I am not sure exactly why, but I found it extremely difficult to begin this essay. To say that I spent several days preparing to write it is an overstatement of the truth. Rather than picking up a pen and beginning I procrastinated this moment. I am not sure why, but it has caused me to stop and think of whether it is me, or the circumstances around this essay that caused me to do this. I think of myself as somewhat of a generally knowledgeable type of person, so it put me on edge when, "being specific" and "sighting a passage" made me a bit anxious. I prefer to think it was the fact that there is a greater challenge in comparing characteristics of Realism to those of Naturalism and using Life on the Mississippi and Chickamauga to illustrate them. Both of the pieces I found enjoyable to read, but especially Samuel Clements work, Life on the Mississippi. I enjoyed "coming home" with our class and reading some material penned by our own classmates. Both authors, Twain and Bierce, came out of the literary mixing bowls, yet the stark differences between them were evident from the beginning of their writings.
Twain laid the ground work in the first few lines about the young lad who is the main character of this piece. The options for this youngster were limited and he set his sights early on for the highest prize; becoming a steamboat man on the mighty Mississippi River. Twain spent the rest of his ink on this work giving the readers an honest portrayal of what that steamboat man's job looked like, also, how people around the river lived. Then, Twain used words that helped create mental images of people with both low and high status. Images such as, the town drunks "sleeping one off" against a stack of shipping crates in a small river town to surmise a vision of how people of means moved about on the river. These were the wealthy or those who had positions that set them apart. Twain went into great detail describing the Wheel House on Bixby's new boat. This boat, which travelled the Mississippi River, was as high as a mountain and had fine furniture along with it. Twain's description was that of actually being on board that mountainous boat and along the streets of that sleepy river town. However, he wrote it from a more common, regular citizen's status from which Twain wrote about how he portrayed dreams, adventure, and conquest of the American life. It was in these pages that I was taken back to a simpler, easy, life that Twain portrayed as real and not fantasy. Incidentally, I tried to transfer the vision Twain set out into a season of my own life, but failed. It was as if the words fell from the page and onto the floor as I tried to make them go from the story, through my head, and flow into my heart. I am grateful to have another shot at these words.
In a harsh contrast, Bierce's Chickamauga, started out innocently enough by describing a young boy's playful conquest, much like the character in Twain's work, but it turned more quickly into something so different. Additionally, deep in the earlier lines of the first paragraph, other hints were presented that might have made the upcoming events that were going to unfold more obvious. Coming from two continents through a great sea, a race conquered a joy of its new sense of freedom. The boy, also the main character, was deemed as, "it" only because of my own naïve ways did I not see any foreshadowing in this. As the story unfolded there was so much more to compare with the dream of a Mississippi River boy in post Civil War America.
If you believe as your notes say, "people are the prisoners of their own biological inheritance and social events," and also, man equals the sum of his heredity plus his environment, reflects Naturalistic principles, then Chickamauga is right up your alley. As I wrote earlier, "its" background was shared in the first few lines of the story, but there was more in this piece that puts this, "it" in, " it's" place. The child and his sword portrayed a gleeful escape from the reality that so quickly became lost and the fear of the forest that overtook him, which caused him to dive deeper and deeper into his predicament. As the boy saw movement, he gained a renewed spirit of hope that maybe in bushes is a rabbit or some other familiar creature. As the object moved toward him he realized he was about to be completely overtaken. The wounded from the dying forces of a retreating army was headed straight for his path. Because the boy did not recognize the force's plight he hopped on the back of one, who shook him to the core with his wounded mangled face. If I hadn't realized by then I shortly understood that this story would not end well. Along the way, as he lead this mangled mess of men to the fire beyond the woods where carnage awaited them. Raising his arm high with sword in hand, the boy's situation went from bad to worse. He arrived at his home with it burnt to the ground and his mother killed by a mortar round. The end was revealed at this point and the puzzle was finally finished.
I always loved jigsaw puzzles and I happen to be pretty good at them. There was always something exciting about finishing the outside edges and filling in the middle. Most puzzles are just fun. My favorite part however, was putting in the very last piece. Somehow, no matter how many puzzles I put together the last piece remained a special occasion for me. It was a generational heirloom of an event that was passed down to me from my mother that I then passed down to my daughter. It was such a bittersweet moment. The journey to the end was the best part not the finished product, yet it comforted and satisfied me to see the final perfect picture that all the pieces and hard work had accomplished. Ambrose Bierce wrote out a puzzle and the pieces were generally, most unpleasant, morose, driven, mechanical, or even horribly dark. He then, reached out with his words and gave the final pieces. In a puzzle there is always one piece that ties everything together. Bierce gave that piece at the very last possible moment, so that when I looked at it and breathed deep I realized that the puzzle was done and the picture was horrible.
Compare that final puzzle with Twain's and there are no comparisons to be made. The last piece handed out by Twain is one of a hero of the night. In Life on the Mississippi, Twain gave light and life. In Chickamauga Bierce gave darkness and death. Where hope was shown by Twain, Bierce showed despair. Where Twain showed normal occurrences we were shown no normalcy by Bierce. Bierce's character was of death and Twain's was of life, the common American Life.
