Barnett_Page1

Tracy
Barnett
History 525
Research Paper 1st page/outline

“Then each one goes his
own way, and he of the cart is occupied with deep reflections, like
one who has no strength or defence against love which holds him in
its sway. His thoughts are such that he totally forgets himself, and
he knows not whether he is alive or dead, forgetting even his own
name, not knowing whether he is armed or not, or whither he is going
or whence he came. Only one creature he has in mind, and for her his
thought is so occupied that he neither sees nor hears aught else."
-- Chretien de Troys
Lancelot, or the Knight of the Cart
"This much may yet
may I speak; that, as I gazed on her, affection found no room for
other wish. While the everlasting pleasure, that did full on Beatrice
shine, with second view from her fair countenance my gladden'd soul
contended; vanquishing me with a beam of her soft smile, she spake:
"Turn thee, and list. There eyes are not your only Paradise."
-- Dante Aligheri Paradisio

Did the idea of
courtly love change from the Late Medieval period to the Early Modern
period? More importantly, do we see a change in the ways that men
identify themselves as men when we look at examples of courtly love
from the two periods? We see the men fight battles, die, traverse the
Heavens and Hells, risk banishment and worse, all for love. How do
these men see themselves, and what can we find out from the views of
them we find in the poems that house their love?
There have been
historians who have looked at the issue of courtly love during either
of these periods, but whiles we find in their works a great deal of
examination of the roles of women in those works, we do not find as
much on the changing identities of the men that find themselves in
the paramour's role. While the scholarship that has taken place about
women has expanded our views of women in history, it is to our
detriment if we do not also examine the opposite side of coin; the
men that love the women and also find themselves defined by those
women much as the women might find themselves defined by the men
around them.
In her Notes toward a Gendered History of Italian
Literature, Teodolinda Barolini presents a compelling image of
Beatrice, Dante's love who guides him through Heaven in Paradisio.
She explores the issues surrounding the character of Beatrice and
shows in great detail how remarkable of a figure this woman is.
Beatrice occupies a role that is usually reserved for men in that she
speaks, she leads and she is able to give insight and discourse on
theological topics. Indeed, in a traditional reading of Paradisio
Beatrice is thought to represent Theology until she leaves the story
to have Dante led on by another guide.

What could be missing from such a traditional reading is how Dante
took the character of Beatrice and used her as a departure from that
traditions of Courtly Love. I think you can break up this sentence a
bit, and develop your point more clearly and concisely. Beatrice
differs from medieval depictions of the beloved. Dante also departs
from the medieval model of the courtly lover.; he yearns for her, and
he longs for her in much the same way that Lancelot longs for his
Guenevere, but Beatrice provides much more to Dante than an object of
affection: she is for him a window into the divine, and is the manner
by which he gains enlightenment as he travels Heaven. His very faith
is shaped and reformed by the transformations that he watches her
undergo as they rise through the Spheres.Two things: I'm picking up a
level of intellectualism in the courtly union that I suspect is very
unusual in the original high medieval epics. And that would fit with
Dante's Humanism. Also, there is an implied question you must
answer. You imply—if I'm reading you right-- the difference is
in part that Dante the lover seeks spiritual rather than carnal love.
But medieval romances were written in a culture saturated with
Christianity (in some senses more so than the Renaissance culture
that had embraced at least some of old pagan philosophy), and the
love of the medieval courtly lovers was informed by clear carnal
limits and ideas of virtue and nobility. You need to address those
aspects of medieval courtly love—in specifics-- to explain how
the spirituality between Dante and Beatrice is different. I'm hoping
you can come full circle with this paper and tie the intellectual and
discursive to the social, finding in Lancelot's and Dante's different
ways of playing the lover, signs of how elite male roles had changed.

Overall, very good, looks incredibly promising. Try to remember in
your rough draft that your reader does not have all the information
and thus you need to spell out the specifics of your evidence.
History is belabored, prosaic and completely in the details.

A

Outline
I.
Frame Question about possible changes in courtly love
   
A. Reference Lancelot and Paradisio as the touchstones
for this exploration.
II. Cite previous scholarship on the subject
of courtly love.
    A. Paradisio and The
Divine Comedy as an unexplored resource on the possible changes
in courtly love.
III. Examination of the two works
   
A. Pictures of each of the protagonists
       
1. How they are defined by the actions they take for their women, and
how they are informed in their choices of action by their women.
Good.
IV. Thesis
    A. Changes in courtly love
can be charted by comparing the characters of Dante and Lancelot.
   
