Character Analysis of the White Knight

 

In Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass, Alice encounters a White Knight in Chapter Eight, titled “It’s My Own Invention.”  Alice’s character is based on one of Carroll’s favorite child friends, Alice Liddell, so is too far-fetched to say that Carroll inserted himself in this second story about Alice, not as a Dodo this time, but as the White Knight?  There are many clues to this from the White Knight’s description to his actions that can point to this connection between the author and this character of the White Knight.

The White Knight is described as having “shaggy hair” (Carroll 207) and “mild blue eyes” (Carroll 214), and although this is minimal as anyone could have shaggy hair and blue eyes, Carroll did have these characteristics.  Also as discussed in class, it was brought up that the illustrator, Sir John Tenniel, decided to draw the White Knight in his image although that character was meant to be Carroll.  In the Introduction of the edition I read, this detail was mentioned in two places about Carroll writing himself into the story as the White Knight as an attempt at autobiography (Carroll xxiii) and about Tenniel substituting his image for Carroll’s (Carroll lxxix).

As for the White Knight’s behavior, he frequently falls off his horse and onto his head, which I interpret to be a representation of Carroll’s stuttering in real life.  In Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, he writes himself and the Liddell family into the book as various animals Alice encounters down the rabbit hole.  Carroll was the Dodo, whose name came from the form of his real last name when he experienced his chronic stammer—“Do-Do-Dodgson” (Carroll xvi).  Thus, it would not be surprising if Carroll made an appearance again in his second volume based on Alice.  Another one of the White Knight’s habits is inventing new, albeit dysfunctional, objects, which is suggestive of Carroll’s own career of writing the first stories of Alice’s Adventures Under Ground and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and his hobby from which these novels came from of telling tales to the Liddell siblings (Carroll xxxi-xxxiv).  Additionally, Carroll was rumored to have been obsessed or very attached to the real Alice Liddell (Carroll xxi-xxii, xxxv, xxxvii), and so it seems appropriate that the White Knight would try to take fictional Alice as “prisoner” (Carroll 205-207).

In Through the Looking-Glass the White Knight guides Alice to queendom.  He cannot follow her across the brook to where she will become queen, and this can be seen as a metaphor for Carroll being unable to follow Alice as she grows up and leaves childhood especially after his breakup with the Liddell family (Carroll xxi-xxii, xxxv, xxxvii).  He wanted to keep Alice as his prisoner in both the story and in reality as Carroll was losing his child friend to the aging process and the rift with her family.  However, the White Knight cannot follow Alice as she matures as his character states twice (Carroll 207, 218).  Carroll creates scenes where Alice doesn’t follow the White Knight’s illogical inventions just as she did in real life when she no longer believed in Carroll’s made-up stories (Bjork & Eriksson 74).  Eventually, Alice in real life grows up and gets married and never interacts with Carroll again, and her becoming a queen and acquiring a “golden crown” (Carroll 219), which is an allegory for maturing and marriage (as a golden crown is to a golden ring, symbolic of matrimony), is an allegorical event for this.

This entire eighth chapter is almost an autobiographical mourning story as Carroll expresses his grief for Alice’s growing up and growing disinterest in what used to be their shared imaginary world.  This chapter allows the author to literally close the Alice chapter in his life so he could move on.  He does express his sadness at this seemingly one-sided relationship since the fictional character Alice does not cry and is not moved by the White Knight’s poem, which disheartens the White Knight (Carroll 218) just as the real Alice no longer took interest in Carroll’s stories disheartening him as well.  Yet, as the White Knight leaves, he tumbles off of his horse again.  Then Alice comments, “However, he gets on pretty easily” (Carroll 218), which could be taken to mean that the author has written Alice to feel sympathetic for him, and it also implies that he will be fine without Alice.

 

Bjork, Christina, and Inga-Karin Eriksson. The Other Alice: The Story of Alice Liddell and Alice in Wonderland. 1st. ed. Stockholm: Raven and Sjorgren, 1993. Print.

Carrol, Lewis. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass. Ed. Hugh Haughton. Centenary ed. London: Penguin Group, 1998. Print. Penguin Classics.

