Angry Black White Boy's Ambiguous Ending and Its Effect on Our View of Macon

Throughout Adam Mansbach's Angry Black White Boy, Macon Detornay appears to become more and more committed to his act of renouncing his whiteness by involving himself so heavily in black culture. At the beginning of the novel, Macon shows his commitment by simply placing himself into awkward situations regarding race that force the other characters in the novel to question his legitimacy, therefore providing him with an opportunity to prove that he is the real deal. As the novel progresses, and Macon gains publicity as such a unique character with his tendency to act black when he is white, Macon sticks with his identity, proclaiming the evil of whiteness of various television talks shows, never afraid to speak emphatically to the media about any matters regarding his race and the concept of race in general. This image of Macon holds fairly firmly up until the last scene of the novel, when the racist white supremacist Burleigh holds up a gun to Macon and claims that he will "die for his cause" (335). Rather than accept that this moment is his way to show his true commitment and legitimacy, Macon surprisingly seems to reject this idea, leading us to surmise that Macon believes his death will ultimately not count for his fight for black people. In a situation where the outcome of death was certain regardless of his actions, Macon still chooses to deny that his death was "for the cause," causing the ending of the novel to seem very ambiguous and contradictory regarding Macon's initial intentions and final thoughts before death.

The pivotal scene that throws the novel into confusion occurs on the very last few pages, when Burleigh holds a gun up to Macon and explains how he will die:

“Burleigh cocked the gun. His voice was low and even.

“He’s gonna die for his cause.”

Macon heard the words and opened his eyes. The world poured in. He squeezed them shut and shook his head.

“No.”

Burleigh pulled the trigger, and Macon joined his ancestors” (334-335).

Macon finally has a chance to prove his legitimacy permanently, cementing his legacy as the "downest white boy in history." Even under such duress knowing that death is imminent, finally being provided with such an opportunity to solidify his identity, Macon falters at the last second. By shaking his head and saying "no", Macon essentially renounces his entire image and all the commitment to the black race he had built up throughout the entire novel. The fact that Macon rejects this opportunity provided to him is puzzling, especially when we consider what Macon's goal has been from the beginning of the novel. Macon constantly places himself in these awkward situations regarding race with the hope that it will provide him with an opportunity to prove to others and confirm to himself that he is committed to his actions and the persona he has created. Faced with an opportunity to prove to the world his legitimacy by literally dying for the cause, Macon abandons his identity up to this point, causing us to wonder whether all his actions up to this point were in vain, as it's possible that Macon was never fully committed in the first place and simply embraced the publicity. It’s particularly interesting to consider how outside forces like the media will interpret Macon’s death. Since they would not know of Macon’s repudiation of his previous identity at the end of the novel, it is likely that the media would make Macon into a martyr, therefore solidifying his place as someone who was legitimate and willing to pay the biggest sacrifice to show it. However, with this one work and simple action in the last scene, we are thrown into confused and left to consider the purpose, or perhaps rather the meaninglessness and inevitability of Macon’s actions, depending on how we decide to interpret his evolution as a character.

A particularly unsettling aspect of the final scene in the novel is the very last line of the novel. After Macon renounces his commitment to the cause and the legitimacy of his persona, Mansbach describes Burleigh shooting and killing Macon in one brief sentence: “Burleigh pulled the trigger, and Macon joined his ancestors” (335). A lot of the initial impetus behind Macon’s strong desire to identify so heavily with black culture came from the notion that Macon didn’t want to be like his ancestor Cap Anson, the racist baseball player who constantly insulted the black Fleet Walker. We have seen Macon obsessively reading Fleet Walker’s book at several points in the novel, and we come to learn very early on that the sole reason Macon requested Andre as his roommate is because Andre is a descendant of Fleet Walker. It seems that Macon has this lingering feeling that he must absolve himself of his ancestor’s crimes by renouncing his whiteness and aligning so heavily with black culture. Thus, we see Macon sway farther and farther away from a Cap Anson figure as the novel progresses, with Macon advocating heavily for the notion that white people are evil and must apologize for their egregious crimes of the past. With this very last line of the novel, however, we are thrown into confusion regarding with whom Macon is actually aligned with. In the last chapter, Macon appears much more like a Red Donner figure by refusing to shoot Leo, just as Red Donner refused to let his teammate Fleet Walker get caught by the mob, but we can observe very evident ties to Cap Anson when Macon renounces his persona, retreating to whiteness and therefore “joining his ancestors” (335). We are forced to question at the end of the novel whether Macon even deserves any credit for what he did and the passion he incited in people regarding the injustices that have been done to black people for centuries, or rather was more of a poser who took the easy way out by aligning with whiteness and couldn’t ever fully commit to the cause, in which case it would be appropriate to align him with his ancestor.

