Combo Explanations

Urza, Lord Protector/Etherium Sculptor + Sensei’s Divining Top + Mystic Forge

Infinite card draw and storm count.

1. With all three in play tap Sensei’s Divining Top to draw a card and put Sensei’s Divining Top on top of your library.
2. Replay Sensei’s Divining Top from the top of your library.
3. Repeat to draw your whole deck.

Notably, drawing a cards requires casting Sensei’s Divining Top, building a huge storm count. This makes the easiest way to win Aetherflux Reservoir—hitting everyone for 50 damage over and over. Or, if you want to be fancy, loop Echo of Eons.

Echo of Eons Loops

This loop allows for any spell to be cast an infinite number of times, but infinite mana and card draw are prerequisites to starting the loop.

1. Cast Echo of Eons from hand.
2. Cast Narset’s Reversal, copying Echo of Eons, returning it to hand.
3. Once the copied Echo of Eons resolves, Narset’s Reversal from the graveyard and Echo of Eons from hand will be shuffled back into the library.
4. Repeat the Sensei’s Divining Top—or similar card draw combo—to draw every card in the deck. Eventually, this will redraw Narset’s Reversal and Echo of Eons and the combo can be repeated.
5. Win the game. The “cleanest” win condition is Aetherflux Reservoir but there are many others. For example, bounce everything with Otawara, Soaring City, take a bunch of turns with Time Warp, and win with commander damage.

Voltaic Key/Minamo, School at Water’s Edge + Rings of Brighthearth + Chromatic Orrery

Infinite colored mana, infinite colored and colorless mana, infinite card draw, and infinite (un)tapping of artifacts or legendary permanents you control.

1. Tap Chromatic Orrery to add five mana, use one of the mana to untap Chromatic Orrery with Minamo, School at Water’s Edge or Voltaic Key.
2. In response use two more of the Chromatic Orrery mana to copy the untap ability with Rings of Brighthearth.
3. Target the new untap ability back at Minamo, School at Water’s Edge or Voltaic Key.
4. Repeat this netting two mana each time.
5. After floating lots of mana spend some of it by tapping Chromatic Orrery to draw cards, copying the untap abilities in the same way.

After the Sensei’s Divining Top combo, this is the second strongest in the deck and that is only because it is much harder to assemble.

Metalworker + Staff of Domination

Infinite colorless mana, card draw, lifegain, and (un)tapping of creatures.

1. Tap Metalworker, revealing three artifacts and adding six mana.
2. Tap Staff of Domination to untap Metalworker and itself. Repeat this netting two mana each time.
3. After floating lots of mana use it to tap Staff of Domination to draw cards.
4. Additionally, if you have Rings of Brighthearth in play you only need to have two artifacts in hand. This is done by paying to copy the untap ability and get an extra tap in.

Dramatic Reversal + Isochron Scepter + Nonland Permanent(s) that Taps for 3+ Mana

Infinite mana nonland permanents can tap for, infinite untapping of nonland permanents, infinite storm.

1. With Dramatic Reversal exiled to Isochron Scepter tap all mana-producing nonland permanents and float 3+ mana.
2. Activate Isochron Scepter untapping all nonland permanents, including Isochron Scepter.
3. Repeat the process, gaining mana each time. The easiest way to win at this point is with The One Ring, Aetherflux Reservoir, or Staff of Domination in play.

Narset’s Reversal + Isochron Scepter + Time Warp

Infinite turns

• With Dramatic Reversal exiled to Isochron Scepter cast Time Warp.
• In response tap Isochron Scepter, casting Narset’s Reversal targeting Time Warp.
• Resolving everything returns the original Time Warp to hand, then the copy resolves.
• Repeat on every additional turn to take infinite turns.

Rings of Brighthearth + Basalt Monolith + Two Mana

Infinite colorless mana.

With both in play tap Basalt Monolith and use the mana to untap itself. In response to the untap ability, copy it with Rings of Brighthearth and the two mana. Now Basalt Monolith untaps for the first time, in response tap it adding three mana. Now Basalt Monolith untaps for the second time, in response tap it again. The process can now be repeated generating one mana each time. Read an explanation of the combo here.

Rings of Brighthearth + Sensei’s Divining Top

This allows for cards to be drawn at a rate of one card for three mana. With infinite mana this means infinite draws.

1. Tap Sensei’s Divining Top to draw a card.
2. In response paying two mana to copy the ability with Rings of Brighthearth.
3. The first ability resolves, drawing a card and putting Sensei’s Divining Top on top of the library.
4. The second ability resolves drawing Sensei’s Divining Top.
5. Recast Sensei’s Divining Top for one mana and the process can be repeated.

Gifts Ungiven Piles

This deck is not tuned around Gifts Ungiven because Intuition—the only analogous card I know of—is out of my price range. As it is Rings of Brighthearth, Basalt Monolith, Sevinne’s Reclamation, and Staff of Domination is a medium pile most of the time. Sevinne’s Reclamation usually should be one of the four cards.

There are other four card combos mostly involving Displacer Kitten and The One Ring, but because you can’t tutor for Displacer Kitten they don’t come up much.

Notes

In my mind this is a high power EDH combo deck, not a cEDH deck. This is for a few reasons. First, even though this deck is combo soup, none of the combo’s can win on the stack like Demonic Consultation or Thassa’s Oracle. Second, there are no free counter spells. Third, except for Mana Vault and Sol Ring, there isn’t busted mana.

You do not need to flip Urza, Planeswalker to win the game and it can distract from combo-ing. Urza, Planeswalker is fun to meld, but I usually only do so when I naturally draw The Mightstone and Weakstone and hold on to my tutors for combo pieces. The best time to use Urza, Planeswalker, I think, is to dump your hand, pressing a large advantage, and assume you’re not going to untap with him next turn.

Maybeboard & Cut Cards from this deck: https://archidekt.com/decks/11359294/.

I got a ton of thoughts about this deck, I’ve played this deck a ton. If you have any questions please ask them.

My tale picks up where Perceval left off. The squire which Gawain secretly informed of his situation and sent to Arthur arrives at Camelot where he explains Gawain’s present need. Upon hearing the squire’s story Arthur agrees to witness the fight between Guiromelant and Gawain and prepares to ride out immediately to the castle, though he does not know it is occupied by Arnive and Igeren. Arthur, Sir. Kay, and a handful of knights ride out the next day, arriving three days later. Their arrival marks the seventh day of Gawain’s arrival at the castle and the end of the week in which Igerne would allow him to leave the castle and not ask his name.

At the end of the seventh day, when Arthur arrives, only Gawain and Guiromelant are standing in front of the castle. King Arthur beckons to Sir. Gawain, asking him privately to further explain his situation. Meanwhile, Sir. Kay, with the help of Arthur’s Knights, set up a makeshift arena for jousting. After being informed about Arnive, Arthur’s mother; Igerne, Gawain’s mother; and Clarissant, Gawain’s sister’s presence at the castle Arthur is shaken, understanding it to be some test from God. Arthur declares this test is not for him, but for Gawain alone, and says he will not step one foot into the castle.

