The Scullery Maid

Actually, her name isn't Beth. It's Ella, naturally. Lady Lorn calls her Beth because the last scullery maid was named Beth and she can't be bothered to tell them apart, not when there are much more important things to be kept track of. The Newtons' dinner party was the height of elegance and she is determined to outshine them. If the candlesticks on the mantle in the dining room are still tarnished on Friday there will be hell to pay downstairs.
The cook simply calls her Girl.

Escapism

The dish room becomes infinitely more manageable (even enjoyable) when you are not Kat, a minimum-wage college student, but a scullery maid named Beth who's trying to save up enough money to marry the footman.

Working Woman

So. I have a job. And it has occured to me that I could probably get a whole lot of blogging material out of it. I'm instigating a "Blogging Work" series, a la Kaela's Blogging Basketball/Volleyball Coed. Only I know how busy I am, so each post will probably be very, very short.
Oh, and just so you know: I work at the Cannon Center, which is one of the cafeterias on campus. If you can call it a cafeteria when the food is so darn good.

Humor Me

I know it's bad form to drop off the face of the planet and then return with something I didn't write specifically for my blog, with no pictures and almost 2000 words. Sorry! This was my Independent Reading project for the last term of AP Lit, and I did it on Beowulf. Don't look at me like that. I think it's interesting and it's my blog. So there. And I would love it if you read it. I really would.

Quote 1:

Hwæt! We Gardena in geardagum,
þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon, 
hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon.

Lo, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!

(Lines 1-3)

These are the very first lines of the poem. The narrator is getting the attention of his audience (as the poem was originally entirely verbal) and introducing them to the beginning of the poem with a history of the Kings of the Danes.

I chose this quote for a few reasons, none of which actually have anything to do with the story. I wanted to comment on the really amazing structure of the original poem. It’s a classical Anglo-Saxon or Old English poem in the alliterative style. Basically, it doesn’t rhyme but it has a strict meter with two “halves” per line. In each of the halves there are two strong downbeats, and at least one of the downbeats in the second half has to be alliterative with at least one of the downbeats in the first half. Kind of hard to describe but anyway, you get “Gardena”and “geardagum,”and “theodcyninga” and “thrym.” It’s incredible in the Old English, but presents a few problems when translated. Many translating “schools” exist for Beowulf: some go for flat-out prose, some try to keep the meter intact, and some focus on alliteration. My personal favorites have a good strong meter and as many alliterations as possible, but the most important thing is to keep it understandable and to keep the integrity of the culture from which the poem sprang. Which is a lot to ask. No wonder there are bad translations out there.

The other point I wanted to make about the original and translation goes along with that. I think the magic of Beowulf isn’t merely the story, although that’s all very well and good. It’s the glimpse it gives us into the people to whom it wasn’t a relic but a well-known story told around a fire by a respected member of their community. To these people, it was a time for bonding, for learning, for tradition and pride in their people. The urgency and rhythm of the original poem is a large part of what portrays that, and so is incredibly important to preserve. But I don’t know how well it can be done. With the very first word we run into problems: “Hwæt!” the speaker proclaims. Literally, this means “What!” But obviously something is lost in translation. I’ve seen it put down as “Lo,” “Listen,” “Now,” “Hear me,” “Attend,” “Behold,” “So,” and many other variations. I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. Maybe I’m suggesting that everyone learn Old English. But I think mostly what I’m saying is that you have to be careful in picking your translation, and the translator has to care about the culture and the feel of the poem, not just the story.

Quote 2:

To the house the warrior walked apace,
parted from peace; the portal opened,
though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had struck it,
and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,
the house's mouth. All hastily, then,
o'er fair-paved floor the fiend trod on,
ireful he strode; there streamed from his eyes
fearful flashes, like flame to see.

(Lines 720-727)

            This is Grendel’s entrance into Heorot, Hrothgar’s hall. He has come from the wild moors, angered at the Danes and desiring their deaths. Grendel is a descendent of Cain, Adam’s son who killed his brother, and the Danes in righteousness have scorned his lineage. Grendel is determined to kill them and he is not fearful of this new warrior, Beowulf of whom he has heard.