Macon’s Constant Desire to Prove His Legitimacy

After reading the first few chapters of Adam Mansbach’s Angry Black White Boy, we are nothing short of bewildered by Macon Detornay’s awkward behavior and strange mannerisms whenever conversing with others. The Boston-native was born white, but constantly involved himself in traditionally black cultural practices and adopts many stereotypically black mannerisms into his actions. We can see just how committed and skillful Macon is at imitating black culture in one of the very first scenes of the book: the cab robbery. Despite Macon’s skin clearly showing that he is white, the two rich guys that were robbed report to the police that they only know one thing about the man who robbed them--that he is black. While we can attest some of this to other factors, such as the fact that the two guys might not have gotten a very good look at Macon or the potential divider between them and the driver, we can surmise that a large reason for the two guys reporting Macon’s race incorrectly is due to the manner in which he acted--one that resembled that of a black man and led the passengers to conclude that their driver must have therefore been black. In several instances throughout the first part of the novel, Macon finds himself in numerous awkward conversation regarding his race and must navigate his way out by explaining his reasoning for assimilating so heavily into black culture. Interestingly, Macon rarely gets flustered during any of these situations, and instead expresses a feeling of subdued elation whenever they occur. In addition, the sheer frequency at which these situations come up make it seem unlikely that Macon is simply an incompetent fool who is acting like a poser to seem cool, leading us to believe that Macon may be placing himself into these types of scenarios on purpose in order to prove his dedication to adopting black culture. Through constantly placing himself into a variety of awkward situations and subsequently navigating out of them, Macon is able to not only prove to others his legitimacy in his attempt to transcend race, but also satisfy his own conscience regarding his commitment to the lifestyle, thereby escaping his insecurities regarding his race.

A prime example of Macon’s tendency to purposefully place himself into conversations that question the discrepancy between his actions and race comes a mere few hours after Macon meets his roommate Andre at Columbia University. When Macon and Andre go to visit Andre’s friend Nique, Macon comments “Nice” after seeing a picture of the Rodney King scene, to which Nique responds: “”Nice? Either you got a real limited vocabulary or a serious problem. Ain’t nothing nice about the shit.” Macon shook his head. “No, I mean, of course not. I--What I meant was…” He gave up on speaking and pushed the left sleeve of his T-shirt to his shoulder. Tattooed on Macon’s biceps in small green characters was 4-29-92” (47-48). While it seems that Macon simply misspoke by exclaiming in that way to such a picture, we can understand the reason for Macon’s seemingly inappropriate response in the next few lines of narration: “Macon lifted one mouth corner in a half-smile that looked more like a twitch. “That’s exactly what my mom said.” The numbers glistened slightly on his skin, bathed in the soft light of Nique’s halogen” (48). We can see through Macon’s subtle, yet significant, reaction how he feels about the entire situation. Rather than feeling awkward and uneasy for making such a comment and hearing Nique’s response, Macon gives a smug smirk with his mouth, indicating that he feels confident when Nique and Andre question his reaction and the numbers on his arm, seeing it as an opportunity to assure them of his legitimacy and prove his commitment--through something as permanent as a tattoo. Macon constantly desires situations like these, and this is the reason why he appears so happy in this scene. Through showing Andre and Nique his seriousness about his life as a “black white boy,” Macon can convince himself that he is legitimate and not some kind of poser who is simply desiring attention. Macon’s excitement in this situation stems from the fact that he is able to use this would-be awkward scenario to debunk his internal insecurities about his race, allowing him to confirm to himself that what he is doing is unique and respectable. It is his lingering insecurities about race that lead Macon to seek out these types of scenarios in the first place.

Jack's Reluctance to Escape and Dependency on Ma

Throughout the first part of Emma Donoghue's Room, our 5-year old narrator Jack knows of nothing outside the small, 11-foot by 11-foot room that has confined him and his mother for the entirety of his life. For Jack, Room seems to be satisfactory, as he has no point of comparison or concept of the outside world, and thus he enjoys a lifestyle in which he gets to spend every waking moment with his beloved mother. Ma, on the other hand, while she loves Jack dearly and devotes her full time and energy into raising him, eagerly wishes to escape the prison that her captor, Old Nick, has placed her in and experience once more the outside world. As Jack begins to grow older, turning five at the beginning of the novel, Ma realizes that the time will inevitably approach when Jack's curiosity outgrows the boundaries of Room, and as a result, Ma begins to slowly explain to him the behemoth that is the outside world--her real world--with the end goal of planning an escape from Room with Jack. While Jack is initially struck with a flurry of questions and feelings of bewilderment regarding what exactly this inconceivable world outside Room is, he appears very distant and disinterested whenever Ma mentions her initial kidnapping or speaks of any plans to escape. When Jack understandably expresses his reluctance to perform after hearing Plan B, Ma gets understandably frustrated, as she desires so heavily to finally escape and wouldn't want to miss any opportunity. Jack's reluctance to go through with the escape plans and general aversion of Ma's stories show how reliant he still is on his mother, making it hard to imagine Jack growing up to a point in his hero's journey narrative where he can function normally without always being in close proximity to Ma.