B. These changes point toward a possible willingness for men to be
informed by and guided by the women in their lives. To what? And is
this willingness of real, or is it Beatrice is always an allegory
rather than an actual woman?
       
1. Possibly only when love is present.
    

Turnaround

Shannon couldn't sleep. It had been three weeks, four days, 12 hours and... she looked over at the clock... 14 minutes. At first, it had just been night terrors. She would sit bolt upright, screaming her throat raw, sweat making her clothes stick. The doctors said that it would pass, that people often went through an adjustment period before their lives returned to normal. At first, she had believed them, had tried to get what rest she could, but now... now things were worse.

She sat up and put her feet on the floor. There was no sense in trying to fool herself; tonight would be another awake night. As she stood, the room tilted crazily. She got a hold of the bedpost and stood for a few minutes, waiting for it to pass. The dizziness was worse. Slowly, she straightened herself out and walked out of the bedroom, down the hall and to the kitchen.

The light above the sink buzzed angrily when she turned it on, the florescent bulb throwing everything into sharp relief. An absent part of her mind saw her hand shaking as she filled a glass with water. She wondered how long she could really do this, how long she could reall-

The crash of the glass in the sink jolted her awake.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodhodoghodoghodogohgodohgod...
Her mind raced, trying to find a stable place. Cold tears ran their way through the grime on her cheeks, cutting new trails. A tremor shook her slight frame, and she grabbed onto the sink, trying to calm down.

Time passed, her breathing slowed, and she was able to raise her head up. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and had to grip the sink harder as another tremor shook through her. She was a ghost of herself. Her hair was matted, pieces of it falling free where she had pulled too hard, trying to keep herself conscious. Her cheeks were sunken in, the bones standing out. She imagined she could see the skull beneath trying to work its way free of the pitiful skin that held it.

Another shudder wracked her, this time caused by the dry laugh that echoed out of her mouth and around the empty kitchen. It rose in volume and pitch, quickly changing into a hacking sort of cry. A few tears squeezed their way out of her eyes, but the reservoir that fed them was dry, and all that remained were her sobs.

Without warning, her arms buckled under the strain. She dropped, head slamming into the edge of the counter. A strangled cry escaped her lips and died in the air as she fell into unconsciousness.

---

This is a dream.
This is a dream.
This is a dream.

The mantra repeated over and over. Shannon kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see what she knew was in front of her. It had been the same every time and she wouldn't, she wouldn't, she wouldn't...

"Mommy! Look at me!" The cry forced her eyes open.

She was standing on a busy corner, traffic doing its awkward dance through the stoplight. The joyous invitation had come from a small boy. He stood on the edge of the curb, barely keeping his balance, delighted at the feeling of nearly falling. "That's nice, honey," came the response from his mother. She was busy trying to find something in her purse, was oblivious to her boy.

Shannon was paralyzed. She knew what was coming next; she had seen it every night, but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The boy would lean just a little too far backward.

The heavy truck would clip one of his arms, spinning him into the next lane.

Then SCREEETHUNK!

Then the screams.

And Shannon would be behind the wheel of her car, looking out at the small body that she had helped mangle. Her mind wouldn't be able to comprehend the blood on the hood of her car, or the limp form in the street. What would fix in her mind would be just off to the left of the car; the small sneaker lying there, a bit of skin and bone hanging out where it had been attached to the boy's leg.

She knew all of this was going to happen because it happened whenever she closed her eyes and she saw it every night and oh god she had killed the little boy and it was he fault her fault and no one could stop it and she would never sleep again and-

"NO!"

The shout tore out of her lungs as she stood there on the verge of living it again. She lurched forward and shoved herself into the boy, knocking him back onto the sidewalk. She watched him fall, a fiery pain ripping through her right arm as the impact of the heavy truck shattered the bone. She spun crazily out into the street and for one moment, time stopped as she saw herself in the oncoming car.

A beatific smile crept on to her face.

She closed her eyes.

SCREEETHUNK!

And everything was dark.

Roger and the Unicorn

Once upon a time, there was a Unicorn. He was beautiful. His hair was the purest white. His horn was long and golden. He used to spend days upon days frolicking in the sunny fields and shady woods that he called home. He drank water from clear, clean stream, and he ate his fill of moist, delicious grass.