Guiromelant and Gawain joust. On the first run, both knights miss their target. During the second Guiromelant hits Gawain, but Gawain barely manages to stay on his horse. Before the third run, Gawain prays to the Virgin Mary and hits Guiromelant off his horse. Guiromelant survives his fall and Gawain dismounts his horse. Guiromelant says he will not submit and will only fight to the death. In hand-to-hand combat Gawain, wielding Excalibur, once again commends himself to Mary and defeats Guiromelant.  Despite the surrender, Gawain refuses to kill Guiromelant. Instead, Gawain tells Guiromelant to follow him into the castle seeing as his life is already forfeit. Reluctantly, Guiromelant agrees to follow. All of this Arthur allows, but will not follow, instead, trusting judgment to Gawain, he turns back home.

Inside the castle, Gawain reveals himself to Igerne, and Clarissant, both of whom are shocked. After sorting through the identities and explaining the connections, Gawain declares the castle the “Ever-Lasting Castle of Death.” Clarissant returns the ring to Guiromelant and says that if he agrees she will make him king. She takes him to the bed of wonders and tells him to spend the night there, explaining that in the morning, if he survives, he will be made King and they will be married. 

With this, Gawain departs the castle having found a replacement for himself. He departs the castle in search of the lance of the Fisher King, which he needs to fight Guinganbresil. Outside, the Haughty Maid of Logres insists on following him. Due to Gawain’s curtsey and despite his better judgment, he allows her to follow him on his quest.

The poem then returns to Perceval, who has completed his penance with his uncle, the hermit. Riding off from the hermitage Perceval thanks his uncle and God, vowing to stay holy by continuing his limited diet, praying to Christ, and receiving communion. Shortly, Perceval arrives at the banks of a river and is disappointed when he does not see the Fisher King. Instead, there is only an empty boat. Surrendering himself to God’s providence, Perceval gets in and pushes off without a second thought for food or water. The boat quickly reaches the mouth of the river and is sent out to sea. Lost in the ocean Perceval survives, not afflicted by hunger or thirst, for countless days. Instead, he spent his days in the boat praying to God and giving thanks to Christ. However, every Sunday he is dismayed when he cannot take communion.

One morning, Perceval wakes up and the boat is lying on a strange shore. Before him, on the cliff above, are both a splendid castle and a broken-down abbey. Surrounding his boat are a half-dozen beautiful maidens. They all ask him, in unison, who he is and what his quest is in this land. Perceval, stating his name, explains to them his quest to find the Fisher King so that he may heal him, so that he may understand the mystery of the Grail. The maidens, delighted to hear this, invite Perceval back to the castle telling him that the Holy Grail and the Fisher King are just inside. Perceval, hearing this, eagerly jumps out of the boat and begins to follow them up the cliff. The group, all the while lightly chatting as they walk towards the castle, pass the broken-down Abbey. Upon seeing the churchyard, Perceval inquires as to what day it is. Hearing that it is Sunday, he stops, inviting them first to go to the Abbey to receive communion with him before continuing on their way to the castle. The maidens are furious to hear this decision, exclaiming they will not take communion. They beg Perceval to continue to the castle, telling him he can go tomorrow after he has seen and cured the Fisher King. But Perceval refuses. He enters the abbey telling the maidens he will come to the castle tonight, after his confession and communion.

The lone priest inside the abbey offers him communion, which Perceval receives. After which, Perceval turns to leave, but the castle, which was previously visible from the door, is gone. The priest explains to Perceval that the maiden’s castle was a test from God and not real. Luckily Perceval has passed the test. Perceval happily continues on his quest, once again placing himself in God’s hands and embarking out in no particular direction.

Alone, through the wilderness Perceval rides, doing good deeds—though of minor consequence—wherever he goes. Until one day, when sleeping under a tree at a hermitage, he is awoken by Gawain. They are joyous to see each other and exclaim their good luck, confident that their reunion is a token of the quest’s ending. Indeed, riding out from the hermitage, the very next day they come to a river, where, in an unadorned boat, fishing, are the Fisher King and another man. Perceval, recognizing the Fisher King, almost cries for joy, but Gawain, recognizing the other man as the boatman who took him to Arnive and Igerne’s castle exclaims first. As Perceval and Gawain move to get near the boat to talk to its occupants. But, suddenly the Haughty Maid of Logres—who the boatman had warned was worse than Satan—appears stepping between them on the boat. Gawain then begged her to step aside, because he would not force her to move. After stoutly refusing to move, Gawain put his hand on her shoulder, to gently move her aside. But the moment he laid his fingertips upon the Haughty Maid’s shoulder, her being burst into red hot flames and she turned into a demon. Gawain is immediately thrown a dozen feet and is knocked out. Perceval jumps to attack her, striking the demon through the chest, but the moment his sword touches her skin, it shatters. Perceval prays to God as he jumps out of the way of her attacks. Answering his prayer, Gawain awakens, grabs his sword, and plunges it into the demon’s heart. With a terrible scream, the Haughty Maid of Logres shrivels up, dissolving into a stinking smoke that forever burned the land under her feet. Gawain, collecting the pieces of Perceval’s shattered sword vows never to touch a woman again.

Again, they turn towards the river and talk to the two men in the boat. The Fisher King invites them to his castle telling them that it is just over the rocky hill. As the walk towards the hill Gawain is worried as he does not see a castle, but Perceval is unfazed. Around them the land is desolate and gray. Trees lay empty, the fields are barren, and the river, which should flow thunderously, lies still. At the top of the hill they look down, and the Fisher King’s castle magically appears—the one beautiful thing in all of the land.

That night, inside the empty castle, Perceval, Gawain, and the Fisher King share a splendid dinner. As they are eating, a boy walks past holding a white lance that is bleeding from its tip, onto his hands. Gawain, recognizing it as the lance which it was foretold he would destroy the kingdom of Logres with, asked the Fisher King its meaning. With this question, one of the Fisher King’s calves is healed and as thanks the spear is bestowed onto Gawain. Secondly, a procession of maidens walks past holding a beautiful grail. Perceval asks the Fisher King what is meant by this token. With this question, the room shines with an enormous golden light, the Fisher King’s other calf is healed. Now healed, the Fisher King’s many years seem to fall heavier on him than before and he quickly begins to wither away. In his final minute, he thanks Perceval for saving him and his Kingdom. And, as a token of his thanks, he will have Perceval’s shattered sword reforged by his smith, Trabuchet. With this the Fisher King dies. The Holy Grail then ascends to heaven. Perceval hears God tell him that the quest is done for now, but not yet complete. Gawain hears nothing. The two go to bed, thanking God.

When they wake up in the morning Perceval’s sword lies remade beside him and the two companions leave the empty castle. Outside, what was once a rocky, barren wasteland is now rolling hills, meadows just coming into bloom, and a river that flows cold, but strong. Stepping across the drawbridge, and two turn around and watch the castle disappear forever before their eyes. Gawain carrying the lance, and Perceval his remade sword, the two return to Camelot. 