The most prominent cases when Jack seems detached seem to occur whenever he hears Ma's sentiments about being trapped in Room or hears of her previous life in the outside. Jack seems to not fully comprehend what Ma is telling him when she is narrating her story of how she got captured. Whenever Ma mentions a moment where she was in danger or was suffering, Jack seems to quickly shift the subject, instead focusing on mundane details and asking questions like "what color is it" and "how many wheels" in reference to the truck (93). While we may be inclined to think that Jack simply doesn't understand the gravity of the story that Ma is telling due to his age, we can observe through his thoughts and his narration that he seems to draw conclusions from Ma's stories and understand the situation with Old Nick fairly well, with the only disparity being between how knowledgeable and well-informed he seems in his thoughts when compared to the innocent phrases he speaks when conversing with Ma about such profound matters. It seems that Jack actually absorbs a lot of what Ma tells him about her past and Old Nick, but simply disregards it on purpose and immediately tries to divert attention from the depressing story about his mother's past as a defense mechanism--almost akin to a form of denial. By not addressing the stories that Ma tells and the horrors of Old Nick, Jack can keep them clear out of his mind and confine his thoughts to Room and Ma, a much more desirable task. Through this method, Jack conveys to Ma that he is not interested in her stories about the outside world and her previous life, when in reality he simply can't endure hearing the emotionally scarring past of the one figure in his life who he loves so dearly.

Despite understanding Ma's problem with remaining in Room for so long, Jack is still hesitant to escape Room. We can understand this simply by considering Jack's age and innocence, as at one point he says directly to Ma that he wants to leave Room, "only not really" (113). Jack enjoys life the most when he is with his Ma, and we can see this is true whenever Ma is "Gone," as these are the hardest days for Jack, when the hours feel like they could last forever. Interacting with Ma and playing with whatever he can find within the limits of Room have served him sufficiently so far and as a 5-year old, Jack isn't ready for the drastic change that Ma is suggesting. After hearing of the outside world and later learning of Ma's plan for him to go outside, alone, in order to seek help, Jack completely shuts down, as simply remaining in Room and continuing to live his ordinary life with Ma seems much more appealing than venturing into an entirely different world that he has rarely even imagined, let alone actually ever been in. Even when Jack and Ma are finally reunited after escaping from Room and Old Nick, Jack's first instinct is to go to sleep, specifying to Ma that he desired to not just sleep in any bed, but "Bed," presumably referring to his bed in Room. After Ma states to Jack that they will never return to Room, Jack's narration shows how unprepared he is to leave Room behind and enter the real world: "The car starts moving and I'm crying so much I can't stop" (155).

Another aspect of Jack's reluctance is his constant dependency on Ma. While the argument could be made that it is only natural for a 5-year old to be dependent on his/her mother, it seems that it is more this aspect of being away from his mother that frightens Jack from the plan rather than the wonders of the outside world itself. In comparison with other children the same age as Jack, we can observe his dependency in his constant need to drink milk through breastfeeding, even at the age of 5. This example is simply one manifestation of the intricate developmental complex of dependency that exists in Jack's head regarding his relationship with his mother, and we can observe that in Jack's constant diversion and procrastination anytime Ma speaks about the plans. Keeping in mind this heavy dependency of Jack on Ma, it's hard to image the novel progressing in the outside world without Ma right beside Jack to guide him. Without Ma, Jack's growth as a hero would not only stagnate but would likely be stunted permanently, as it's unimaginable simply how overwhelmed Jack would be--alone and in the real world.

Grant's Change in Mindset Regarding His Ongoing Meetings with Jefferson

Throughout the first part of Ernest J. Gaines' A Lesson Before Dying, it is fairly evident that our protagonist, Grant Wiggins, is very reluctant to perform the task given to him early on in the novel. Grant's aunt and Miss Emma request that Grant go to visit Miss Emma's godson Jefferson, who is on death row, in jail and turn him into a man. Grant's initial reaction to hearing of his task is not very enthusiastic, as he would rather completely avoid the emotionally loaded dynamic of the heartbroken godmother who wants to save her son and the condemned-to-death son who rejects the outside world upon being convicted. Despite Grant's strong desire to avoid Jefferson and the apparent stoicism he exhibits upon hearing Miss Emma's request, he is forced to visit Jefferson on account of his aunt's persistence, and reluctantly complies. At a superficial level, it seems very contradictory that Miss Emma is so fixated upon Grant visiting Jefferson when Grant himself has no desire to see him in the first place. In fact, Grant's only connection to Jefferson is that he was his teacher at one point, and it is only out of deference to his aunt and Miss Emma that he agrees to visiting him. Keeping this notion in mind, it makes sense that Grant isn't as invested in changing Jefferson's disposition to turn the young boy into a man, evident by the ease at which he lies to both his aunt and Miss Emma whenever he is asked how the visits are going. In spite of this, Miss Emma continues to request that Grant visit Jefferson, and remarkably, after several visits, Grant begins to form a substantial bond with him. While it seems foolish that Miss Emma and Tante Lou are so obstinate in their insistence that Grant be the one to visit Jefferson, their reasoning for doing so is actually similar to Grant's reason for suddenly investing time in Jefferson, as both parties believe that with Grant's help, Jefferson has greatest chance of breaking the cycle of stagnation that has been plaguing their community--one that Grant describes black men have been stuck in for centuries.