Character Analysis of Pinocchio

It is easy to say that, although Pinocchio is not a real boy until the end of the story, he definitely resembles one inside and, for the most part, out as well. As we discussed in class, although Collodi never had children of his own, he writes Pinocchio almost with expertise in the field of boys’ behavior, as if having years of experience. What distinguishes the puppet to a real boy, besides obvious physical characteristics, is his naughtiness and foolishness. Like 99.9% of young children, Pinocchio was born (he, an enchanted wood) not knowing any manners, virtues, or morals. The entirety of the story centers on Pinocchio’s adventures throughout the many surrounding lands, and how he progressively develops good conduct and moral principles. At first we see Pinocchio as this selfish puppet character who kicks his creator Geppetto’s nose after his feet are carved, squishes a cricket who is out to help him, and sells his primer that his father bought him for school with the money he got from selling his own old coat. Much later on, after many lessons are learned from numerous fun and/or cruel adventures, we see Pinocchio’s will and determination as strong as the very wood that composes his body: such that when Pinocchio and his father, Geppetto, enter the cricket’s cottage after escaping the stomach of the shark. Here, we see a caring and compassionate Pinocchio making “a good bed of straw for old Geppetto,” and then asking the talking cricket, “‘Tell me, cricket, where can I get a cup of milk for my poor father?'” Then, not soon after, Pinocchio is working hard turning Giangio’s windlass, “Pinocchio started at once, but before he could draw the hundred buckets of water he was perspiring from head to foot. He had never worked like that before.” This was in fact true, as earlier on we see him in Busy Bee town (after being told of it by the dolphin) where he was “terribly hungry” for not having eaten “more than twenty-four hours.” Here, we see just how money and food is earned by hard work, as Pinocchio begs to many passers-by who offer him double, triple, and even quintuple the penny he is asking for, but only if he is willing to aid them in carrying their merchandise. Of course, Pinocchio refuses for he is very lazy, and ultimately agrees to a kind little woman who offers him copious amounts of food. It is evident that the Pinocchio who would turn down even five pennies–as opposed to just one–despite how hungry he is, is not even recognizable as the same Pinocchio who later cares for his father, “From that day, for over five months, he got up before dawn every morning to turn the windlass, so as to earn the cup of milk for his father,” and, “Learned how to weave baskets of reeds,” which he sold.

Besides developing into a more determined, selfless puppet with moral values–and then ultimately turning into a real boy, Pinocchio also learns a lot about reality and its evil truths. Not only does Pinocchio experience the hardships associated with the lessons that make him into a real, good boy, but he also experiences firsthand what evils and dangers the world has to offer. His first encounter with the nastiness of people is when Pinocchio is seen, very early in the story, begging an old man who is peeping out from his window. The old man who promises Pinocchio some bread reappears with “a great kettle of water” that he pours on poor Pinocchio. Not only does Pinocchio witness lying and deceit, but also experiences harassment. His next experience with life’s evil truths occurs when Pinocchio encounters the Great Puppet Show and sees his puppet brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, it comes with a price when the Showman, Fire-eater, punishes Pinocchio for disturbing his theater by threatening to throw him into his fire–a horrible death for a little boy, wouldn’t you say? Luckily he shows pity, combined with contradicting, immediate will for manslaughter (or in this case, dealing with live puppets), then threatens to burn one of Pinocchio’s brothers, Harlequin, with the same fate–luckily exerting pity once again. Here, the young Pinocchio faces his very death in a gruesome and terrifying way, getting caught in a predicament that would surely leave a scar and an imprint upon a child’s mind for most of his or her life. Next (and most certainly not the last), Pinocchio is tricked by the fox and the cat in following them to a field where money supposedly grows into a money-bearing tree. The young and naive Pinocchio has not yet developed the ability to judge or analyze lies and deceit, so he follows through with their plan, ultimately getting mauled by the duo, which luckily has little effect on Pinocchio since he is made of wood, “Then the smaller assassin drew a horrid knife, and tried to force it between his lips, like a chisel, but Pinocchio, quick as lightning, bit off his hand and spat it out.” Such series of events would be horrific upon a human child. A knife would sure rupture the child’s lips and possibly lead to death. When the assassins catch Pinocchio once again, they hang him on a branch of a big oak tree, which would surely kill a human child almost instantly. It is with this that Pinocchio develops understanding of life’s true and vivid evils that exist within the world. He learns, at least in part, to arise suspicions as to prevent such a similar situation from happening again. Near the end of the book, we see Pinocchio encountering the fox and the cat yet again, only this time he sees right through them,

“‘Oh, Pinocchio,’ sobbed the fox, ‘give something to two poor invalids.’

‘Invalids,’ repeated the cat.

‘Good-bye, scoundrels!’ answered the puppet. ‘You cheated me once, but you never will again.'”

The Fairy With Azure Hair

When Pinocchio attempts to escape from his veiled assassins, he reaches a white cottage that is answered by a girl with “azure hair and a face as white as wax.” Upon seeing the pitiful condition of Pinocchio, this fairy resuscitates the marionette and teaches him an important lesson.