There they tell Arthur of the adventures and Arthur thanks God for their deliverance but informs Gawain that his promised battle against Guinganbresil, the brother of the Haughty Maid of Logres, and lord of that Kingdom, is happening tomorrow, having been arranged and promised a year ago.

The next morning, equipped with the Fisher King’s Lance and commending himself to the Virgin Mary, Gawain fells Guinganbresil on their first run at each other. The Fisher King’s lance strikes Guinganbresil through the armor and through the heart. Splintering so it may never be used again. Arthur is declared the new King of Logres. Then Arthur, Perceval, and Gawain return to the castle. Inside, Arthur re-dubs Perceval as a true Knight of the Round Table, awarding him the 12th seat, the one next to the siege perilous. Gawain is awarded the Kingdom of Logres, to govern it for Arthur if he so wishes, having felled their Lord and his demon sister. However, Gawain declines this offer wishing to remain a knight, serving God and Arthur at Camelot.

Works Cited

De Troyes, Chrétien. Perceval; Or the Story of the Grail. Translated by Ruth Harwood Cline, University of Georgia Press, 1985. 

Traditional Christmas colors—not only green—act as significant symbols throughout the poem, and Gawain and the Green Knight brim with Christmas’s colors. The Green Knight enters Camelot, proposing his game, all the while “In his hand, he had a holly bob,” which the narrator reminds “is goodliest in green when groves are bare” (205-06). Amongst the Knight’s overwhelming greenery—an enduring symbol of Christmas—other symbolic colors are sprinkled in. The Green Knight’s “gold spurs” and “red eyes” gleam distinctly as the remaining two colors associated with Christmas (159, 305). Gawain, too, standing in his armor, shines “all red, / With the pentangle portrayed in purest gold” exudes Christmas spirit (619-20). His girdle “of a gay green silk, with gold overwrought,” gifted to him by the Lady, completes the missing symbolic color (1832). Both Gawain and the Green Knight, by the end of the poem, physically possess all three colors, in differing proportions. Each color—red, green, and gold—represents a different value in life, and the proportion of color each character possesses indicates their dedication to that virtue. These three values, generally described as liveliness, flexibility, and purity are commonly preached motifs around Christmas.

The Green Knight and Gawain represent the two predominant colors of Christmas—the Knight, green, and Gawain, red. While both red and green epitomize Christmas, within the greater context of the season they represent different aspects of life and rebirth within the poem. Gawain’s redness, the color of blood, represents life and the vitality of Camelot’s chivalry. Given the emphasis of the Christmas season, red inevitably becomes reminiscent of the blood of Christ, invoking imagery of the blood he asks his disciples to drink, and which he shed on the cross to forgive humanity for their sins. The spirituality surrounding red is further emphasized by Gawain’s red shield, upon the outside of which is painted a golden pentangle, an “endless knot,” to remind all of “the five wounds / That Christ got on the cross” (642-43). While on the inside of his shield, “he fittingly had” the Virgin Mary’s “image portrayed” (648-49). Gawain’s redness is a spiritual celebration of Christmas and Christ.

The Green Knight’s hue celebrates and challenges the same Christmas motif of birth in a natural way. The Green Knight’s accompaniments, the ax, and the Green Chapel, relate to nature and its taming, as well as to life and death. The Green Chapel is not a church but a barrow with “a hole at one end, and on either side, / … covered with coarse grass in clumps all without, / And hollow all within” (2180-83). The Green Chapel functions similarly to Gawain’s shield. Both celebrate life by honoring death. The barrow does this by establishing the mound, atop a final resting spot, as a symbolic memory of life. Gawain’s shield has the same purpose; it remembers the life of Christ symbolically through his death and five wounds. The Knight’s ax conversely represents the ending of life, either through the felling of trees or the lopping off of heads.

The Green Knight’s color goes further than connecting him to nature. His greenness also serves as a physical manifestation of wildness. Throughout the poem, he acts outspokenly, and with unchivalrous manners. These two qualities are wholly unique to the Green Knight, as Gawain and Lord Bertilak display none of those tendencies. His entrance is as wild and untamed as it is uncourteous. He punctuates the jovial Christmas setting by “riding to the high dais,” simply demanding “‘where is … the captain of this crowd?’” (222-25). The wildness at the heart of the Green Knight’s actions and appearance mimic nature and the untamed land that surrounds Camelot. Like the natural world, the Knight presents a challenge with clear rules. His challenge, that Gawain’s “neck should have a knock,” in one year follows the flowing of time and the seasons (453). Through emphasizing the game’s temporality, the Green Knight presents a direct path to death. This timeframe further emphasizes the important symbolic nature of Christmas and the New Year, hinting that through the deathly appearance of his game one may be reborn, like Christ, or the Earth into a New Year. To meet this challenge chivalrously, Gawain must ride out into the “country wild,” braving nature at the same time he must brave the Green Knight (713). 

The Green Knight’s wild and naturally unpredictable nature acts to create darkness for Gawain. The function of Gawain’s quest is to brave and pierce the darkness around him and return to Camelot alive. His meeting with Lord Bertilak serves as that light in the darkness for Gawain. Lord Bertilak appears biblically, a Christmas miracle, the answer to Gawain’s prayers to Mary for “harborage where haply I might hear mass” (755). Lord Bertilak’s religious connotations continue past his holy advent. He appears almost like a living God among men “so comely a mortal never Christ made,” “arrayed royally in radiant hues” (871, 868). Where Gawain and the Knight are red and green, Lord Bertilak is bright and golden. His castle is richly ornamented with “silk hangings hemmed all in gold,” and “curtains…caught to gold rings” (854, 857). With his appearance, all the Christmas colors are represented by a character in the poem.

Lord Bertilak’s golden hue is a middle ground between the Knight’s wild Green and Gawain’s chivalric red. Bertilak possesses the natural aspect of the Green Knight while retaining the courtly aspect of Gawain. Throughout the poem, Lord Bertilak is closely associated with nature. His face is “fair and fresh as the flowers of spring,” yet also “fierce as fire” (866, 847). Unlike the Green Knight who is simply Green, Lord Bertilak is dichotomic—thoroughly natural, consisting of both the pleasant and the dangerous. Every day he hunts, killing various animals, but always gifts his spoils. In this way, the dichotomy of his character continues. He is natural but chivalrous—a trait wholly lacking in the Green Knight. His introduction to Gawain contains the courtliness the Green Knight, and even King Arthur, lacked. As Lord Bertilak goes down to greet Gawain in the hall he declares, 

“‘To this house you are heartily welcome:
What is here is wholly yours, to have in your power and sway.’ ‘Many thanks,’ said Sir Gawain;
‘May Christ your pains repay!’” (835-39)

Lord Bertilak represents the perfect character in the poem. His naturalness implies a flexibility that Gawain lacks— Gawain’s ridged pentangular code of honor cannot fit into all situations. Bertilak’s courtesy is the purest in the poem. He is not afraid like King Arthur and is completely open and welcoming. Lord Bertilak’s courtesy also exceeds Gawain’s, who, by accepting the green girdle and neglecting to tell Lord Bertilak, exploits the Lord’s courtesy.

