Charley Baluja, Period 1, 2/9/22

Charley Baluja, Period 1, 2/9/22



Write about your thoughts regarding any of the fiction or nonfiction covered in class.

As I write this, our Modern Mythology class is on chapter four of John Gardener’s Grendel. I’ve always admired writers that can pull you in within a page - with just a line. That line in Grendel for me was “He cocks his head like an elderly, slow-witted king, considers the angles, and decides to ignore me” (Grendel, 1). The imagery of Grendel begging for any sort of response from the old, “stupidly triumphant” (Grendel, 1) ram on the cliffs was enough to catch my interest. More than that, his personification of the ram as a regal but unaware figure, unworthy of his throne (like Hrothgar), provides a great insight into how Grendel views the world. I remember noting how much I loved the descriptions of nature, nature that Grendel views as useless and monotonous (like the rest of his world). The ram knows nothing and will not respond, but that’s not why Grendel is frustrated at it. He’s frustrated at it because the ram couldn’t possibly understand the implications of its coming, the start of Grendel’s “twelfth year of [his] idiotic war” (Grendel, 1). Here, in just a paragraph and a couple lines, Gardner proves that his titular character has significantly more depth than we’d assume of the Grendel we see in Beowulf, showing us a character that acts on his layered, relatable feelings.

Reflect on any new information you have learned in English class by considering how that learning influences your critical perception.

Often when reading, we are not encouraged to consider why an author wrote the book we’re reading. Of course we’re encouraged to examine why the author made choices in the book - descriptions, literary elements, representations of the rhetorical triangle - but I’ve never been asked to examine the context and personality of the author as in depth as I was asked to for Grendel. As we discussed in class, John Gardner wrote Grendel during the 1960s - a turbulent time for America. My biggest association with 1960s is the Stonewall Riot, an event that is cemented in queer history as a turning point, a way of definitively saying that queer people (especially trans POC) would not take any mistreatment. This attitude was present in many aspects of 1960s culture: in the civil rights movement, Vietnam war protests, and much more. The context of this era is important because it was a time of great promises, especially those made by the government, but those promises were often false. Authority figures would promise an end to the Cold War with America emerging victorious, all the while the aggression continued on, bitter and never-ending. The American people were disillusioned with the country they had once had immense pride for, and their horror at what the US had become often turned into anger. We see this anger in Grendel. He watches the men build their halls in their individual camps and go burn down other halls and other camps, killing countless people and animals, wasting good land and food in the name of…power? Expansion? Grendel represents the American peoples’ anger and bewilderment at the endless cycles of oppression, power struggle, and false promises that were so prevalent in the 1960s. With all of this, and so much more in mind, I have learned that it is always valuable to deeply explore the motivations of not just the character but the author, not necessarily for bias but for deeper meaning and context. After all, art imitates life just as much as life attempts to imitate art.

How is what you’re learning applied to any other classes/the world around you?

John Gardner’s Grendel has taught me a lesson I’ve learned a thousand times (and will hopefully learn a thousand more): it has taught me the value of joy. As David brought up in my class, the pandemic left us all isolated for nearly two years. The days bled into each other, and a sort of resigned despair set into my bones. I didn’t notice that I was suffering because it became normal, a constant shadow following me around. It got particularly bad during the winter of 2020. I never went outside. Out of a desperate sense of discipline my daily trudge became routine: I’d shower, eat, go on my zoom classes, do work, and then sleep. That’s it. I only realized I had chained myself to a wall during a math class, when I heard spring’s first birdsong outside of my window. Without a moment’s hesitation I started crying. As soon as the call was over, I raced outside, taking my usual solace with me (music and my book). I felt free for the first time in months, and I was forced to reexamine how I’d been treating myself.

Grendel’s life is not too far removed from the life I lead during the pandemic. I almost harbor a sense of jealousy - he gets to go outside, and explore, and make his own way in the world. However, I am forced to acknowledge that after I realized I was in a bad place a lot of what got me through was my friends. Even virtually, my friends were there for me, and in the separation we forged a family. Grendel doesn’t have that. His mom is largely nonverbal (there is a question to be asked over whether her primitive communications have meaning or if it is just Grendel grasping for connection), the animals are not capable of giving him the love he needs, and the humans attacked him when he wanted to show them that he was a friend. In desperation, he had to turn to the creatures he saw as the most senselessly violent, the most morally corrupt. He was desperate, bawling, and after he ran he reflected on how even the Shaper and Hrothgar had people to talk to. The Shaper painted him as a cursed, doomed creation, all the while championing the Danes’ false heroic deeds, and he knows Hrothgar is the perpetrator of significant evil - and still he goes to them. Thus, Grendel helps me to appreciate what I have by showing what he lacks. He represents the base human desires: understanding, companionship, communication. He has little joy otherwise. I have to prioritize my relationships with others, with nature, and especially with joy in order to walk the tightrope above the chasm of desperation Grendel lives in, the chasm I lived in during the pandemic.