was literally pounding through my veins like a can of Monster. As I walked throughout the school, I couldn’t help but suddenly pick up on this topics discussed amongst my peers. Topics surrounding crucial decisions as to whether to spend spring break in either Cabo or Aspen; or how parents don’t understand that not going home for the holidays is essential for the growing student. Never have I seen the tide so wide. I always felt that I connected with everyone in at least one way, but when I would hear everyone talk it was like a new foreign language that I had to learn quickly lest my own “white cover” be blown.

But some languages just never get tied to your tongue no matter how long you practice.

The Gothic Short Story Across Cultures: Edgar Allan Poe

Posted on April 29, 2014 by Danielle

This is my third blog post exploring the gothic short story across cultures. My first blog post can be found here and my second post can be found here. I will be looking at the work of Edgar Allan Poe. Edgar Allan Poe is an American author born in January 19, 1809 in Boston Massachusetts. He was the son of two professional actors David Poe Jr. and Elizabeth Arnold Hopkins Poe. His father abandoned the family when he was still young and his mother died by the time he was three. Poe was raised by John Allan, an exporter from Virginia. He attended the University of Virginia but was forced to leave when he could not pay off his debts. He married his 13 year old cousin Virginia Clemm at the age of 27. She died of tuberculosis 11 years later in 1847. Poe struggled with alcohol addiction and died in 1849 after being found in a state of semi-consciousness on the streets of Baltimore.

The story that I will be discussing is entitled “Berenice” which tells the story of a man named Egaeus. Egaeus spends most of his time in the library in deep meditation. He lives in his head and the realities of the world are dreams to him. He suffers from monomania and concentrates on trivial things for long periods of time. Egaeus has a cousin named Berenice who he describes as graceful and full of energy. Berenice becomes sick, however, and soon begins to wither away. Egaeus proposes marriage to her and they are set to get married. One night while he is meditating in his library he notices Berenice standing in front of him. Her emaciated frame disturbs him and he becomes anxious. His anxiety is heightened when she smiles and he sees her teeth. He becomes obsessed with the teeth and cannot get them out of his mind. Egaeus soon becomes convinced that if he gains possession of the teeth he will be at peace. Berenice soon dies of epilepsy and Egaeus prepares for her burial. One night in the library, he awakens in a confused state. He has an uneasy feeling and cannot recall the past few days. All he remembers is that Berenice is dead. He can hear the scream of a female in his ears and there is a small box on the table beside him that makes him shudder. A servant enters the library to tell Egaeus of a strange scream in the night that brought the household to the grave of Berenice where her body had been dug up. She was still breathing and still alive. The servant then points out the mud on Egaeus’s clothes and points to a spade on the wall. Egaeus rises in horror and grabs the box dropping it. It falls and shatters, and dental instruments and teeth scatter across the floor.

Edgar Allan Poe is known for his gothic style of writing and this story has obvious gothic elements. The setting itself is very gothic. Egaeus lives in a large mansion described as gloomy and grey. The character of Egaeus is very gothic in that he lives in his mind and is very disconnected from the world. He was born in the library and is preoccupied with books and studying. This keeps him isolated from the rest of the world. Berenice is a common gothic character as well. She starts out healthy but deteriorates quickly. Her frame becomes emaciated and her beauty fades. Her character becomes a haunting figure in the life of Egaeus. The themes of the story are also very gothic. For example, mental illness is prevalent throughout the story. Egaeus suffers from monomania, which is characterized by excessive concentration on a particular object. This seems to cause him great distress throughout the story. One of the most gothic moments of the story is Egaeus’s obsession with Berenice’s teeth, which leads him to dig up her body and extract them from her mouth while she is still alive. The death of a beautiful woman is also very gothic as is the idea of being buried alive.

It is evident that Poe’s culture as well as his life affected his writing in a big way. His life was plagued with tragedy that I think definitely made his stories more dark and twisted. Both of his parents were gone by the time he was three leaving him orphaned. His wife also dies of tuberculosis at a young age. Poe suffered from alcoholism throughout his life, which I think also contributed to the darkness of his stories and the isolation of his characters. Poe was also writing during the Romantic period and would have been exposed to other writers such as, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley who was known for her gothic novel Frankenstein. He would have also been familiar with the work of Nathanial Hawthorne and the Bronte’s, who where also well-known gothic writers. In other words, the period in which Poe was writing creatively was beginning to explore the gothic elements of horror and apprehension. Someone who was living and producing literature in this time would have surely been influenced by such factors.

Works Cited:

“Edgar Allan Poe.” Bio.com. 2014. Web. Apr 29 2014 http://www.biography.com/people/edgar-allan-poe-9443160.

“Edgar Allan Poe.” Poetry Foundation. 2014. Web. 29 April 2014. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/edgar-allan-poe

Quinn, Arthur Hobson. “Edgar Allan Poe: A Critical Biography.” New York: D. Appleton-Century Co, 1941. Print.

Poe, Edgar Allan. “Berenice.” Complete Stories and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. New York: Doubleday & Co., 1966. 171-177. Print.

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