Collodi describes this fairy in different ways throughout the book, but the one characteristic that prevails is her azure hair. She always has an air of beauty, mystery, and patience with her. She also shows signs of being omniscient because she knows all of Pinocchio’s actions without ever physically being with him. 

Pinocchio initially disobeys the fairy until it almost costs him his life. At this point, he listens and obeys to the fairy’s wise command to the best of his ability. However, being the young rascal he is, Pinocchio always ends up in trouble for not completely obeying the fairy’s words. She can be thus seen as a maternal figure, although she initially tells him that they will be like siblings.

 

Interestingly, there are no passages about the fairy’s interactions with any other character than Pinocchio. She states that she has called for Geppetto to live with him, but we never read of her actually talking to Geppetto. Also, the Talking Cricket claims a goat with azure hair gave him the cottage by the sea, but we never see this occurring either. This leads to the idea that maybe the azure fairy is similar to the great grandmother in The Princess and the Goblin because she does not appear openly to everyone. Instead, she gives advice to Pinocchio and watches him from afar. 

From the outset, Collodi describes the fairy with endearing terms, making her appear to be a heartwarming, motherly figure who watches over Pinocchio as a mother hen watches her chicks. She shows him patience and forgives him repeatedly, while also making him learn a valuable lesson each time. She could be closely tied to a religious aspect because she teaches him about important morals in life that Pinocchio must learn to become a “real”  boy. When he finally obeys her commands and lives up to his responsibilities at the end of the book, she grants him riches, his father youth, and magically changes him into a real boy. This is similar to the idea that following the Christian path will make one happy, spiritually rich, and ultimately give them an afterlife.

Thus, this fairy with azure hair is necessary to help Pinocchio grow into a mature boy. With her direction, Pinocchio changes himself from a reckless, rash boy into a responsible boy who can provide for his family. Although Pinocchio has Geppetto as a father, it is the fairy who teaches Pinocchio all of the important life lessons. When he shows his selfless attitude in the final chapter of Pinocchio by giving his fifty pennies to the snail for saving the fairy’s life, she grants him the greatest gift of being a real human boy.

The Good Fairy- Character Analysis

When Pinocchio first comes across the fairy in chapter 11, she is described as a little girl with “azure hair and a face as white as wax.”  She is not only an object of beauty, but she is kind, patient, forgiving, and maternal.  She is also quite mysterious.  She has no name, and is only ever referred to as “the fairy.”  At various points in the story she is supposedly dead, only to be resurrected later on with little to no explanation.

    

The fairy interacts only with Pinocchio and her animal servants throughout the course of the novel.  She is the master of the animals.  With a clap of her hands falcons, poodles, and snails appear to do her bidding.  These animals act as agents in her plans to help Pinocchio.  They rescue him from hanging in oak trees and let him back into the house after he has been gone for months and thrown in jail.  In her interactions with the animals, the fairy is kind but in command.

In her interactions with Pinocchio, the fairy is still very kind, but she has no absolute dominion over him.  Throughout the story, her objective is to guide Pinocchio on the path of being a good, well-behaved boy.  She attempts to instill this in him in two ways.  She uses the straight forward approach of telling it like it is.  For example, when Pinocchio refuses to take the medicine because of its bitter taste, she warns him that he must take it, or else he will die.  There is no sugar coating of the subject.  This approach shows her trust in Pinocchio to be able to handle certain things if only given the chance.  However, sometimes this trust is ill-placed and Pinocchio does not live up to her expectations.  In these instances, she employs the if/then approach.  For example, if Pinocchio takes his medicine, then he can have the sugar and if Pinocchio helps her carry the jugs of water, then he can have something to eat. This if/then mantra can be seen in her overall message to Pinocchio- if you behave like a good boy and go to school and obey your elders and don’t tell lies, then you will become a real boy.  This approach is a bit more silver-spoon, a little more patronizing than the tell it like it is approach.

The most prevalent characteristic in the fairy’s interactions with Pinocchio is her immense capability for forgiveness.  Time and time again, Pinocchio runs off, abandoning the fairy and his responsibilities in favor of adventure, fun, and leisure.  And yet, every time he returns and shows remorse, she is there ready to forgive him and welcome him back with open arms.  When Pinocchio arrives back at the cottage in the woods after his misadventures with the cat and the fox, he is extremely upset when he finds that the fairy has died.  He feels guilt after all of the good things she did for him even though he was so undeserving and is incredibly remorseful that he was in no way able to repay her love. It is this remorse, this deep emotion that he feels for her that reveals her to him in the Land of the Busy Bees.  When he returns to her house after running off for the second time, she is again forgiving, providing him with a sofa to lie on and regain his strength.  As far as the fairy is concerned, Pinocchio never runs out of chances, so long as he is remorseful.

