Walking the Dogmeat
Today I went for a long walk. I walked in the pleasant afternoon rain. I walked in the excellent, if bizarre, company of Dogmeat. Walking is not a new thing to me; I'm rather a practiced hand--foot?--at it, and I fancy myself to be quite the fine walker. More than a walker, I style myself a flaneur, one who walks about for the pleasure of observing his surroundings.
As I made my way through the twisting neighborhoods south of Rudisill--Dogmeat padding alongside--I could not help but notice a vast difference in this jaunt from my previous nine years meanderings. The difference I found was further underscored by my earlier return to the old house on the other side of town.
In our adventures in Harrison Hill, Old Mill, and Beyond, Dogmeat and I witnessed a constant and varied stream of humanity; people walking, People sitting outside and talking, a massive block party, joggers (cute joggers!), etc. This right on the heels of being in the other neighborhood for more than an hour and not seeing a soul. The emptiness just felt wrong, but that same emptiness was my companion for countless miles when I lived at the other house; it is not something I will miss.
Dogmeat is fantastic company; there is never a lag in the conversation, and even if you never get a chance to respond...that is quite alright, because his enthusiastic delivery produces such echoes that it substitutes well enough for any response from his audience. Of all the people I saw about today, none were as interesting or hilarious as my companion, who has been agonizing over discovering what is is that makes an excellent character death, and why such deaths are important for good drama.
He asks an excellent question. Drama is for enjoyment, but good drama should also bring a little wisdom. Aristotle spoke of the purpose of good drama being the vicarious suffering of the crowd, through the characters of the Greek stage. Drama allows you to experience complex and powerful emotions in a safe environment. At the end of the play there is catharsis, all the emotions slide off of you and you can go happily on your way. You can experience, joy, love, pride, righteous anger, and heartbreaking grief, then go happily on your way when the story ends.
Death is the most powerful subject for drama. No matter how brave a man may be, all men fear death. Death is evil; in a perfect world it would not exist, and there is man or faith strong enough to tame our fear of the unknown. The Greeks believed death to be the root cause of all evil, which is perhaps a mere reversal of the truth; evil being a removal from God, which is the beginnings of death. Whether viewed as a symptom or a source of evil, death is the most frightening specter with which men must contend on earth, and it is in the face of death that the best and worst qualities of man are brought explicitly to light. To evoke the strongest emotions and drive home a lesson in the most striking manner, it is only natural to deal in the strongest subject matter.
The death of a hero is particularly affecting because we have this perverse habit of associating ourselves with them. Even if we do not compare ourselves directly to them, we still want to exhibit the same excellence they embody. Take Snape as an example. He spends the majority of the series being reviled, and in the last book is revealed as a hero whose life has been one of repentance and quiet self sacrifice. Snape is not a glamorous hero, but he is among the most beloved because he did right even when it cost him greatly; he did good without any thought of return for him personally. His sacrifice, his love, are effectively amplified tenfold by the fact that he dies alone and without reward. His excellence is held in greater esteem and he becomes--oddly enough--a role model of selfless love and sacrifice; a martyr, really.
Death is also necessary to suspense, especially in any kind of a series. A series that deals with any kind of subject matter which includes danger, but which does not kill any major characters, quickly becomes unbelievable and the illusion is broken. We are willing to suspend disbelief as much as we are able for the sake of a good story. But when characters ride into peril again and again without any loss, we are no longer able to keep ourselves fooled. Such a version of heroism might work for young children, but in a world plagued by flag-draped caskets, bloodless victory rings false.
I think one may learn a lot about a person from the characters they appreciate; I have always wondered about those whose favourites almost always included those who held and wantonly exercised power over others...but that can wait for another post.
As I made my way through the twisting neighborhoods south of Rudisill--Dogmeat padding alongside--I could not help but notice a vast difference in this jaunt from my previous nine years meanderings. The difference I found was further underscored by my earlier return to the old house on the other side of town.
In our adventures in Harrison Hill, Old Mill, and Beyond, Dogmeat and I witnessed a constant and varied stream of humanity; people walking, People sitting outside and talking, a massive block party, joggers (cute joggers!), etc. This right on the heels of being in the other neighborhood for more than an hour and not seeing a soul. The emptiness just felt wrong, but that same emptiness was my companion for countless miles when I lived at the other house; it is not something I will miss.
Dogmeat is fantastic company; there is never a lag in the conversation, and even if you never get a chance to respond...that is quite alright, because his enthusiastic delivery produces such echoes that it substitutes well enough for any response from his audience. Of all the people I saw about today, none were as interesting or hilarious as my companion, who has been agonizing over discovering what is is that makes an excellent character death, and why such deaths are important for good drama.
He asks an excellent question. Drama is for enjoyment, but good drama should also bring a little wisdom. Aristotle spoke of the purpose of good drama being the vicarious suffering of the crowd, through the characters of the Greek stage. Drama allows you to experience complex and powerful emotions in a safe environment. At the end of the play there is catharsis, all the emotions slide off of you and you can go happily on your way. You can experience, joy, love, pride, righteous anger, and heartbreaking grief, then go happily on your way when the story ends.
Death is the most powerful subject for drama. No matter how brave a man may be, all men fear death. Death is evil; in a perfect world it would not exist, and there is man or faith strong enough to tame our fear of the unknown. The Greeks believed death to be the root cause of all evil, which is perhaps a mere reversal of the truth; evil being a removal from God, which is the beginnings of death. Whether viewed as a symptom or a source of evil, death is the most frightening specter with which men must contend on earth, and it is in the face of death that the best and worst qualities of man are brought explicitly to light. To evoke the strongest emotions and drive home a lesson in the most striking manner, it is only natural to deal in the strongest subject matter.
The death of a hero is particularly affecting because we have this perverse habit of associating ourselves with them. Even if we do not compare ourselves directly to them, we still want to exhibit the same excellence they embody. Take Snape as an example. He spends the majority of the series being reviled, and in the last book is revealed as a hero whose life has been one of repentance and quiet self sacrifice. Snape is not a glamorous hero, but he is among the most beloved because he did right even when it cost him greatly; he did good without any thought of return for him personally. His sacrifice, his love, are effectively amplified tenfold by the fact that he dies alone and without reward. His excellence is held in greater esteem and he becomes--oddly enough--a role model of selfless love and sacrifice; a martyr, really.
Death is also necessary to suspense, especially in any kind of a series. A series that deals with any kind of subject matter which includes danger, but which does not kill any major characters, quickly becomes unbelievable and the illusion is broken. We are willing to suspend disbelief as much as we are able for the sake of a good story. But when characters ride into peril again and again without any loss, we are no longer able to keep ourselves fooled. Such a version of heroism might work for young children, but in a world plagued by flag-draped caskets, bloodless victory rings false.
I think one may learn a lot about a person from the characters they appreciate; I have always wondered about those whose favourites almost always included those who held and wantonly exercised power over others...but that can wait for another post.
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