When Gawain accepts the green girdle from Lady Bertilak he accepts some of the wild, natural, and flexible into his life. But he only accepts this out of fear. Initially, when the girdle is just a belt, it is easy for Gawain to decline “so simple a thing” (1847). However, once he learns that while wearing the belt “there is no hand under heaven that could hew him down,” he feels forced to accept it (1853). By accepting the girdle, his first green token, and the last of the three Christmas colors he possesses, he is saving his life. The girdle’s green acts as a forced amendment to the red and gold pentangle by which Gawain lives. It teaches him a bitter lesson which he “must bear…on [his] body till [he] breathes [his] last” (2510). Gawain, at the start of the poem, was only red and gold. The redness of his armor symbolized his vitality and life, and the gold denoted the goodness of his character. Lord Bertilak and the Green Knight are overwhelmingly green and gold. The Green Knight form expresses the need for a life punctuated by the flexibility required of nature. Lord Bertilak’s human, Lordly form, denotes an inner purity of soul, which he has in common with Gawain. Through their encounter, Gawain is forcibly taught the importance of having green—flexibility and nature—in life. At Lord Bertilak’s hand, on New Year’s Day, Gawain is reborn, remade into a new man with an amended moral compass. He chooses to forever wear the green girdle as a reminder of his previous, flawed self, “for where a fault is made fast, it is fixed evermore” (2512). Gawain pledges to live his life in the manner of all three colors: first, with red or vigor and fealty to God; then, with gold or inner purity according to the five knightly virtues; and now, finally, with green, the flexibility required by nature.

Works Cited

Borroff, Marie, translator. 2010. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Edited by Marie Borroff, and Laura L. Howes. First Edition. New York: W. W. Norton & Company.

“Here, then, is the irony of the “realist” novel: the very gestures with which it conjures up reality are actually a concealment of the real” (Ghosh 2016, 23).

A New Voyage Round the World is the personal journal of William Dampier, wherein he recounts his discoveries and observations, throughout the course of his journey traveling the world as an English privateer. The observations within his journal are seemingly limited to the general collection of knowledge.Dampier’s writings are comprised, largely, of naturalistic and proto-anthropologic descriptions of things and people unknown to a European public, patriotically contributing to the fount of British knowledge. However, due to Dampier’s conviction that the importance of his writing lay inextricably within his systematic cataloging of discoveries, the deeper reality of his privateering exploits are generally concealed. Passionate glimpses “of the real,” at times, peek through Dampier’s naturalist facade. One instance of this is when after 51 starving days, Captain Swan and his crew cross the Pacific and land at Guam. Whether due to the meager provisions, or the banality of the endless ocean, Dampier’s account of this series of events is more personally emotional than scientific, and therefore “conjures up reality” in a more meaningful way. This shatters the scientific version of reality he has spent his whole journal portraying and shows what he has spent the whole book concealing.

Upon arriving at Guam at night, a Spanish priest “hailed us to know from whence we came and what we were: to whom answer was made in Spanish, that we were Spaniards, and that we came from Acapulco” (Dampier 2007, 208). Upon the priest’s boarding of the Cygnet, Capt. Swan received the Priest with much Civility, and conducting him into the great Cabbin, declared That the reason of our coming to this Island was want of Provision, and that he came not in any hostile manner, but as a Friend to purchase with his Money what he wanted: And therefore desired the Priest to write a Letter to the Governour to inform him what we were, and on what account we came. For having him now aboard, the Captain was willing to detain him as an Hostage, till we had Provision (208). For Dampier, taking prisoners was a rather commonplace occurrence, which, throughout his journaling, he routinely glosses over. For example, he mentions “having set our Prisoners ashore, we sailed from Luconia the 26th day of February,” or, more commonly, he altogether neglects to mention their presence (264). The focus on the priest the crew takes prisoner upon arriving at Guam is unique in the attention paid to him, as well as how it is addressed until he is released.

In particular, the way Dampier phrases the circumstances surrounding the priest’s capture reveals more about the realities of the privateer existence than much of A New Voyage Round the World accomplishes. Dampier downplays the crew’s initial deception of the priest, convincing him that they were Spanish, which enabled them to bring him willingly aboard. Then, once aboard, Dampier phrases the encounter with an aristocratic courtesy. Captain Swan does not take, capture, or man-handle the priest, but rather “received” him, later  “conducting [him] into the great Cabbin” (208). The language in this encounter is wholly unique to this particular prisoner. Previously, Spaniards were given no special attention by Dampier, and the language around their capture was limited to the extremely banal, such as, “we presently brought these prisoners aboard and got under sail” (14). This banal language used around the taking and releasing of prisoners brings about a sense of realism that scientific. It is real only in that it is highly accurate as far documentation of dates, locations, and quantities goes. 

However, in the temporary imprisoning of the Spanish priest in Guam, the reality that Dampier attempts to conceal peeks through. Phrases like, “the Captain was willing to detain him as a Hostage” show an attitude towards hostages unseen throughout the rest of Dampier’s story (264). By telling it as “the Captain was willing” Dampier suggests two things. First, he exerts a subtle English superiority over the Spanish, suggesting the English have to be willing to take a Spaniard captive and is not something they would do out of necessity. Further, Dampier phrases it gently, softening the actual terror of the situation. Instead of tricking and imprisoning a priest Captain Swan is merely “willing to detain him” (264). This soothing of facts is  necessary to maintain the naturalistic, scientific reality Dampier chooses to present as reality throughout the rest of his journal.

Reality continues to peek out from behind Dampier’s chosen scientific reality throughout this passage. In every sentence Dampier purposefully tacks on phrases attempting to ease the situation, making it fall more in line with his previous descriptions of prisoners. The first thing Dampier relays after telling how they took the priest hostage is that their ship “came not in any hostile manner, but as a Friend” (264). But, no matter how Dampier phrases it, he is still a friend who will kidnap and leverage you. The scientific-reality Dampier wants to convey is undercut by describing the situation for more than one sentence. Even though he cloaks this kidnapping, pinning on peaceful messages about “friends” and merely desiring to“purchase [Provisions] with his Money,” a new, different reality this peeks through (264). This intentionally concealed reality then starts to cast doubt on every other thing Dampier has presented within his chosen scientific reality.

Throughout A New Voyage Round the World Dampier portrays a reality of his choosing. One that is as defined by brevity as it is scientific. By portraying this reality Dampier writes as a naturalist traveling the world. However, by “the very gestures with which” he “conjures up reality” he is actually concealing “the real” (Ghosh 2016, 23). Dampier inadvertently lets the “real,” peek through when the ship he is on captures the priest in Guam. In this scene reality—not the scientific reality that Dampier presents—is shown to readers.

Works Cited

Dampier, William. 2007. Memoirs of a Buccaneer: Dampier’s New Voyage Round the World, 1697. Mineola, New York: Dover Publications.

Ghosh, Amitav. 2016. “Chapter 6.” In The Great Derangement, 15–24. University of Chicago Press.