            For one thing, this is a major point in the story. If you mention Beowulf to a layman, the only thing they’re likely to know about it (if they know anything) is that he fights a monster named Grendel. This is also a really cool passage—the whole section has some excellent imagery. Grendel blasting through the doors without any trouble, striding over the floors with fire in his eyes, and then falling on the hapless soldier and devouring him. Good stuff. I’d also like to point out this really masterful translation: strong meter, strict alliteration, almost word-for-word inclusion of the original, and it makes sense. Very, very impressive but unfortunately I can’t find who did it because I read this version online. The story of this lake monster as a descendent of a Bible figure is also intriguing to me. It’s an interesting glimpse into what happens when a pagan society is “converted” to early Christianity.

Quote 3:

Of Sigemund grew,
when he passed from life, no little praise;
for the doughty-in-combat a dragon killed
that herded the hoard: under hoary rock
the atheling dared the deed alone
fearful quest, nor was Fitela there.

…

He had of all heroes the highest renown
among races of men, this refuge-of-warriors,
for deeds of daring that decked his name
since the hand and heart of Heremod
grew slack in battle.

(Lines 884-889, 898-901)

            After Beowulf slays Grendel, a celebration is held in Heorot. There is a great feast, the heroes are presented with gifts to show Hrothgar’s gladness, and a bard comes out to favor the honored guests with fables. Here he tells the tale of Sigemund, a king of long-ago and a warrior of great renown. A dragon was guarding a great hoard, and Sigemund defeated it single-handedly.

Can anyone tell me what foreshadowing is? I mean really. Don’t we read this part later in the story? Can we skip it here? Aside from that, though, I picked this for another reason. One thing I really love about Beowulf is all the asides in the form of other stories. All through the poem other characters come in to tell their own stories or legends from years past. It’s another glimpse into the culture, and adds a roundness to the poem that would be missing if it merely followed Beowulf’s travels.

Quote 4:

“Ne god hafoc

geond sæl swingeð, ne se swifta mearh

burhstede beateð. Bealocwealm hafað
fela feorhcynna forð onsended!"

“No good hawk now
flies through the hall! Nor horses fleet
stamp in the burgstead! Battle and death
the flower of my race have ripped away."

(Lines 2263-2266)

            This is the passage where the hoard-keeper is quoted. He has watched his entire race be slaughtered, and now as he buries their treasure all away he mourns their loss and all that once was and never will be again.

            There are many reasons why I included this quote. First and foremost, I think that this passage is one of the most beautiful in the entire poem. The man’s emotion, though the grief he mourns is long past, is still so clearly raw that it touches deep down. The rhythm of the passage and the wording is so stirring, I think, partly because he weeps for his lost people and this poem is a glimpse into a lost people: reading Beowulf, trying to see what its performers saw, a modern audience can sympathize with the Guardian. A second reason for this particular bit of his speech is that I made an incredibly exciting discovery the other day. I was watching the extended edition of The Two Towers, and it got to Eowyn’s mourning song at Theodred’s funeral and suddenly it sounded oh-so-familiar. I’d never been able to quite tell what she was saying before because of the singing breaking up word structure (I do know a little Old English, but not enough to recognize words in a song.) So I went and looked up the lyrics online and sure enough: Bealocwealm hafað freone freccan forð onsended! A change in conjugation, that’s all it was: instead of the “flower of my race” being ripped away, it was “the brave warrior.” Yep. The soundtrack used a quote straight out of Beowulf. The “complete” song also had the beginning of the passage; it just didn’t make it into the movie. This is actually really fitting, because Tolkien himself was a professor of Old English and an expert on Beowulf, and the influence is clear throughout his works, especially in the Rohirric culture which is essentially Anglo-saxon. But we really don’t have time to get into that, so I’ll move on. I also love this passage because it was the first (and, so far, only) passage of Beowulf I memorized. In sixth grade for our medieval unit we were supposed to perform a ballad and I chose the Guardian’s Lament. Proof that I’ve been a nerd for longer than even I thought.

