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Discovery #1

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📸: @ManaOfficial- Instagram

The year 1997 marked a huge shift in the career of Mexican rock band, Maná. With the release of their fifth studio album, Sueños Líquidos, the band took a major step toward becoming one of the most successful influences in the world of rock en español. Although track nine titled, “La Sirena”, is the primary focus of my analysis, the album as whole contributes to the larger narrative about love, the feminine, and the natural. “La Sirena” tells the heartbreaking story of a woman who yearns to leave her human world after she experiences love and loss, ultimately transforming into a mermaid and choosing to live at sea. In this song Maná depicts how society treats both the feminine and the natural in a contradictory manner, failing to protect them and then disguising it with love. Exposing the clear link between the dominion of women and the natural world that exists. Revealing how survival, for both women and the natural, often depends on the rejection of systems that claim to care for them. 

“Quería ella escaparse de una isla
She wanted to escape from an island
De la Habana tropical
From tropical Havana”

(mANA 0:25)

Although it’s revealed that the paradise she lives in (prior to her mermaid transformation) is this beautiful tropical Havana…she still flees to a more “raw” form of the natural. I found this detail to be extremely telling of the story because it serves as a reminder that even natural spaces can feel oppressive under systems of ownership and control. Both the feminine and the natural are treated similarly, as a resource only to be valued in society when it is to be admired, commodified, and contained. The human sort of abandons it out of convenience just because she can and then it’s never mentioned again. This could also be in reference to the larger issue of people using verbiage like “sacred” to describe the natural, creating a conditional love for it until it becomes no longer profitable. Regardless, it’s clear from the beginning of the song that this society is built on a system that prioritizes growth.

“Montada en un delfín ella escapó
Riding a dolphin she escaped
Y en la mar ella se hundió
And in the sea she sunk down
Nadando entre corales, caracolas
Swimming among corals, seashells
Y entre peces de colores
And among coloured fish
Jugando con delfines en las olas
Playing with the dolphins on the waves
Empapada en amores
Soaked in love” 

(Mana 1:10)

The imagery of her riding a dolphin as she’s escaping to be part of the sea is not in a childlike naive desire to escape her reality but instead an image of resistance. This mermaid does not wait to be rescued by her male counterpart instead she initiates her own escape. From beginning to end she is the central focus of the entire story, a story that highlights her journey or “transformation” to becoming her own individual very much separate from man. What surprised me the most about this transformation was that it was never rooted in punishment or as a form of sacrifice. This is especially shocking due to the cultural/societal norms/expectations that encourage women to pursue romantic love as it leads to an ultimate sense of fulfillment. This mermaid is not saved or destroyed by a man. She survives by making the choice to become a mermaid not to manipulate, seduce, or enchant anyone but to be free to be herself. Metaphorically speaking she is returning to herself, to her true home (the sea). After the tragic ending of her romance she is described to be alone but not lonely. There is a very clear distinction that is made between both that redefines solitude as a form of agency rather than that of an absence. As we’ve discussed numerous items in class before, the sea is something feared by man as it can not be controlled or manipulated. In the context of her transformation, this is significant because she is not a victim consumed by the sea or drowning in sorrows but instead reclaiming her power through her immersion in the natural. Shoutout Steve Mentz. This reframes the sea as a space of empowerment, not something dangerous or threatening to the human at all. The imagery of the sea, corals, seashells, and colorful fish also plays a significant role in the story. The raw natural is used as a refuge for the mermaid as she seeks life outside a world that demands conformity because it is outside human control. Her embracing her transformation challenges the typical narrative of the feminine and the natural as passive. She is physically making the choice to leave a system that demands her to love (the human world) for one where she finally finds freedom and feels “true love” (the natural world). To her, survival means breaking free from a society that only sees her value when she allows it to objectify or commodify her. Interestingly, her choice of transforming into a mermaid didn’t make her less human for me at all. Honestly, it did quite the opposite for me. Especially because towards the end she is quite literally “soaked in love” which means the story was never about her giving up on love to begin with but rather offering an alternative to what love could look like. In a society that thrives in the detachment from the natural world, “La Sirena” is the epitome of late 90’s music culture that was deeply rooted in resistance.

maybe the link?:https://spotify.link/qy0yldviCXb

Rusalochka: The Soviet Russian Era Little Mermaid

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The Little Mermaid – directed by. Ivan Aksenchuk (1968/Soviet Animation) (ENGLISH & TURKISH CC)

What does it mean, if there was no happy ending for the Little Mermaid, and the memory of her was swallowed up into the sea? The 1968 Soviet Animation of The Little Mermaid, Rusalochka, does not shy away from the mermaid’s tragic fate, and in doing so tells a moralizing story about knowing one’s place, or striving to live through love and compassion. This tragic ending and the interpretation of it is divided between two lenses, the fish who views the little mermaids death as a tragedy and a waste, and a Danish tour guide who considers it a story of love, courage, and kindness, told to a group of tourists. Despite the conflicting views on her death, her fate is nonetheless tragic, but her sacrifice is regarded by humans as heroic, thus this version acknowledges her mark on history through her memorialization, both through sculpture and song. This version allows the exploration of mermaids’ autonomy by giving her a voice and a song, where the book was unable to convey the splendor of her voice. As a children’s story, it becomes a tool to bridge humanity and the soul of the ocean. The little mermaid reaches out to us and teaches humans kindness, love, and compassion, where humanity lacks it despite having a soul.