Immediately, Adam and nature recognize Eve’s fall. When she rejoins him after eating the fruit, Adam goes into a state of shock. From his hand, “The garland wreathed for Eve / Down dropped, and all the faded roses shed” (Milton 2007, Book IV Lines 892–893). The wilting of the roses is the first imagery of decay in Eden, signifying nature’s acknowledgment of Eve’s fall. The dropping of the rose crown is reminiscent of the crown of thorns Jesus would later wear, alluding to a similar state of holiness Adam and Eve could have achieved. By dropping the crown, Adam demonstrates his acknowledgment of this loss and draws attention to the decay now occurring in humanity. Adam berates himself, demanding to know of Eve, “How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost” (IV 900). Again, with no sign from Eve, he recognizes the loss that she has undergone. The repeated use of the word “lost” highlights Eve’s fall from God’s grace and highlights Adam’s feelings towards the nature of Eve’s transgression. In his eyes, she has merely “lost” herself, a phrase that lacks acknowledgment of her agency. Through recognizing and initially downplaying Eve’s fall, Adam begins the process of allowing passion to taint his reason, justifying his desire to follow Eve.

Adam’s inner confusion continues as he monologues, revealing the overwhelming nature of his feelings, especially as they relate to Eve. His first thought is about Eve’s physical beauty, addressing her as “fairest of creation, last and best / Of all God’s works” (IV 896–897). This assertion blatantly contradicts what Raphael told him: that Eve is “less excellent, as thou thyself preceiv’st” (VII 566). By ignoring what Raphael has instructed, Adam lets his passion dictate his beliefs, although they are contrary to what he knows is true. He continues to praise her, passion clouding his thinking, causing him to believe what he knows to be untrue. He remembers how “Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, / Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!” (IV 898–899). Again, Adam ignores reality and the situation. Eve was only every human, never “holy” or “divine.” Furthermore, after eating the fruit, Eve has fallen even further from God’s grace. Adam’s repeated mischaracterization of Eve’s spirit shows that his passion for her is so blinding that it overwhelms his reason and causes him to choose to fall.

Finally, after desire has filled his heart and clouded his decisions, Adam disregards God and decides to eat the fruit. Without thinking of anything other than Eve, Adam decides, “And me with thee hath ruined, for with thee / Certain my resolution is to die” (IV 906–907). Adam relinquishes his agency to Eve, following her decision, one in which he had no say. He continues, describing their relationship as one of “flesh of flesh” that cannot be separated (IV 914). Eve being “flesh of flesh” is strictly true as God made Eve from Adam’s rib. However, it also speaks to a newfound bodily need for Eve. This new desire for Eve’s person is what finally connives him that he must fall with Eve, as “from thy state / mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe” (IV 915–916), sealing his fate by echoing the phrasing of Eve just prior to her fall.

When Eve returns to Adam after eating the fruit, he goes through a series of logical steps that lead him to conclude that he must fall. First, he immediately perceives Eve’s loss and downplays her actions. Then he overwhelms himself with falsehoods regarding Eve, growing his desire for her so intense that it completely clouds his judgment. Finally, due to his weakness regarding Eve, he willingly chooses to fall. Adam’s weakness is caused by physical passion and blind desire, ultimately driving his choice to fall. 

Works Cited

Milton, John. “Paradise Lost.” In The Complete Poetry and Essential Prose of John Milton, edited by William Kerrigan, John Rumrich, and Stephen M. Fallon, 293-630. New York: Random House, 2007

The first component to unlocking the real meaning behind be-reshit is to change one’s understanding of the meaning of the first few words of the Hebrew Bible: “Be-reshit bara Elohim.” Normally this is translated as “In the beginning God created” (Genesis 1:1). The Zohar argues that by “dividing the Hebrew word Be-reshit differently and supplying slightly different vowels” reveals “the word bara, ‘created’…within Be-reshit, ‘In the beginning’” (Biale 437). Understanding Bara as a word within Be-reshit changes the grammatical structure of the sentence. The object of the verb—Elohim, “God”—now becomes the subject of the verb. This changes the reading from the conventional “In the beginning God created,” to “In the beginning created God” (Zohar 1:3b). This connotes that there was something, sometime before which created God. Understanding that there is something which “created God” leads to the Sefirot and Ein Sof, the something concealed within be-reshit.

The second step to understanding what is hidden within be-reshit is to understand the Sefirot and how they relate word-to-word to “Be-reshit bara Elohim,” God, and eventually Ein Sof. The ten sefirot, or the emanations of Ein Sof, create the physical realm and a higher metaphysical realm, which the Zohar tries to tie together. The first way it does this is by linking be-reshit to the second sefirah, Hokhmah, or “wisdom.” This is seen when “Rabbi Yudai said, ‘what is Be-reshit’” it “is the Wisdom on which the world stands” (Zohar 1:3b). Wisdom, again, being Hokhmah, the sefirah of Wisdom, “from which issue[s] six springs and streams, flowing into an immense ocean. This is bara shit” (Zohar 1:3b). The six springs are understood as the six lower sefirot, revealed in the mystical Torah: din, power; hesed, love; rahamim, beauty; hod, splendor; netsah, eternity; and yesod, foundation. The upper sefirot are locked by a “single key, which locks everything in a single place” “punctuated by a thrust point” (Zohar 1:3b). The “key” is hokmah, or wisdom. And the “thrust point” is binah, understanding. How hokmah and binah relate to “Be-reshit bara Elohim” (Genesis 1:1) is the last step to understanding how Ein Sof is concealed within bara.

Understanding the two sefirot: hokmah and binah and how they relate to God is the last step in finding Ein Sof concealed within bara. According to the Zohar, Elohim is associated with the sefirah: binah, or understanding. And the word reshit is associated with hokhmah, or wisdom. Changing Elohim and reshit in the original, “Be-reshit bara Elohim” changes the meaning to “In wisdom created understanding.” But, now there is no subject of the verb. To Kabalists, this is where Ein Sof is hidden, fulling the role of the missing subject of the verb, hidden within creation, or bara. Finally, changing the meaning all the way from the “In the beginning God created” of Genesis 1:1 to “In wisdom Ein Sof created understanding.”

Through leaps of logic, one arrives at that which is locked behind the sefirot: hokmah and binah. This is bara, hidden within be-reshit, “Be-reshit—a revealed word combined with a concluded word. Bara, Created, is always concealed, closing, not opening” (Zohar 1:3b). Ultimately, for Kabalists what is hidden within Be-reshit is bara and the existence of Ein Sof, which through the sefirot inform an understanding of the physical and metaphysical universe and creation.

Works Cited

Biale, David. “Introduction1:3b [On Be-Reshit, ‘In the Beginning’].” The Norton Anthology of World Religions, edited by Jack Miles, 1st ed., vol. 2, W.W. Norton & Company, New York, New York, 2015, pp. 437–438.