Quote 5:

Thus made their mourning the men of Geatland,
for their hero's passing his hearth-companions:
quoth that of all the kings of earth,
of men he was mildest and most beloved,
to his kin the kindest, keenest for praise.

(Lines 3178-3182)

            Here are the final lines of Beowulf. The great hero has died, defeating the dragon but defeated by him. He won his people glory, renown, and at last the hoard of the monster, and though they now fear being overrun by the enemies Beowulf had held back, they hold a funeral worthy of their king. His down is raised high on a hill, so that all sailing by may see it and remember the great ruler. The poem ends as Beowulf’s heorðgeneatas, the members of his household, sing his praises.

            Once again a glimpse is offered into the culture of the Geats and the Danes. The seeking of glory and the fight for your people and for your own praise are prized as much as kindness and leadership.  It was Beowulf’s physical prowess and might in battle that won him the kingship of the Geats, and he was loved for it—it is interesting to note that the Old English guðdeað can be translated either as “good death” or as “battle-death.” To fall in battle is the most glorious and fitting way for Beowulf the Great to leave his people. “A good king,” he is called—and here the earlier words of the poet are echoed, when he called both Hrothgar and Sigemund, in their turn, “good kings.” Thus passes Beowulf. 

Here, BYU: Read This Instead

200 words about a setback I've overcome? May I suggest an alternative? How about the topic my tenth-grade English teacher assigned to test what we'd do with an impossible topic: "Do you think the world has become better or worse? Explain." Now that I had fun with...

Dickens said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” The thing is, he knew what time he was talking about. I don’t. When one asks if the world has changed for the better or for the worse, I just don’t know what to think. Several million years is really rather a long time to evaluate, you see. And that’s not even getting into the real problems! Better for whom? In what context!? The world. The whole world! Earth! That’s an entire planet! Where to begin…

Let’s start with “better.” What do we mean by better? Better for…me? Better for the yak herders of the Mongolian steppes? Better for the Hobbits, who are now all in hiding from the Big People? It’s obviously not better for the Nazis! Or better for humanity? Can we really rule out the Eskimos simply because the rest of us now have cell phones? And once we’ve figured that out, how much better is better?

What constitutes the betterment of this very large world? Is it a better place now because there are artificial sweeteners? Maybe. How about because of sliced bread, that much-referred-to blessing? Sure! Lack of 70s hairstyles? Yes. Definitely better. Mandatory public education? Mmm, debatable. Who was this supposed to be better for again? I’m sure we could argue that the hanger has made the world a better place. And the Oxford comma. And those handy little white-out tapes. “Control-Z”. And the letter ‘j’. But of course, ‘j’ has been around for quite a while. Which brings us to the next question.

Time. Wrinkles or not, there’s certainly been a lot of it since the Earth was a ball of lava, dust, and toxic fumes. Has the world become better since, say, King Tyrannosaurus Rex IV? Being human, I would have to say yes. What about since King Henry VIII? Let’s see. Flushing toilets. Power tools. Chalkboards. Once again, I’m going to have to say yes. Since the 70s? Yes. We’ve been over this. The world is undeniably a better place without the 70s. And really, McDonald’s made everything better, right? Since the 90s? Well, there was no musical called Wicked then, and that certainly was a change for the better. Since last November? And here we encounter a little snag.

How much “better” does there have to be to cancel out all the “worse?” I’m positive we could find a following for the argument that Play station 76 more than makes up for the general debauchery of the world. And the fact that we no longer wear big silver buckles on our shoes could probably counter not being able to open your locker because there are no lights on in the hall. Monty Python’s good. But is it good enough to cancel out 40,000,000 cows and their collective methane gas emissions? Can Chuck-a-Rama’s deep-roasted turkey breast outweigh rap music?