“The surf beats against the black rocks

Life is hard for humans, this everlasting struggle

But I believe drop by drop, your vitality will return

The first drop will be strength

The second drop will be joy

The beautiful should not perish,

The brave should not perish

They should not, they should not die”

This lamentation is heard when she originally saves the prince; it is her song. It is heard again only after she dies and is reclaimed by the ocean. Unfortunately, she is only briefly mourned by the prince, who mistakes her song as coming from his new bride. This poetic addition brings the focus of the story back to the fact that the Little Mermaid held a bountiful understanding and empathy for human life, culture, and beauty.

The ending differs from the original story by Hans Christiaan Anderson, where her sisters give her a knife to kill the prince and his bride in the book, here she is given a magical shell that has the power to summon a storm that will sink the ship and kill the prince and his bride. Only by unleashing the power of this shell can she return to her life as a mermaid. But when she drops this shell into the ocean, unable to betray her love for the prince, she is swallowed up by a wave, and her song is heard throughout the ship. Perhaps this is an homage to the original ending, as the prince searches for the voice in the sails of the ship and in the birds that fly above the ocean. Though she is not missed by the prince for long, her song is heard by the audience, her story is told by the guides, and it resounds through history. The last scene, is her image imortalized in bronze.

Her fate is lamented by the fish that tells her story to the school of fish, regarding this story as a tragedy and a lesson of knowing one’s place. She is heard weeping tearfully: “And that, my children, is how the story ends. The foolish mermaid wanted to become human, but as they say, everyone should know one’s place.” However, the tourists who gaze upon her statue in the Copenhagen bay view it as a story about kindness, love, and devotion, “a tale of love that knows no bounds, the tale of courage and kindness.” 

This change is all the more impactful, not because it shows her loss of life as a tragedy, but rather because she is given a place of belonging, gazing upon the changing and shifting human world. Her position in the water, her physical memorialization, allows humans to keep in constant communion with the ocean, where her song can be heard in the ocean. Her sacrifice becomes not one born out of spite for her unrequited love, but of her love and appreciation for humanity.

Towards the Sun: Reframing the Little Mermaid’s Sacrifice as Feminist Resistance

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Whether you think of the curious, red-headed mermaid Ariel, or the nameless, innocent mermaid when you hear the story of “The Little Mermaid,” most people think of a weak little girl who only did things in the name of love, never for herself. However, that is not the case for either of their stories. Both mermaids are, despite what the majority think, strong-headed women who desire one thing: to walk on land and experience the world above them. This infatuation with the land above them didn’t start when they met a prince; it started far before that. In the Little Mermaid’s case (from hereon out, references to the “Little Mermaid” will refer to the mermaid in Anderson’s story, not Ariel from Disney), it started when her grandmother told her about how on her fifteenth birthday, she would be allowed to journey up to the surface and experience it for herself. And when every single one of her sisters journeyed to the surface, the Little Mermaid longed deeper and deeper to journey to the surface. Throughout her whole story, I am intrigued by the presence of one specific element described in her longing to go to the surface: the sun. It is described as being the central focus of the garden that she crafts, as each one of the sisters has their own personal garden. Some sisters craft it into the shape of a whale, others into another mermaid. But the Little Mermaid crafts hers to reflect the sun. In “The Little Mermaid,” Andersen uses the mermaid’s fixation on the sun—from her garden’s design to her final gaze as she dissolves into sea foam—as a symbol of her longing for transcendence beyond the physical world. This recurring solar imagery reframes her sacrifice not as a loss for love but as a spiritual awakening, revealing the story’s deeper reflection on identity, immortality, and the soul’s yearning for something greater.

The repeated representation of the sun in “The Little Mermaid” reflects a deeper desire for transcendence and self-actualization. From the start of the story, we are introduced to the Little Mermaid’s infatuation with the land above the sea, specifically the sun. Anderson writes, “[B]ut the youngest planted hers in a circle to imitate the sun, and chose flowers as red as the sun appeared to her” (Anderson, “The Little Mermaid”). Not only does this introduction represent her earlier infatuation with the land before she meets the prince, but it also represents her final gaze towards the sun before she commits the ultimate sacrifice and dissolves into sea foam. The sun itself in this scene also represents a yearning desire for something unreachable, yet radiant—it represents power, freedom, and identity. These are all things that are just barely within the reach of the Little Mermaid, and they are all something she desires deep down, without Anderson having to explicitly state it. In a world that constantly denies female agency, the sun represents it. It is something just barely unattainable, but in certain circumstances, such as when you fight for it, it becomes attainable.