Satan’s soliloquy starts immediately with a tone of regret as he remembers his happy past as every part of the world now only serves to torture him. This is seen when he explains his hatred of the sun, declaring, “O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams / That bring to my remembrance from what state / I fell” (4.37-39). He hates the sun because it reminds him of the warmth of God’s love and what he once had. Looking back to his time in heaven beside God, he seems regretful recalling how God, “Upbraided none; nor was his service hard,” admitting that all he had to do was “afford [God] praise” (4.45-46). But, at this moment of his deepest self-pity, declaring “Me miserable! Which way shall I fly” (4.73) Satan sours, remembering his current pain. Unable to fly from his miserable torture —because it is admittedly self-inflicted— Satan’s sadness turns into a vain attempt at angry bargaining, “O had his powerful destiny ordained / Me some inferior angel, I had stood / Then happy” (4.58-60). In one mind he believes God made him too perfect to be happy in servitude in heaven. Had Satan been “ordained … inferior,” he may not have been tempted to go against God. However, in his other mind, he attempts to justify his betrayal, hypothesizing “Some other power / As great might have aspired” and gone against God as he did (4.61-62). Through this Satan reveals he blames only God for his fall. This conclusion shifts the blame solely on God, and in effect paints Satan as confused. In this final moment of Satan’s sadness—wondering if another would go against God—his jealousy and self-awareness are exposed.

Talking to himself, Satan explains, gradually, how he lost his paradise, showing how he is self-aware regarding his plight. Through his soliloquy, Satan demonstrates that the reasons he fell and refuses to redeem himself are twofold: “Pride and worse Ambition” (4.40). Knowing he is unable to master either, Satan abandons all hope of rejoining God in heaven. Instead, he heartbreakingly says goodbye to everything, “So farewell hope, and with Hope farewell fear, / Farewell remorse: all Good to me is lost; / Evil be thou my Good” (4.108-110). The repetition of “farewell” reads almost regretfully as if Satan must steel himself and work himself up to completely turn his back on God. Dismissing hope, fear, and remorse Satan begins to transform himself into an anti-hero. He is no longer the same as he was 80 lines ago at the start of his soliloquy. He chooses to become Hell declaring, “Which way I fly is Hell; my self am Hell;” (4.75). This is Satan’s moment of great self-awareness and final downfall. Through the speech, he reveals that ambition caused him to fall, but it is his mortal sin of pride that seals the fall. No matter how much he is tormented and torments himself his pride is so strong that nothing can spur him to experience contrition.

In this final way Satan, through his soliloquizing, tries to portray himself as an anti-hero to himself and Man. His final declaration of “Evil be thou my Good” is a complex statement and a purposeful inversion of conventional thought (4.110). Satan decides it is better to work in the name of evil than good, out of spite for God who only works for good. This hints at the subtle wordplay between the similarly sounding “good” and “God,” changing “Evil be thou my Good” to “evil be thou my God” (4.110). Satan through the course of the soliloquy has completely inverted his perception of the world. He here reveals that he would rather purposely fall and live a life that he knows is opposite, rather than live second under God’s glory, fully transforming himself, in his mind, into the anti-hero of Man.

At the start of his speech, Satan seems remorseful of his actions, subtly acknowledging their folly and wishing he could make a change. Through his self-aware nature and intelligence, it is clear he knows that his betrayal is wrong, and that forgiveness is possible. Yet, he purposely, due to his pride, sticks to the path of inversion, where evil is good, to the point of becoming Hell. He inverts convention declaring good and God evil despite knowing he cannot overcome either. He instead chooses the path of the anti-hero, purposely falling, and living outside of God’s glory because he cannot stand to live within it.

Works Cited

• Milton, John. The Complete Poetry and Essential Prose of John Milton. Edited by William Kerrigan et al., Modern Library, 2007. 

This country’s evening chorus only came to silence, gradually, in waves, as the train pressed through. And only after the light from the window in the last car twinkled out of mind did the chorus renew with an unmarked joy. Meanwhile, shadows of what-would-be sat on the distant hills, looking on without anticipation or longing. The light from the last car never twinkled out of their minds and hearts. And inside the last car, two animals played with chance, under a shaded lamp.

Here, had even the most discerning of observers sat in the last car of this train, they would have scarcely noticed any details. Yet, eventually, observant eyes would adjust to the darkness, whose canvas was cut only by a thin light given off by the lamp. Once fully adjusted to the blackness, our observer would doubtless be surprised to see that occupying the last car was an enormous black cat sitting upon a stool. Sitting and even anxiously rubbing his paws together. Indeed, the cat must have been there the whole time. And the lamp, which hung above him, lighted his eyes amber.

Secondly, the observer would notice the two purple playing cards lying face down in front of the cat. To which his eager eyes darted towards frequently. His amber iris’s—with a very anguished look—attempting to stare through the decoration of intertwined wheat embossed on the back, to see the important symbols on the other side.

Lastly, and only if the observer followed the darting eyes of the cat, would they notice a wolf sitting motionless across the table. His shape seemed punched out of the darkness, more shadowy than the cat’s black fur, and more real than the passing wind. And though he was not lighted by the lamp, his eyes shone more keenly from the dark than the cats ever could.

Though they talked at a whisper and only made small, refined gestures they were clearly carrying on an extremely splendid conversation. Discussion bounced back-and-forth between the two when suddenly and softly the wolf asked the cat, “Please stop fretting. You will rub your paws off with your fidgeting and your eyes will grow tired. Let’s have a drink, and talk, and forget this hand for now. We still have so far to go.”

“I will! I will!” the cat exclaimed.

“You will what?”

“I will do everything you have suggested. I will stop playing and talk. And I will especially drink.”

With this, the cat exuberantly jumped from his stool and landed neatly in front of a liquor cabinet by the communing door of the car. The wolf watched him take two glasses and fill them nearly to the brim with a brown liquid. As he did spilling a great deal on the green-carpeted floor, before corking and deftly replacing the bottle. Again, in one leap, he returned once again to his seat facing the wolf. Either through miracle or skill, not a drop from either glass was spilled as both glasses were set neatly down upon the table on top of three face-up cards.

It is worthwhile to note that before the cat’s unexpected leap the three cards were the four of spades, the nine of hearts, and the ten of clubs. However, after the drinks were placed, the nine of hearts had become the ten of hearts. And the deck that had been standing beside had ever so slightly changed angle and now looked slightly disheveled towards the top. However, either through excitement, or ignorance, the cat did not seem the notice the error in their game.

And sitting back down, the black cat let out a loud purr and exclaimed, “So.”

He said this in a way that neither indicated a question or statement. It just filled out space and eased the quiet.

“So,” returned the wolf. Rolling over the word as if thinking about it and all the nuances and intricacies it carried. “Yes, just so. We have a lot we could talk about, but none of it now seems especially meaningful.”

Interrupting the wolf’s “meaningful” the cat chimed in, “They say talk without meaning is dangerous and you will end up regretting everything you let fall from your tongue. Words and ideas should be clear and have purpose. In short: thought out well in advance.”

“And they who say that are not wrong. Nevertheless, I have some matters I wanted to discuss with you. The meaningfulness and purpose of them can be discovered as we talk and judgment dolled out at the end.”