We can discern Miss Emma and Tante Lou's reasoning behind having Grant visit Jefferson in a scene that surprisingly involves neither of them: the scene between Grant and Vivian in the Rainbow Club just after they leave Miss Emma's house. Jefferson's words to Vivian about the desires and goals for black men in his society align very closely with what Miss Emma wants from Jefferson: "No, she wants memories, memories of him standing like a man. Oh, she will meet him soon, and she knows that. But she wants memories, if only for a day, an hour, here on earth [...] So each time a male child is born, they hope he will be the one to change this vicious circle--which he never does" (166-167). We can see from Grant's response that Miss Emma doesn't simply want Jefferson to be "saved" by religion, but wants to be able to have the peace of mind of knowing that her godson died standing up to the authority, rather than crawling and whimpering to the electric chair as a hog would. Grant makes the point that no one has yet broken the cycle that black men are born into, and underscores the difficulty of escaping it due to the many black men in the past who have tried to elude it and failed. Even thought Grant is initially reluctant to visit Jefferson, Miss Emma knows that Grant is one of the few black men in her community that has at least partially escaped the cycle, not running away and not living as a broken man, but rather going off to college and coming back with the respectable profession as a teacher. By having Grant visit and speak to Jefferson, she hopes that he will be able to convince Jefferson that his image is still worth living for, and that he can be one of the few to escape the cycle simply by acting respectably and like a man in his final moments.

Grant's desire all along is to be able to stand up to the white authority figures and break the cycle fully, but finds it difficult to successfully do so considering the heavily loaded racial circumstances in his community. When Grant speaks to Jefferson during their walk around the dayroom, he explains to Jefferson how he can break the cycle: "White people believe that they're better than anyone else on earth--and that's a myth. [...] Please listen to me, because I would not lie to you now. I speak from my heart. You have the chance of being bigger than anyone who has ever lived on his plantation or come to this little town. You can do it if you try" (192-193). Grant believes that because of Jefferson's situation of getting executed on a set date regardless of his actions, he is in a unique position to stand up to the authority and break out of the cycle that black men have suffered through for so long with practically no consequences--simply by acting dignified. Grant's sees an opportunity to escape the system through Jefferson that he can't replicate in his own life, as his intention is for Jefferson to appear as respectable as possible up until the point of his execution so that the white power structure will look ruthless and unjust when it takes the life of such a calm and composed young man. It's almost as if Grant is funneling his desires for himself and what he wishes he could do through Jefferson, reasoning that he will be satisfied if he can convince Jefferson to seize the opportunity and provide for the community what no one before had the opportunity to do. If Jefferson can show humanity in his final moments, Grant will be content and will have succeeded in breaking the "myth" that white people believe and debunking the theory of the cycle which his teacher, Matthew Antoine, condemned all black men to, ultimately shedding light on the corruptness of the entire system.

Reliability of Narration and Cash's Transformation

In a novel as initially disorienting as William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying, the reader is placed in a precarious situation of scrambling to find a reliable narrator to align with, identifying this person as the hero of the novel as soon as possible. The multiple narrators and lack of a distinct narrator throughout the majority of the book cause us to take a very apprehensive approach to reading, as we can't really trust anything that the narrators proclaim without a clear-cut hero. Of the characters who narrate in the first section of the book, it seems that Darl is the most prominent and sensible narrator, as he narrates with the least amount of emotion in his words when compared to the rest of his family, and his pseudo-psychic omniscient way of narrating make him out to have an eagle eye view of the events occurring at any point in time within the Bundren family. Even Cora, who seems to be the other narrator in the first half of the book who is the most rational, vouches for Darl at several points throughout the novel, giving us more reason to align with him and trust his narration. Despite the consistency of his narration and calm manner in doing so, we are still reluctant to define Darl as the hero of the story, as his complete inactivity in virtually all of the Bundrens' quests, coupled with his unique style of narration, make him appear distant in comparison to the rest of his family. The most striking difference in narration styles from the beginning of the novel to the end is in the frequency and complexity of Cash's chapters. While he starts off as a seemingly incapable member of the family, acting very stoically and pouring his emotions into his work (rather than expressing them to the reader through narration), Cash seems like the most sensible narrator at the end of the novel, speaking clearly and simply to the reader about the events occurring and grappling with these philosophical questions of sanity and who's to judge it in response to Darl being taken away to Jackson.