Finally, if we can say that the world is better now, what does it mean for the future? Will things continue to be “better?” Or are we on course for a whole bunch more “worse?” Yes, we’ve eradicated Polio, but we still sell Velveeta across the country. Will email succeed in eliminating the U.S. Postal Service? And, perhaps most worrisome of all: just how long can a few Shire-folk and their friends hold back the tide of sparkly vampires in silver Volvos?

Ah, those were the days. Now back to my application.

This May Come As A Shock...

but I'm doing a Thirty Day challenge. Because I feel like it. I'll probably put other things up, too, but this'll keep my blog from starving in between my sporadic bits of prose.
Here's the list (a mash-up of Kaela's and Jackie's):
Day 1 – A photo of yourself and a description of how your day was.
Day 2 – A photo of something you ate today.
Day 3 – A picture of somewhere you've been to.
Day 4 – A picture of you and your friends.
Day 5 – Your ideal first date.
Day 6 – A photo of an animal you’d love to keep as a pet.
Day 7 – Your dream wedding.
Day 8 – A song to match your mood.
Day 9 – A photo of the item you last purchased.
Day 10 – A photo of your favorite place to eat.
Day 11 – What’s in your makeup bag?
Day 12 – A photograph of the town you live in.
Day 13 – Your favorite musician and why?
Day 14 – A TV show you’re currently addicted to.
Day 15 – Something you don’t leave the house without.
Day 16 – Your celebrity crush.
Day 17 – A photo of you and your family.
Day 18 – Something you crave a lot.
Day 19 – Songs you listen to when you are happy, sad, bored, hyped, mad.
Day 20 – The meaning behind your blog name.
Day 21 – Put your iPod on shuffle. List the first 10 songs that play.
Day 22 – A letter to someone who has hurt you recently.
Day 23 – 15 facts about you.
Day 24 – A photo of something that means a lot to you.
Day 25 – Nicknames you have and why you have them.
Day 26 – A baby picture.
Day 27 – A picture of something that makes you happy.
Day 28 – Your favorite movie.
Day 29 – Something you could never get tired of doing.
Day 30 – A photograph of yourself today + three good things that have happened in the last 30 days!
We'll see how it goes.

The Kat's Meow

This was the title of my sixth-grade autobiography; honestly, some of my best title ideas have come from then. Anyway, oftentimes I'm going about my day-to-day business and I think of something I want to put on my blog--but that simply is not enough to warrant a full post. So! I had this idea. When I get those flashes of inspiration (a quote, a fact, a book recommendation, etc.) I shall put it up here under the title of "Kat's Meow." Sound good? Awesome. Here's my first:

Do you know what I think about a lot? Punctuation. (Yes, Benjy, "alot of punctuation.") And I wanted to share with you some of my heroes from the punctuation world: if you have even a fraction of a Grammar Nazi in you, if you thrill to the sight of a perfectly-placed semicolon or gnash your teeth at those who unwittingly "lapse into a comma," you will surely love them, too. Their names, dear friends, are Aldus Manutius the Elder (1449-1519) and Aldus Manutius the Younger (grandson of the first.) They, frankly, were amazing. By the end of their combined work at their printing press, they had changed the written world forever--and still almost nobody knows their names! Aldus Manutius and Aldus Manutius invented the italic typeface. They were the first to print a modern-usage semicolon in their text. And they were the first to take the medieval virgule (which looked like today's forward slash), pull it down, and curve it: thereby creating the comma. It's all true. Thank them, O English lovers! For without these two inspired printers, English today would be very, very different.

A Little Bit of Dickens-esque Prose

This is what happens when I read Pickwick: I get hungry (they eat so much good food in that book!) and then I start to write like I was born two hundred years ago. Meet Arabella and Euphemia Spriggs, two spinster sisters who marched into my head and refused to be escorted off the premises unless it was onto a nice blank sheet of paper.

These two venerable ladies went about town on all days of the week. It was their habit to roundly and unfailingly condemn every acquaintance whom they glanced upon, and various and sundry others whom they had never laid eyes on before: This one was miserly, that one frivolous. She was too boisterous, he too withdrawn. There was a liar, there a thief, and there a fraud. This rather singular pastime  unsurprisingly did not win the pair many friends, but if you had asked the two why this was, they would undoubtedly have replied that young people these days were much too judgmental, denounced you as nosy, and gone off in high dudgeon.