“Agreeable.” The cat happily shouted, “You are always so perfectly agreeable.” Upon this final agreeable, he drained his glass in a quick gulp and sat beaming at the wolf.

“Yes, just so. Let me ask you a question,” the wolf said.

“Yes, yes, ask away good friend, ask away. Only, would it be all right if I were to fill my little glass up once again? You know what they say about empty glasses.”

And without so much as politely waiting for a “No, what do they say?” or a questing look he exclaimed, “you shouldn’t see them as empty.” And with this confusing statement, the cat once again leaped up again. All the while laughing crazily and returned to the bar at the end side of the car.

The wolf looked strangely at the cat but did not do anything. Instead, he sat and awaited the cat’s return.

“Never trust a man that doesn’t drink, or gamble,” the cat purred, seemingly off-topic again. “A man without vices is no man at all.”

But the wolf latched on to this admittedly, not the original idea. “Yes, just so, vices… And what, if you don’t mind me asking, are acceptable vices?”

“Acceptable? They are all acceptable! I accept winter, and that my poor tail and ears will freeze nearly off. But I don’t have to like it.” The cat exploded into more laughter.

“What then?” the wolf asked again, it must be said with great patience, “what vices make a man?”

“They all do. Man—speaking as an individual, you see—is but the shadow cast by his actions. And if he leads a blameless life, staying inside, doing nothing all day, what kind of shadow will he cast? It will be so weak that even the sun can’t even light him up!” And again the cat drained his glass.

“To do agree to some degree, but only as far as the actions make the man. What of the saints? Are they not voiceless? Do they not lead blameless lives? Yet they are remembered, and as you say, ‘cast shadows.’” The wolf replied.

“They are marked by their very lack of vice. To be anything in between—which you must admit is where most men fall—is pointless. The complete absence and the complete presence of vice make the man.”

“And yet I am not sure. Is being simply human—that is to say where most men fall—not enough?” “No, definitely not.”

“So all that is plain, merely good, or even great doomed? Only the completely villainous or pure beyond attainment is worth noting.”

“Yes, all that is great is doomed. And more than that all that is great is doomed and doomed to repeat.” “Do you know where we are?” asked the wolf.

“No, I do not.”

“We are traveling through a land where, a long time from now, people may prove your supposition. And, yet they may prove you wrong.”

“I doubt it, sir, I doubt it.”

“What do you say we bet on it.”

“Gladly, I will bet.”

“And yet the stakes should be inline with the wager, I always think.”

“Most definitely. Anything else, or something as trivial as money is boring, bordering on insulting” replied the cat.

“Then let’s return to this hand. If I win you stay and travel this land for the next 10,000 years, a mere blink of time’s eye.”

“And if I win?” “You won’t win.”

In spite of his thick, black fur the cat grew pale. He who had this whole time been boisterous and jovial suddenly grew quiet.

“As I said,” the wolf repeated. “It is but a mere blink and you will grow the wiser from it as well as in my esteem.”

“I will play, but I want two things.”

“Yes?” The wolf droned.

“First, if I win I want never to come here again. Second, I want the cards to be reshuffled and redealt.” “Fine. Most fine. I agree to both.”

The Importance of Being Earnest starts its exploration of moral misadventure and ambiguity in London, despite taking place, for the most part, in Hertfordshire. It is in London where Jack loses one identity and is given another. As a child, Jack was left, unbeknownst to him, by Miss Prim, “in the cloak-room at Victoria Station,” inside “a somewhat large, black leather hand-bag” (Wilde 2233). This excursion to the city as a child has an enormous impact upon Jack. It is in the city where a helpless child, without ever knowing it, loses his identity as Earnest. This loss, or swap, of identity is the catalyst for many of the play’s comedic elements, but also serves as a grave and subtle warning about what the city can do.

In describing the station where Miss Prim left Ernest, she chooses to portray it as “one of the larger railway stations in London” (Wilde 2261). Miss Prim blames the loss on her carelessness, but her choice of words paints a broader picture of blame. It is on a trip from the country to the city when the baby is lost. The loss of identity occurs after moving from the country—a place of virtue, structure, and clear society—to foggy, confused London that hides and obscures. In embarking on this journey Miss Prim is mirroring the movements and experiences of the countless men and women flooding English cities for work. It is not only London where Ernest is lost but also one of “the larger railway stations” (Wilde 2261). Railway stations were somewhat new, for the time, and helped to facilitate much of the growth the British cities were experiencing. Moreover, they act as a crossroads for people. At train stations, people of all walks of life were given an opportunity to move physically across Britain, but also move socially as well. At this convergence, Ernest is lost and is completely reborn as Jack.

This stripping and replacing of identity is wholly facilitated by the city. Both stories treat the city as an institution that takes people in and quickly transforms them. As an “institution,” the city functions differently in The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Dr. Jekyll is afforded a second identity that can move smoothly in tangent with his existing one, whereas Jack is transformed and lives one, albeit false life. Many of the characters from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde fit the popular stereotype of being “men of science.” These men are highly educated middle-class bachelors, who are defined by their modern interests in science or law. Humorously, but importantly, Dr. Jekyll inhabits all the nuances of this stereotype. He is known as, “M.D., D.C.L., L.L.D., F.R.S., etc.” meaning he is a Doctor of Medicine, Civil Law, and Law, as well as a Fellow of the Royal Society (Stevenson 2173). With his three doctorates, fellowship, and social standing, his reputation within this specific London stereotype is beyond reproach.

Additionally, through the adoption of the more than four titles, “M.D., D.C.L., L.L.D., F.R.S., etc.” Dr. Jekyll is both hiding and self-aggrandizing (Stevenson 2173). Each title serves to describe him as a man. But ultimately, serve a purpose similar to the function of the city: to obscure. Titles create an image of a someone who, in turn that person can hide behind, allowing someone to think they know a person before meeting or talking to them. In this case, allowing Dr. Jekyll to hide behind his letters—to his own destruction. Titles hide the fluidity of identity and do not describe or inform the individual’s soul, rather serving to disguise it. It is Dr. Jekyll’s titles that cover up suspicion of his dark secret and the corruption that his being has given in to. This serves as a criticism of not only cities, but of social order. Dr. Jekyll shows that men of science and high social standing can be more morally corrupt than a lowly worker, newly come from the country. Moreover, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde warns that when one is forced to hide their true emotions from all—as the city life forces one to—the outcomes can be terrible.

However, despite or due to his sterling reputation, Dr. Jekyll decides to embrace “the two natures that contended in the field of [his] consciousness” (Stevenson 2201). He “recognise[d] the thorough and primitive duality of man” and embraced how he “was radically both” good and evil (Stevenson 2201). Dr. Jekyll was fascinated by the new life Mr. Hyde could afford him and weary of “the dryness of a life of study,” Dr. Jekyll decided to live a double life (Stevenson 2203). The city of London helped him achieve this too. London sets the scene for the moral duplicitousness of Mr. Hyde, as Dr. Jekyll is allowed to indulge in his more hedonistic side through his excursions out as Mr. Hyde. The lack of a concrete identity possessed by either actor replicates London’s lack of a concrete identity. After all, how can a city in such a constant state of flux have a consistent identity? London makes the perfect playground for both the morally virtuous Dr. Jekyll and the narrator and morally bankrupt Mr. Hyde. As London is able to foster both identities, characters such as Dr. Jekyll can become exposed to and further engage in immoral actions, resulting in the creation of a separate identity Mr. Hyde.