With Darl essentially declared insane towards the end of the novel, we as readers experience a sort of mini-disillusionment, as we are forced to throw out any preconceptions of other characters that we may have gleaned through Darl's perspective and instead search for another reliable narrator. Interestingly, the one rational narrator that we can observe at the end of the novel comes in a place that we are unlikely to look: Cash. Considering what we know about Cash from the first half of the novel, he seems to be dealing with Addie's death by essentially shutting down emotionally, only speaking in straightforward ways whenever he is consulted in the family. When it comes to his narration, his case for being the most reliable narrator is hard to accept at first. In his first few chapters of narration, Cash is barely able to put together sentences and finish his thoughts, as his chapters of narration frequently break off mid-sentence as if Cash is unable to get across what he is trying to say. It seems that Addie's death hit Cash hard, as it did the rest of the family, and Cash's way of coping is by pouring himself into his work on the coffin--constantly obsessing over it in a near perfection-driven manner. Rather than explain the events that are occurring in the Bundren family or simply know everything that's going on like Darl, Cash focuses on the more simple details, such as his chapter narrating on the balance of Addie's coffin: "It wasn't on a balance. I told them that if they wanted it to tote and ride on a balance, they would have to" (165). Cash focuses solely on his work so that he doesn't have to accept his mothers death, forcing himself to think only about the intricacies of the coffin, such as the balance, the small holes that he painstakingly fills, and the glob of dirt that falls on it when the family is en route to Jefferson. This is what explains his difficulty narrating, as his already stoic disposition, coupled with his outward passivity in response to Addie's death, makes it hard for him to communicate his emotions to the reader.

Later in the novel, however, Cash narration becomes a lot crisper and logically sound, as it seems that our image of him is heavily strengthened by Darl's declared insanity. From a sheer numerical standpoint, Cash narrates much more frequently later in the novel when compared to the first half. In addition, the chapters that he narrates have a lot more substance to them, as opposed to the one or two line chapters--perhaps more appropriately deemed incomplete thoughts--that are present in the beginning of the novel. Rather than focusing so heavily on the nuances and mechanics of the coffin, Cash stars to widen his range of narration and speak about the other characters in the book. It is the manner in which he does this that provides such a stark contrast to his coffin-talk in the beginning of the book. The most prominent example of Cash's newfound narration technique is when he struggles to understand the reasoning behind Darl's identification as "insane": "Sometimes I aint so sho who's got ere a right to say when a man is crazy and when he aint. Sometimes I think it aint none of us pure crazy and aint none of us pure sane until the balance of us talks him that-a-way. It's like it aint so much what a fellow does, but it's the way the majority of folks is looking at him when he does it" (233). When contemplating the concept of sanity and who is allowed to judge it, Cash evaluates the concept very sensibly and speaks in an inquisitive manner--characteristics that make his curiosity seem genuine and warranted. Rather than launch into an emotional frenzy and immediately refute Darl being taken away or completely shut down emotionally like he did following Addie's death, Cash exudes pragmatism in his last few chapters of narration, struggling with the logic behind the decision to declare Darl as insane and whether any man has the right to do so in the first place. Cash even narrates the last chapter of the book, possibly speaking to how his new way of narration and perspective in the novel is seen as an end-all-be-all to the tumultuous events of the Bundren family's journey--something that the other characters were never able to achieve in their own narration.

Sympathy for the Suitors and Satisfaction of the Slaughter As a Climax

At a superficial level, the climactic scene of The Odyssey, is very satisfying when considering the hero's journey narrative--the long awaited arrival of Odysseus and reunion with his beloved wife and son is coupled with the satisfying revenge of seeing Odysseus defeat those who have invaded his home for so many years in fast-paced combat. The battle itself causes us to favor Odysseus from a sheer numbers perspective, as we align with the underdog story of the four men who band together to take on the 99 evil suitors. In fact, throughout the entire poem we are led to look forward to the slaughter, as the numerous prophecies and foreshadowing throughout indicate that this is the event that will restore order in the palace and finally allow Odysseus to reclaim his rightful throne. As we dig deeper into the slaughter and consider the events leading up to it, however, the scene itself doesn't appear as satisfying as we were led to believe at the beginning of the poem, with the brutality of Odysseus' actions during the fight taking away from the fulfillment of the climactic scene that we have come to expect. In particular, the dynamic of the "good" Odysseus engaging in battle with the good-for-nothing suitors seems to falter towards the final moments of the poem, invalidating the good vs. evil paradigm, as not all of the suitors appear evil in these last moments and not all of Odysseus' actions can rationally be classified as good--regardless of the circumstances of revenge and "justice." This notion causes us to garner sympathy for the suitors in their final moments, which combined with the logistics of how the scene actually plays out, makes the climax of the poem appear surprisingly disturbing.