But there was something missing.

In a place not far from the home of Unicorn, there lived a boy. His name was Roger. Roger lived in a nice house on a quiet street with his parents. He spent days upon days playing in his large back yard. He ate good meals that his Mother would cook for him, and his Father would help him do the dishes.

But there was something missing.

One day, Roger came inside from his play and went to find his Mother. "Mother," he said, "am I missing anything?" "What ever do you mean?" asked his Mother. "Well," said Roger, "I love to play outside, and I love the food you cook for me, and I love to help Father with the dishes. But..." "But what?" asked his Mother. "But it feels like I am missing something. I thought you might know what it is."

His Mother looked at him kindly and said: "I think you should go talk to your Father. Perhaps he can help you find what you are missing." So Roger went to talk to his Father.

At the same that Roger was going to find his Father, in a place not too far from Roger's house, the Unicorn was frolicking through a field. He had been frolicking for some time, but he felt that he was getting tired of it. He stopped and thought for a moment. He decided that perhaps he was simply tired of frolicking through the sunny fields, so he decided to move to the shady woods and frolic there.

Meanwhile, Roger found his Father. "Father," he said, "am I missing anything?" Roger's Father looked at him kindly. "Why what ever do you mean?" asked his Father. "Well," said Roger, "I love to play outside, and I love the food Mother cooks for me, and I love to help you with the dishes. But..." "But what?" asked his Father. "But it feels like I am missing something. I asked Mother and she said that you might know what it is."

His Father looked at him kindly and said: "I think I might know what you are missing." "You do?" asked Roger excitedly.

At the same time that Roger was talking to his Father, in a place not too far from Roger's house, the Unicorn was frolicking through the shady forest. He had been frolicking for some time, but he felt that he was getting tired of it. He stopped and thought for a moment. He knew that he was tried of frolicking, and he was not hungry, and he was not thirsty, but something was missing.

Meanwhile, Roger was sitting with his Father. His Father reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a large book. The took the book and handed it to Roger. "I think," his Father said, "that if you read this, you might find what you are missing." Really?" asked Roger. "Really," said his Father. When I was your age, I felt the same way, and my Father gave me this book to read." Roger looked excitedly at the book. "May I read it now?" asked Roger. "Of course," said his Father, and he stood up to leave the room. Roger settled the book on his lap and began to read.

At the same time that Roger began to read the book, the Unicorn thought he saw something moving through the shady forest. He turned his head and saw in front of him a small, bright light. He took a step towards it, and it danced back. He took two steps towards it, and it danced back further. The Unicorn stopped and thought. The light stayed still. The Unicorn thought, and thought, and thought. Finally, he decided that if the light was going to keep moving, then he should follow it. The Unicorn began walking and the light kept moving.

Meanwhile, Roger was finishing the book that his Father had given him. As he turned the last page and closed the book, a big smile lit up his face. He carefully put the book down on the coffee table and ran through the house. He ran through the kitchen and out the back door. His Mother and his Father watched him run by. His Mother smiled at his Father and his Father smiled at his Mother.

Roger ran to the far side of his yard where there was a fence. On the other side of the fence was a sunny field. On the other side of the field, if Roger looked hard enough he could see a shady forest. Roger stood on the bottom of the fence and looked out over the sunny field, hoping to see what the boy in the book saw.

The Unicorn was galloping along now. The light kept moving faster and faster. The Unicorn ran and ran, having quite a bit of fun. After some time, the light stopped moving. So did the Unicorn. He looked behind and he could just see the shady forest. He had run quite a long way! He turned back to the light, but the light was gone. The Unicorn began to worry because he had ever so much fun running after the light. But the Unicorn saw something just ahead that made him curious.

Roger saw a light coming toward the fence. He smiled a delighted smile and then closed his eyes, just like the boy in the book. He counted to ten and then wished very hard. When he opened his eyes, he could not belive what he saw. There, on the other side of the fence, was a Unicorn!

The Unicorn looked at Roger. Roger looked at the Unicorn. Both of them felt very happy at seeing the other. The Unicorn walked toward the fence and Roger put out a hand to softly pat the Unicorn's nose. The Unicorn whinnied with delight and Roger laughed out loud. From that day on, Roger and the Unicorn spent a lot of time together, and neither of them ever again felt like they were missing anything.