The fairy’s main role in the novel is that of the mother figure.  She is the only female in the entire book and therefore takes on all of the maternal and feminine qualities.  She cares for Pinocchio when he is sick,  looks out for his future by motivating him to go to school and take it seriously, and loves him unconditionally, no matter how many times he makes the same mistake.  For the reader, she is a reminder that we too must be patient with Pinocchio, even when he is at his most frustrating.

Without the guiding, maternal character of the Fairy, Pinocchio would have been left to his own devices and inclinations.  He would have carried on with the laziness and sloth-like lifestyle of characters such as Lampwick, and he probably would have suffered a similar, sad fate.  The Fairy acts as his saving grace.  She is always there to pick him up and dust him off before setting him on the right path once again.

The God-Grandma

In The Princess and the Goblin, there are hints of religious aspects that can be found in the text. Irene’s great-great-grandmother is seen as a cross between a fairy godmother (as we see in past fairy tales such as Cinderella) and an omniscient, god-like figure. The grandmother is always willing to help Irene in times of need (following the godmother archetype), but there is a catch. She only helps Irene when she retains faith in the existence of the grandmother, thus giving her a god-like quality. Even MacDonald’s descriptions of her give her an ethereal suggestion: pale white skin, long silver hair, young yet old, wise, patient yet playful, supernatural qualities, mysterious. It seems that MacDonald attempts to slip in a Christian moral and remind the doubtful that they have to believe what they can’t see—you have to believe in order to receive.

However, I am of the opinion that the grandmother is omnipotent only to a certain degree. Though she helps others besides Irene, like Curdie’s mother, I think it is very easy to argue that she only did so that Curdie could help Irene in the future. If she knew about the flood and had the power to prevent it, why didn’t she? It seems she only cares for the true well-being of little Irene. This could in part be due to sort of loving, familial reason—as if it is to ensure that the heir to the throne and kingdom is kept away from danger. It seems as though her supernatural qualities only seek to aid her in accomplishing that goal. Why else would she choose to live so long, only to live alone where no one can find her while she sits and spins thread? In this sense, MacDonald is inventive with his merging of duel qualities of the grandmother (the god-like and the godmother), while not following the classic archetype normally presented in fairy tales.

Illustration by Jessie Willcox Smith
and Arthur Hughes

She’s not baking you cookies…

Most fairy tales and adventure stories in general have a wise elder who teaches and guides the protagonist. In The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald this archetype is portrayed by Irene’s great-great-grandmother Irene. In class we discussed the Grandma and I’ve thought a little more on her since then. As a class we described her as a pale, timeless woman with a touch of the supernatural, as well as a bit of an enigma. In my opinion, she is the big mystery of the story. I don’t think any of us were surprised by the Goblins’ plot to steal away the princess and drown the miners but I never could quite figure out Irene’s “great big grand-grand-mother.”

Nothing odd here.

She is supposedly a benevolent force in the story but there is an element of a puppeteer to her; she’s pulling the strings and watching the people below her dance. In class we characterized that side of her as the playful teacher but I think that there was something almost cruel to her lessons. Her treatment of Irene’s wish to tell people about her especially seems at odds to me. Irene is a young girl who has never truly known a female relative and the nearest thing she has to a mother is Lootie and what a gem she is. Then lo and behold, Irene finds her “very great, huge, old grandmother” who is beautiful and lavishes love and praise upon her. Of course Irene is going to be ecstatic with her new relation and want to show her off to people. Grandma Irene’s odd encouragement for Irene to tell Lootie about her (“Mind you tell her all about it exactly.”) seems cruel to me since this young girl is jubilant at finding a female relation and when she tries to share her newly found relation she is belittled and yelled at. A later conversation between Irene and her Grandmother reveals that the Grandma knew how Lootie would react and that she believed it would be best for Irene to discover it on her own. Nice. And Irene again experiences this later with Curdie who she actually takes up to her Grandmother’s room. The Grandmother claims that Curdie couldn’t see her because he didn’t wish to, he didn’t have faith. This could be true on one level but this woman who seems to be so powerful and all knowing should be able to reveal herself to a 12/13 year old boy. Instead once again Irene is ridiculed and hurt, though she brushes it off like a champ. So to me there seems to be a hint of malice hidden in those wise eyes.