Whenever Homer points out that the suitors are engaging in some evil activity or should be condemned for occupying Odysseus' home, we only receive derogatory remarks about a few of the suitors, namely Antinous. It seems that for the most part, the suitors remain hopeful in their desires to court Penelope, but take a third party role behind the few leaders of the suitors. Some of the suitors, such as Amphinomus, appear very reasonable at times during the novel, expressing reluctance towards situations such as killing Telemachus: ""Friends, I've no desire to kill Telemachus, not I--it's a terrible thing to shed the blood of kings. Wait, sound out the will of the gods--that first" (16. 444-446). Despite his desire to court Penelope and as a result gain power and the king of Ithaca, Amphinomus remains loyal to Telemachus as the son of Odysseus, the rightful king. From an outsider perspective, we can't blame the suitors for their advances upon Penelope, as their assumption that Odysseus is not going to return after being gone for twenty long years is rational. The majority of the suitors simply acknowledge the logic in the scenario and decide to try their luck courting Penelope. It is the egregious actions of a few emphatic suitors, such as Antinous, that gets pinned on all of them, tarnishing the image of the suitors as a whole. Thus, when suitors like Amphinomus exhibit loyalty and refrain from disparaging Telemachus and Odysseus, we express a particular sympathy towards them, as the foreshadowing implies that all of the suitors must die, not just the ones who are blatantly disruptive within Odysseus' palace. As a result of this, when Odysseus starts to murder all the suitors in cold-blooded savagery, we quickly lose satisfaction with the situation and instead begin to express remorse towards those suitors who acted respectably but still met the same fate.

Apart from the disappointment we feel in the fact that all of the suitors must die, rather than just the ones who constantly exhibit malice, part of our dissatisfaction with the climactic scene simple results from the fact that it deviates fairly heavily from the contemporary method of depicting a hero in a final battle. In modern literature and film, it is common for the hero to approach all the secondary villains first, slaying them off before approaching the main villain in an attempt to create a buildup from the start of the battle to the climax. In The Odyssey, however, the exact opposite is the case. Often the killing of all the other less important villains is justified by the hero's insistence upon reaching and defeating the final boss, such as climbing up a ladder with the main villain being the top rung and the other enemies being every other rung--to get to the top, one must first pass by all the preceding rungs. The fact that the main villain, Antinous, is killed first makes the rest of the battle seem exceedingly unnecessary and harsh, as this notion of killing the rest of the suitors in order to reach the truly evil Antinous is now gone. Because the end task of defeating the biggest villain is completed so quickly, the notion of building up to the climax is completely forgotten, causing for a very instantaneous depiction of slaughter that throws off the contemporary reader. This notion remains at play throughout the rest of the battle, as the reader simply wants Odysseus to stop killing the respectable suitors like Amphinomus because the main offenders have already been taken care of. Going along with this, another aspect of modern hero's journey narratives that we come to expect in a hero is the concept of mercy. By exhibiting mercy at times during the literature/film, the hero reassures the reader that their sense of triumph over evil has not affected their humanity and regard for human life. Odysseus exhibits no semblance of mercy during the slaughter scene, causing the reader to have reservations with the fact that he essentially just committed mass homicide without even pausing to consider whether he should spare any men, who were defenseless for a good portion of the slaughter. Odysseus allows his desire for glory and satisfaction from the battle interfere with his sense of morality, preventing the reader from being able to sympathize with Odysseus and causing he or she to have very ambivalent feelings regarding the climax of the poem.

Odysseus' Questionable Pursuit of Glory

For the majority of Homer's The Odyssey, Odysseus appears as a very crafty and cunning character who finds solutions to most of his problems by out-witting whatever enemy lies in his path, whether it be the gods or some mythical creature like a cyclops. While there are a few instances in the poem where we actually get to see his quick-witted thinking firsthand--albeit even the majority of these scenes are told in the past tense by Odysseus narrating his story to the king and queen--this guise of acuity and trickery that surrounds Odysseus for the most part comes from the numerous epithets that are constantly associated with his name and the various stories that are associated with Odysseus to underscore his keen nature. The classic story that we are reminded of is that of the Trojan Horse in the Iliad, as Odysseus in essence crafted the plan that finally ended the way between the Greeks and Trojans. Despite Odysseus' alleged past of immense guile and ingenuity, the climactic scene of the Odysseus is anything but this. Despite the cunning persona that has been placed around Odysseus throughout the entirety of The Odyssey, Odysseus actually forgoes trickery and deception in the exhilarating battle with the suitors, instead embracing his warrior side. Considering this other side of Odysseus that was respected back when he fought in Troy, the initial aftermath of the battle is still somewhat satisfying, with Odysseus finally reclaiming his palace after 20 years away from home. After the battle, we only really have two major reservations with how everything went down: the fact that all of the suitors were killed, despite some of them acting amicably towards beggar-Odysseus, and Odysseus' brutal act of ordering the women who slept with the suitors to be slaughtered. The former of these can be explained by Athena's unwavering desire for bloodshed, as even Odysseus desires for Amphinomus, a "good" suitor, to live, while the latter can only be explained by Odysseus' headlong desire for glory. Despite the ending of the poem playing out in a fairly satisfactory way that we expected, with Odysseus reclaiming his throne and reuniting with his family, his egregious actions after the battle, as a result of his overwhelming desire for revenge and "justice," take away from his success and the glory that he receives.