The End of McDongal

It was cold. Cold like the wind coming off the soul of the Devil himself. A cold like that will break you, take you and make you its bitch like a hard-up dog. It eats at you. I was used to it. I've lived in this city long enough. Hell, sometimes I think I'm the only thing that has kept this city safe. Name's McDongal. I'm a dick.

I've worked as a detective on the force for over twenty years now, each year harder than the last, like old candy at the bottom of that dish your Granny used to keep out for guests. I've taken down hookers, pimps, druggies, thugs, smugglers and buggerers in my time, and now... now they want me to hang it up, call it a night, take the one-way train to Retirement City and set up shop there. Some life that would be. The final squawk of of a lamb as its taken out of the pen and told "It's gonna be alright. Billy here's gonna take good care of you." Bullshit, little lamb. Billy's gonna cut you down and serve you for dinner.

"McDongal! How's it hanging' you old cock?" That was Jonesey. Always thinkin' that the two of us is buddy-buddy when, truth is, I'd rather be lookin' at him from behind the business end of Trojan, my .45. If a man ever tells you that he gets better protection from his piece than I do from my Trojan, he's more full of shit than the septic tank of a rest home after Prune Day. I did my best to ignore Jonesey, but he's pushier than a preacher whose tithe box is empty. "McDongal! You always try to ignore me, you prick. Well, that's all about to end soon, ain't it? Word is the Chief's gonna can your ass if you don't--" Jonesey stopped talking real quick. Sucking on the business-end of Trojan will do that to a man.

"You tryin' to say somethin' Jonesey?" Trojan moved side to side along with his head. "I didn't think so." I slid Trojan back into my holster, kept walking. Part of me was shook, though. Why'd I snapped on Jonesey like that? I'm a big prick. Usually the little ones that run around here don't bother me. I'd just about made it to my desk when she stopped me.

Gwen was a shot of whiskey to start a rough night; seeing her always went down smooth.

"Chief wants to see you." Course he did. Seemed like there hadn't been a day of me bein' a detective on this force that the Chief didn't want to see me. Don't even know why I bothered trying to go to my own desk. Seemed like I always ended up in front of his.

"Thanks, Gwen."

"McDongal..." I stopped, turned toward her. "You take care of yourself, 'kay?" That's what she said to me every day. I always tried to listen to her, just so I'd have the chance to see her face when I came in. I almost turned around, just to take one more look. But I couldn't see the point. I saw her often enough in my dreams, I didn't even need my eyes for it any more. I walked to the Chief's door, knocked, waited.

"Get your ass in here." The Chief was always up front about what he wanted. I walked in, sat down on the rickety chair. "So..." The word hung in the air like a dead man swinging in his noose. "I've put up with your shit for a long time, McDongal. The only reason you've lasted as long as you have is because..."

"Because of my staying power?" My mouth came as close as it ever does to smiling.

"No, you fucking tool!" The Chief was on his feet, the vein in his forhead doing a dance that would make a gypsy whore jealous. "It's because, in spite of having to cover your ass every time too many people end up dead, I like seeing things get done." What was this horse shit? "McDongal... I'm going to miss having you around." Now this was new. I had gotten used to being yelled at by the Chief. In fact, it had become my morning cup of coffee; always woke me up right.

I sat there, not knowing what to say. Something wasn't right here, like like going to that old man's house to get candy on Halloween, but I couldn't put my finger on it. The Chief was never nice, especially not to an old bone like me. Didn't have to be; he was the Chief. It came with the job. I decided to stick what had gotten me here.

"That all?" I stood up to leave. I had one more loose end to tie up and then I could get my desk cleaned out.

"Not quite." The sound of the hammer being pulled back went in my ear like the cold tongue of a Russian hooker. "Moretti sends his regards." I pulled Trojan, turned, but the Chief was too fast. The gun went off and I dropped like a tin balloon.

Moretti. That one loose end always came back to haunt you if you let go too long. I knew the bar where he spent his downtime and I sure as hell wasn't going to end my days in some recliner, losing myself in a bottle. I was going to go down, find him, shoot my load, take him down... but he got to me first.

As the lights went out, all I could hear was the sound of the Chief explaining to the folks outside his office how I had gone for his gun and he had no choice. I thought I might have heard a sob; maybe it was Gwen. If it was her, she wouldn't cry for long; the world is better off with one less dick in it.