This malice is again apparent to me when you consider the Grandmother’s treatment of the invasion and its development. It is highly improbable that she didn’t know about the plot in advance. She plays the mysterious, omniscient fairy godmother so shouldn’t she have known that the Goblins were planning on kidnapping her granddaughter right from under her nose? And couldn’t she have foreseen the flooding of the castle? But perhaps we can defend her by saying she knew that Curdie would avert the invasion and that he would figure out that there was an oncoming flood in time. Is that truly a good defense though? This magically powerful woman who could easily save the kingdom instead lets a young boy and her granddaughter muddle their way through a crisis and she only gives her granddaughter a magical ring to guide her. Oh well, at least they built character! 10 points to Gryffindor! (Am I the only one who saw the parallels between her and Dumbledore?) So even though they do manage to save Irene and avert the Goblin invasion the castle on a whole barely escape with their lives from the flood that Curdie inadvertently causes. A little insight from the Grandmother really could have had that all run so much more smoothly. Was she really so bent on teaching Irene and Curdie a lesson that she let people almost die?

In my opinion her long life drained some of the intrinsic qualities that make people human from her. She has seen so much already that the idea of a few human lives being lost doesn’t seem like a big deal. In this she is almost like a Greek goddess, all powerful and aloof, watching the people below her dance to her plans. She lacks the ability to view the situation as a “younger” being does. While she may care for select individuals such as Irene, she seems to be content with watching the story on a whole play out before her, as if it was all for her entertainment.

The Little Mermaid’s Character Quest for Immortality

In Hans Christian Anderson’s story The Little Mermaid, we are given a poignant portrayal of a young girl’s superficial search for love and freedom, juxtaposed with an intrinsic quest for an immortal soul. It is this quest, Anderson suggests, which is an internal need and hope for our heroine. On the surface, the story is an aching narrative of silent despair and unrequited love. The little mermaid sacrifices her family and the only home she has ever known, to obtain only the friendship of the prince and have to mutely watch him sign her death warrant as he marries someone else.

The little mermaid (it is taking serious restraint for me not to call her Ariel) is a character of conflicting traits. Largely, the girl beneath the sea is completely different than the girl above the sea. The implications of her actions down below tell us certain things about her character: For years she pines for her fifteenth birthday so that she can see the world above- passionate; she puts herself in substantial danger by saving the prince from the shipwreck- brave; she leaves her entire family and her home for an unknown land where her very existence hangs in the balance- daring, and perhaps a little foolish; she thinks nothing of how her departure will affect her family- not wrong by any means, but definitely a selfish characteristic . The picture that these details conjure in our heads, a modern heroine’s illustration to be sure, are proved time and time again to be wrong once she reaches the land. The little mermaid makes no gestures to win over the prince. She is devoted to him, but any traces of her passions are gone. She seems content to watch him look at her as simply a friend, and to marry someone else. Logic seems to suggest she would find another means to communicate with him yet no measures are taken. She is as thoughtful as she always was, yet now she is selfless and a figure of quiet suffering and pain. In the end, she sacrifices her own life and saves her prince who ignorantly ruined her life. The passionate daring child of the sea is gone, replaced by a young woman who has experienced great heartbreak.

This journey of character, and the very end of the Anderson’s story, suggests greatly that the little mermaid’s life has been a quest for an immortal soul.. The trials she experiences as a human—her tongue being cut out by the sea witch, the pain and mutilation of her tail into legs, that each steps she takes will feel as if she is walking on knife points—these experiences are the quintessential example of obstacles set before a hero on a quest. And it is these obstacles that prompt the question For what? The answer to this is not the humanly reward of love or earthly happiness, but instead the heavenly hope of an afterlife. She is given three hundred years to become pure, with the eventual pay off, if she works hard enough, being the obtainment of a soul. If she is virtuous, she can achieve a fate greater than becoming sea foam, thoughtlessly floating on the waves. This, I believe, is what Anderson is attempting to relay to children. That the little mermaid was a soulless creature who cast aside passion and selfishness to live a life of piety and quiet self-sacrifice so that she may gain entrance to the kingdom of heaven. And most importantly—she did not obtain this opportunity by snaring a husband, but instead by self-sacrifice and silent devotion to virtue. Attempting to find a happy motivation in this story is impossible and I am at a loss as to why Anderson would inflict the idea of such quiet suffering on children. But it is clear through his writing that the little mermaid’s journey from the sea to the land, and ultimately to the sky and heaven, is one of great depth and religious meaning.