As a prominent soldier who fought in the Trojan war, Odysseus' pursuit of glory is natural, just like that of several other characters in the Odyssey's predecessor, the Iliad. The first major instance of Odysseus' desire for glory takes place in the scene inside Polyphemus' cave. Despite Odysseus' sharpness and presence of mind that allow him to trick Polyphemus and exit his cave, Odysseus falters almost immediately after the escape, letting his pride get the best of him while he screams his true name to Polyphemus. What little satisfaction Odysseus gets from deceiving Polyphemus is more than made up for by Poseidon's immense wrath which causes him great trouble for the next several years overseas. In a measly attempt to achieve glory by proclaiming to the world that it was he, Odysseus, who tricked the cyclops, Odysseus' bravado backfires. In fact, Odysseus' pursuit of glory is so apparent throughout the poem that when he visits the underworld (or rather when he describes visiting the underworld to Alcinous and Arete), the ghost of Achilles actually warns Odysseus to not let glory take over his mind: "No winning words about death to me, shining Odysseus! By god, I'd rather slave on earth for another man--some dirt-poor tenant farmer who crapes to keep alive--than rule down here over all the breathless dead" (11.555-58). Achilles points out to Odysseus that his own pursuit of glory during the Trojan war was his downfall, and now he regrets the current position that it has placed him in. The fact that Achilles feels the need to tell Odysseus this means that he senses the same desire for glory thriving inside of Odysseus, and therefore warns him to not let his pursuit of glory impede his return home, as it did when he shouted his name to Polyphemus.

Despite Achilles' warnings, Odysseus actions in the battle scene with the suitors, and especially the aftermath when he order the women to be slaughtered, still follow a path of glory and honor that he was warned about. We can observe Odysseus' initial greed for glory in the scene in book 21 when Telemachus is stringing the bow for the contest that Penelope has contrived. After his third attempt, it appears as if Telemachus will actually be able to prove his strength by stringing his father's bow and passing the arrow through all the axe heads, but Odysseus quickly shuts down Telemachus' moment of glory, insisting that if Telemachus succeeded in the competition, it would take away from Odysseus' feat. While this particular scene is in part to preserve Odysseus' disguise as a beggar, we can still observe the dynamic between father and son in which Odysseus has to appear above Telemachus and the other suitors, achieving glory by showing the rest of them up. This tendency of Odysseus to prove himself in competition is also apparent in book 8, when he boasts that he can beat all of the men in any contest but running, and takes immense pride in his victory. The truly egregious act that causes us to reconsider Odysseus as a hero comes after the battle is over, when Odysseus orders for the slaughter of the 12 disloyal women in his palace: "And once you've put the entire house in order, march the women out of the great hall--between the roundhouse and the courtyard's strong stockade--and hack them with your swords, slash out all their lives--blot out of their minds the joys of love they relished under the suitors' bodies, rutting on the sly!" (22.465-470). Despite already having killed all the suitors, Odysseus feels he must go further to satisfy his desire for revenge. In doing this, Odysseus relishes in an act of horrifying nature, eagerly directing Telemachus to slaughter the unfaithful women in gory detail, simply for sleeping with the greedy suitors. It is Odysseus' sadistic orders and brutal concept of "justice" that cause us to question his morality as a hero at this point in the poem. He has already completed the heroic task of expelling the suitors from his home (by killing them) but feels that me must extend his glory even further by exacting justice and revenge upon even the women who are associated with them. We can observe a strong parallel to the Iliad between Odysseus' actions at this point of the poem and those of Achilles. After his epic fight with Hector, Achilles decides that simply defeating Troy's greatest warrior isn't enough to sate his desire for glory, and thus proceeds to humiliate Hector by tying his dead body to a chariot and dragging it around all of Troy so that everyone will know of his victory. Odysseus' actions with the slaughter of the women--who, importantly, were unarmed and weren't even present when the battle occurred--appear in a similar light, as the killing seems very after-the-fact and unnecessary, simply to prove a point and give him a stronger sense of satisfaction, rather than actually do anything to impact the battle. Thus, Odysseus' radical actions towards the end of the poem occur as a result of his extensive desire for glory, just as Achilles and so many other characters from Greek and Roman mythology, and cause us to reconsider Odysseus' position as the "good guy" hero in the poem.

The Logic, Morality, and Leadership of Rick Grimes

(Warning: Potential Walking Dead Spoilers Ahead)
My experiences with heroes dates back to a young age. I grew up reading the classic Harry Potter and Percy Jackson books that are prominent among pre-teens/adolescents, but soon began to realize the similarities in the hero's journey narrative of these fantasy-fiction books. In most of the hero's journey narratives I was exposed to in my adolescence, the protagonist was someone who was in some way "destined" to embark upon some quest or act heroically, and never someone placed under conditions that compelled them to think or act heroically. As a result, as cliche as it may sound, I was immediately captivated by Rick Grimes' character in AMC's television series The Walking Dead, simply due to the refreshing type of protagonist that he embodies. After getting shot near the heart while serving as sheriff's deputy in a small town in Georgia, Rick is hospitalized and enters a long coma. Meanwhile, the outside world starts to crumble as some unidentifiable disease causes humans to turn into zombies (called "walkers") if they die or are bit by another walker. By the time Rick wakes up from his coma, the town is nearly deserted and overrun by walkers. After a night's stay with a hospitable stranger and a lengthy explanation of what the world has come to, Rick sets off alone in search of his missing wife and son, hoping that by some miracle they were able to survive the apocalypse while he was in his coma.