The Waitress

It all started off innocently enough. I mean, how often to you expect to actually get a waitress's phone number when you ask? Sure surprised the hell out of me, I'll tell you that.

I had been sitting in Stan's Diner for a little under an hour, and I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She had served me my coffee, my egg omelet and I was just sitting waiting for the check now. She walked back and forth amongst the tables, making small talk with the other patrons. She had a nice voice.

"Hey honey, is there anything else I can get for you?"
"Did you enjoy your pie, sugar? The blueberry is always my favorite."
"C'mon Joe, get your hands away from there; my ass isn't public property, and you know it."

Some folks would have said that she wasn't much to look at, but there was something about her... something sweet. I realized I was staring when she came over to my table, ready with my check.

"Anything else I can get for you, hon?" The look in her eyes suggested that she might be able to offer me something that wasn't exactly on the menu. I blushed. I was horrible about reading into such things, but I think she was hitting on me. After a few awkward moments, I managed to stammer out:

"Uh... maybe your phone number?" Wow, that was slick.
"Sure thing! That and $6.52 and I'll get out of your hair." What, really? That really worked? I was more than a little numb as I reached for my wallet and pulled out a ten. I handed it to her and mumbled something about keeping the change. She laughed and said she'd be right back. I watched her go, a sense of disbelief washing over me.

After a couple of minutes, she came back. She was holding something in one of her hands and she offered it to me as I stood up. I took it and heard her say softly, "I get off at 5. Call me." I looked down at what she had handed me and saw her name tag, her embossed name standing out on the front: FAYE. On the back was her phone number. I practically floated out of the place.

I didn't know what to do with myself, so I just sort of drove around for a few hours. I had the day off, and nothing better to do. I think I must have circled the city four times before I looked at the clock and saw that it was almost 5:30. Oh shit! I need to call her! I raced back home and swore under my breath as I saw the clock in the kitchen read 5:45 by the time I got there. I ran through to the living room and grabbed the phone, my hands shaking as I dialed the number.

Briiiiiiing....
Briiiiiiing....
"Hello?"
"Um, hi. Uh... is this Faye?"
"Sure is. Is this my coffee and egg omelet from earlier." I laughed a little.
"Yeah, yeah, that's me."
"Well, go on upstairs then. I'm waiting."
"Wait, what?"
Click! The phone when dead. Had she said upstairs? In my house? I quickly thought back and realized that my door hadn't been locked when I came in. I'd been in such a hurry to call her than I'd missed it when I first came in. I looked toward the stairs. Could she have really broken in? No, no way. I started upstairs, not knowing what to think.

I got to the top of the stairs and looked down the hall. There was a faint light coming from under my bedroom door. "H-hello?" I called out.
"In here, sugar." What the hell? She's really here, isn't she? I started down the hallway, getting mad and more than a little freaked out as I went. I got to the door, took few deep breaths and pushed it open.

I had just enough time to take in the sight of lit candles, scattered rose petals and what looked like a bottle of champagne before her naked body hit me. She was all over me, kissing and biting, mumbling near-incoherent things about how she had wanted me from the moment that she first saw me. Even now, looking back, I have to admit: it was amazing. My brain couldn't catch up with reality and my body took over. Fifteen minutes later, I was handcuffed to the bed, on my back with her on top. We moved together more and more rapidly and when it ended, we both cried out.

I laid there, trying to catch my breath, trying to make some sense of what had happened. She got up, smiled at me and started gathering her clothes. I started to speak, but she gently cut me off.

"That was good, honey. Some of the best I've had since I've been doing this. But now, it's time to go." Time to go, what does she mean by that? I still couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on, but I started to figure it out when she got dressed and grabbed my wallet from my pants pocket on the way out.

"Hey, what are you doing?" She only smiled at me over her shoulder as she walked out the door, my wallet still in hand.

Now I'm lying here, trying to figure out how to get these handcuffs off, and there's only one coherent thought in my mind. I am never going to eat there again!

The start of it all

This is the space that will be filled with writing after this. I'm putting the word out that I need writing suggestions. if you send me an idea, I will write a story about it.

There are limits, and if I feel that the subject matter is too inappropriate, I'll decline the idea. Having said that, my mind is pretty wide open, so I'm taking all ideas right now. I'll let you know if that changes. The next post should be a story, and it will get posted as soon as I get a suggestion. Fire away!