Side note: after I had named Euphemia, I found out that the name means "to speak well." Ironic, no? Arabella means "prayerful." Hardly more appropriate; what were the late Mr. and Mrs. Spriggs thinking?

Apologies

Oh, my poor neglected blog! Reality caught up to me for a while there, but I promise at least one, probably two deliciously long posts by next weekend. Really.
Now for the second sorry. (Semi-quoting Anne, because I'm  more comfortable that way.)



So maybe I shouldn't have smashed my slate over your head in quite such a public manner...
"I'm extremely sorry I behaved so terribly.  I am wicked and ungrateful, and I deserve to be cast out forever. What I said was true," except for the part about the pictures. I know now that that isn't your fault. "Please, please forgive me. You wouldn't be so cruel as to inflict me with life-long sorrow. Forgive me."
Whew! Nice to have that out of the way. But, "Since, I had to do it, I thought I might as well do it thoroughly."

Paint With All the Colors...

Upon much consideration, I have decided that the wind is the element blessed with the most and the most beautiful names. Say a few of these out loud and try to tell me you don't see where all the stories of talking to the wind came from. (Some are verbs, some are nouns, some are storms.)

Breeze

Gale

Zephyr

Mistral

Chinook

Mariah

Gust

Billow

Tempest

Storm

Draft

Flurry

Waft

Typhoon

I rest my case. Here are some of those who agree with me, and the wind we love.



Winter Aspen

First off, I want to thank all of my wonderful friends for their comments and sympathy on my last post. You guys are amazing. But anyway, now I'm back to my usual, literary self. (I was never that far gone, to be honest. You may have noticed that even in the depths of despair I managed to sneak in a quote from A Knight's Tale  and one from Anne of Avonlea.) And so, I wrote my naturalist essay for English. And I really liked it, so I'm putting a bit of it up here. I don't want you to drown in the whole thing, but if you want the rest I'll add it later.

People say that winter is nothing but cold--cold and gray and dreary. It is cold. The rest is the sad mistake of those who can't see past what is right in front of their noses. Winter is magic. Winter is ice, snow, white, silver, sparkle, glide, black on white, the stark beauty of ink on paper. When you begin to see beauty in Winter, you see the very core of your surroundings. Without the shrouding bushes, mountains become monuments of stone, impenetrable as any medieval fortress, scraping the bases of the clouds. Without the enveloping greens of trees and grass, the bright red breast of a Robin flashes past in a blaze, striking in its confidence. Without the shivering leaves, the aspen tree seems an ancient goddess, every line a masterstroke of some forgotten quill. . .

Hope you like it. Happy winter!

On blogging...

Well, here we are. Where anyone could have told me I would eventually wind up, but where I kept saying I wouldn't. Such is life. The truth is, I'm a writer! I have to get it out somewhere, and I suppose a blog is a good place to start. Better this than simply in my head, making me so distracted that I can't accomplish simple tasks, anyway. Yes, this does happen. You know that part in Anne of Green Gables where Anne gets so distracted by the tragic story she's making up that she leaves the sugar out of the cake? Well.  One time, I was cooking, and I started thinking about that story, and then I went off on my own tragic thought-tangent, and got so distracted I actually did leave out a key ingredient. (Note to self: cakes are picky. Follow the recipe.) And a blog is better than a journal, too, because nobody ever sees your journal, so at least for me I have little to no success keeping it current. A blog, on the other hand, you can't completely neglect or the faithful followers come after you with knives and orcs. I myself have had very violent feelings when my favorite bloggers seem to forget their blog exists. So, moral of the story. I have a blog because I admit it will be fun, and it provides a really needed outlet for my insane imagination. After all, to quote Shannon Hale, "I can't write every daydream into a novel. Not if I want to do other things, like eat, or sleep, or breathe."