What struck me the most about Rick as a character was the sheer quickness with which he was able to accept and face the horrific global situation. Earth has just been struck by a global catastrophe and humans are under attack by the literal walking dead in the form of zombies. Despite this, after a small period of grief in mourning the disappearance of his family (along with the rest of the town), Rick is able to confront the situation and move forward with what's left of his life. Instead of being "destined" to be in this position or following some prophecy, Rick is simply an ordinary man who naturally follows a hero's path given the dreary circumstances he is provided with. Upon being introduced to the show, it was this distinction between destiny and circumstances in forming a hero that made Rick a compelling character to follow. Rather than being under the influence of some supernatural force, Rick is simply a sheriff's deputy with exceptional logic and leadership skills--skills that elevate him to the status of a "hero" when placed in the dystopia that the world has become. Several aspects of Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey narrative are present that guide Rick in his path to becoming a hero. There is a distinct transition from the ordinary world to a dystopia, exemplified by the jarring differences between when Rick first falls into the coma and when he suddenly wakes from it. From here, the call to adventure is almost natural, as Rick's only desires in this new world are to find his family and survive. Rick's refusal of the quest takes on the form of reality denial in the first episode, as when he falls off his bicycle and is confronted for the first time by a walker with its legs cut off, he panics and rides away. Rick initially appears unable to comprehend what the world has turned into, and as a result favors fleeing instead of staying to kill the walker. Later, Rick returns to the same walker and confidently shoots it in the head. Instead of permanently denying reality and refusing to accept that the world has been overrun by walkers, Rick is able to recover from his initial panic fairly quickly, and remain calm and collected when killing the walker.

Rick adheres closely to Campbell's Hero's Journey in many ways, but it is the various values and beliefs of morality developed over time that characterize his position as a leader and a hero, along with the ways in which we are prompted to question Rick's actions that cause me to reconsider my approach to making decisions in my own life. After gathering supplies from a military base, Rick meets up with a group on the roof of a building, one of whom is a racist hillbilly named Merle Dixon. The group tell Rick that they have a larger camp a few miles out of town, but after Merle starts a fight with another group member and calls him the "n-word," Rick decides to take authority and handcuffs Merle to a pipe. When walkers invade the building, Rick is forced to leave Merle behind as he escapes with the rest of the group, essentially leaving him for dead. The group takes Rick back to the camp when a true miracle occurs: Rick is reunited with his wife and son, who had been living at the camp ever since he fell into a coma and the apocalypse hit.

After we enjoy a moment where the family rejoices, Rick makes a bizarre decision. Minutes after finding his family, Rick proclaims that he is going on a mission back to the rooftop to rescue Merle. We can observe a key aspect of Rick's character here. Despite the entire camp telling him that there is no reason to risk his life rescuing the racist Merle when he has just reunited with his family, Rick feels an inexplicable moral obligation to go back for him. The show prompts us to question Rick's decision here, posing a question: if Rick's leaving to rescue a man places his family in danger, is he still acting heroically? Upon return to the camp, with no luck finding Merle, Rick sees the camp is being attacked by walkers and sprints into action. Despite his best efforts, several campers die, leaving Rick to ponder his decision to put his family in danger for the rest of the first season. Rick believed he was doing the heroic thing by going back to rescue Merle, setting aside his differences and hatred towards him, but ends up leaving the camp vulnerable. From this point on, the majority of Rick's decisions arise from a dynamic between two factors: his fear of losing his family and his desire to maintain moral integrity in all encounters. Often in the show, these two factors come at the expense of one another, with Rick often choosing to act heroically with respect to morality, at the expense of his wife and son's safety. Rick's way of considering his options is something I strive to practice in my own life. When faced with a difficult decision, Rick often takes multiple days to try to devise a compromising or mutually beneficial plan. In every group that he lives with, Rick always ends up with the burden of calling the life-or-death decisions, and it is because he is able to always stay calm and think logically while assessing the situation that he is able to consistently lead the group to safety. In the culminating scene of the second season, Rick is faced with an overwhelming choice--murder his best friend Shane from before the apocalypse or let him live and continue terrorizing the rest of the group. Rick doesn't allow his emotions to cloud his judgement in this scenario, and swiftly commits to killing Shane as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Rick's way of making lightning-fast decisions as a result of logical thinking, while also being able to prevent his emotions from affecting his decision, is impressive and has caused me to reconsider the entire process of making difficult decisions, considering the effect that emotions play and the logical ramifications of each choice. Through his innate leadership skills and ability to think calmly and critically when placed under stress, Rick Grimes is appealing to me as a natural hero.