The difference in how the two stories treat the nature of identity is in assumption. In The Importance of Being Earnest, Jack is forced to assume a new identity by the confusing nature of the city. Whereas Dr. Jekyll chooses to adopt one and, through the confusing nature of city life, is able to hide and live two different lives. Despite the different ways that the two characters have their identities split, the end results are very similar. The city acts directly as an agent in their lives, shaping and changing who they are. This is done in part through the different social structures that the city imposes onto them and in part through the confusion of city life that provides cover.

The Importance of Being Earnest goes a step further in demonstrating the differences between the effects of the country and city upon people, with its constant shifting between the two. Jack escapes from his home in the countryside to London under the pretense of visiting a made-up little brother: Earnest, whereas Algernon uses the fictional Bunbury to escape London and it’s less than pleasant social obligations. The creation of fictionalized lives as forms of escape from the city underlines the inherent conflict of the city. The endless possibilities of lives that the city affords its inhabitants are too much for the human will not take advantage of. The use of these fictional stories as a method of escape demonstrates the pressure of the multitudes of lives a city affords one and the necessity of escape. This practice of niche lying—decreed “bunurying” by Algernon—to escape daily life is in both ways heavily facilitated by the city (Wilde 2236). Nevertheless, the city not only allows for bunurying but encourages it. London acts both as a place to escape into fantasy and to escape from as the occasion arises.

Jack’s countryside manor, which he chooses to escape from, provides him neither “profit or pleasure,” yet “it gives [him] position” (Wilde 2232). This conflict that splits the countryside between being half useless and half useful is also the same conflict found in London and, to a large degree Jack’s inner conflict. Jack’s home in London is seen as “unfashionable,” but “easily altered” by Lady Bracknell (Wilde 2232). This blend of tastelessness and modern transience is a commentary upon the city. London is an “easily altered” setting that reflects the multifaceted aspects of those who inhabit it, demonstrating the same conflicts of the people themselves and following the same whim. One side of a street can be fashionable, while the other is not, but “both, if necessary” can be “easily altered” (Wilde 2232). The mailability of the cityscape is indicative of the lack of concrete identity it possesses. Jack’s position in life is a mirror for these reflections on the purpose and character of the city and countryside. Like the city, he is easily changeable, wanting to be baptized, therefore changing his identity because it is fashionable and the most convenient option available to him. Nevertheless, part of the split in his identity that occurs is more reflective of the country.

Hertfordshire, therefore, acts as a foil to London. The country and the city are constantly placed at odds against each other through both the acts that take place in each setting and the discussion of character that occurs. Algernon goes to Jack’s countryside estate with the express purpose of creating a little mischief and confusion for his enjoyment. One of the first things that he proclaims is how his assumed character of cousin Earnest is “not really wicked at all” (Wilde 2239). However, his intentions are far from being blameless. Nevertheless, despite his bunurying and deliberate attempt to cause confusion, at the end of the play—in the country—everything is worked out. All the problems the city has created, such as Jack’s identity and a marriage proposal, suddenly become clear. The relief that the countryside provides in the question of identity, reflects the feelings regarding the disagreeable situations caused by overpopulation. Without the anonymizing influence of the city, the play suggests, life becomes clearer.

While not directly comparing London’s atmosphere to the atmosphere of the countryside, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde seems to connect natural phenomena to what the city allows its inhabitants to get away with. For example, the night that Mr. Hyde murders Sir. Carew, “Fog rolled over the city in the small hours,” hinting at bad events (Stevenson 2180). The pervasiveness of the night and the density of the fog both foreshadow events, set tone, and foreshow the truth behind Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jekyll. The fog acts both to conceal their relationship and highlight the mystery of it. In fact, throughout the whole story, London is described as “a nocturnal city,” whose most important and secret actions occur at “night under the face of the fogged city moon” (Stevenson 2175). Mr. Hyde seems to rule this night which permanently drapes the novel. Even if London has bright days, it does not matter because evil pervades it constantly. The city’s atmosphere does not just match its events but seems to help obscure and cover them up.

At the start of the book, when the origins and search for Mr. Hyde are being recounted. The interest in him is caused when he is seen to “trample calmly over the child’s body and [leave] her screaming on the ground” (Stevenson 2171). Mr. Hyde “atones” for his crime by begrudgingly paying “hundred pounds for the child’s family” (Stevenson 2172). After he paid, Mr. Hyde vanishes for the first time, causing Mr. Utterson to search all of London for him. Moreover, the search is no easy feat. London not only acts to create Mr. Hyde, through anonymity, but the same anonymity acts to protect him. Again, after the murder of Sir Carew, the city hides Mr. Hyde from the police and Mr. Utterson, thwarting a justice that is widely acknowledged to be deserved. The city seems to foster the creation of Mr. Hyde in so far as that Dr. Jekyll enjoys the opportunities and experiences that Mr. Hyde offers him in the city. Dr. Jekyll took joy in being Mr. Hyde. He liked how, as Mr. Hyde, he did not feel constrained by manners, rules, and social norms. He was truly free because of the lack of inhibitions that Mr. Hyde felt so he could explore his deepest desires.

Both The Importance of Being Earnest and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde deal heavily with the idea of cities and how they cause confusion and foster anonymity and explore cities relative to identity. The main city in each of the stories, London, creates an intense backdrop for the two pieces that reflects the characters themselves and their inner struggles as they are reflected in their settings. Jack, from The Importance of Being Earnest, is a critique of the confusion that cities cause. The series of mistaken identities replicate the multitude of identities fostered within a city all competing to be heard above the din. As a victim of London’s confusion, he is forced to assume and live under a new identity that nearly costs him his marriage, but the countryside allows him some relief from the oppressive identity of the city. Dr. Jekyll, likewise, uses the confusion of the city of obscure himself and creates a new identity: Mr. Hyde. Both identities that Jack and Dr. Jekyll assume are brought on by the city. Furthermore, the city’s confusion allows them to experience life in a completely different way. London, in both stories, is a messy, confusing, and seedy environment where it is not possible to survive intact. In this way, both stories argue that the growth of cities and the new opportunities they provide are detrimental, resulting in individuality that is easily lost or corrupted.

Works Cited

Stevenson, Robert L “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” The Norton Anthology of English literature, edited by Greenblatt, Stephen, vol. 8, W W Norton & Company, 2006, pp. 2169-2210.

Wilde, Oscar “The Importance of Being Earnest” The Norton Anthology of English literature, edited by Greenblatt, Stephen, vol. 8, W W Norton & Company, 2006, pp. 2221-2263.