Many believe the Little Mermaid’s sacrifice to be submission to romantic ideals; however, it is completely plausible that her sacrifice was a radical act of self-liberation. In “The Little Mermaid,” we are told that mermaids do not have a soul. Instead, they live for much longer than humans, and when they eventually die, they will become sea foam. However, there is one way to gain a soul—to have a human fall in love with you. This is what sets the Little Mermaid off on her quest to find love. Yet, it is important to note that the primary reason for going above land is not just to attain a soul, it is merely to experience life above the waters. This is represented by her infatuation and obsession with the sun. When the Little Mermaid ventures onto land, she must give up her tongue (and, in turn, her voice) for legs. Still bound by limitation, the Little Mermaid must overcome the burdens placed upon her by the circumstances she was given: first, she must cross the border between sea onto land. Then, she must navigate the trials of making the prince fall in love with her without the use of her voice. Finally, she must decide between sacrificing her prince or sacrificing herself. And in the end, she chooses to sacrifice herself. Her voicelessness and bodily loss in her death deeply contrast with her final spiritual gain when she ascends to the air, joining the daughters of the air. Through her ending, Anderson critiques the cost of conforming to patriarchal ideals, such as giving up voice, autonomy, and identity. In her final gaze towards the sun, the Little Mermaid is a reclamation of agency, as she chooses spiritual immortality with the daughters of the air rather than romantic fulfillment with the prince.

In her final moments alive, the Little Mermaid’s gaze towards the sun marks a shift from romantic longing to spiritual autonomy. Anderson writes, “The sun now rose out of the sea; its beams threw a kindly warmth upon the cold foam, and the little mermaid did not experience the pangs of death. She saw the bright sun, and above were floating hundreds of transparent, beautiful creatures; she could still catch a glimpse of the ship’s white sails, and of the red clouds in the sky, across the swarms of these lovely beings” (Anderson). In her final, dying moments, the one thing that inspired her to venture up onto land, the sun, watches over her as she lies dying in the sea foam. It is beautifully symbolic that the sun watches over her passing into the sea, and soon, into the air, as she then becomes an air spirit—a daughter of the air. Even more, the daughters of the air not only live up to around 300 years, but they also gain an immortal soul after that period of time. It is almost like the Little Mermaid gains the two things she was caught between: living for 300 years and attaining an immortal soul. The way Anderson depicts the death of the Little Mermaid is almost comforting. Particularly, the sun is characterized as warm amongst the cold foam of the sea. The stark contrast represents her relationships with the two different environments at play: the sun and its warmth representing her fondness for land, while the cold waters represent her dissatisfaction with her life in the sea. Additionally, her death is not succumbing to an eternal fate of despair; instead, it is a transformation. The Little Mermaid does not become erased; she is instead reborn, which is much more radical than submitting to the expectations placed upon her.

Works Cited

Andersen, Hans Christian. “The Little Mermaid.” The Penguin Book of Mermaids, edited by Cristina Bacchilega and Marie Alohalani Brown, Penguin Books, 2019. EPUB edition. https://reader.z-lib.fm/read/1a79973ce195b4c2f56cd9e8c208861a317cff610e2868dc8fd38d5107f82fbe/29732523/b88b30/the-penguin-book-of-mermaids.html.

The Moral Cost of Industrialization in “Undine”

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In “The Day After the Wedding, from Undine,” Undine’s speech focuses on the literary elements of nature, romanticizing and spiritualizing nature amongst a world of industrialization. Froqué’s romanticized and spiritualized depiction of nature is used to contrast and emphasize industrial and moral decay. By doing this, the audience understands the need to critique the moral and spiritual implications of industrialization, both in the past and in modern day. The consequence of modernization is nature’s purity and thus humanity’s spiritual decay. 

Undine begins her speech to Huldbrand by describing “A vast family of water spirits live in the lakes and streams and brooks. […] they wander over the pure sand of the sea, and among lovely variegated shells […] which the present is no longer worthy to enjoy” (Penguin 104). Froque vividly illustrates these water spirits environment that has “lakes and streams and brooks” as well as “lovely variegated shells.” Such imagery paints this place as magnificent and “other worldly.” Though somewhat supernatural the water spirits, contrastingly, are personified with human-like qualities such as “wandering” and “living;” suggesting movement and community in the environment. The mystical imagery, along with the aspects of human qualities amongst these spirits, present nature and wildlife (or the inhuman) as being very much alive and animated. This world and these entities in the quote and passage are descriptively romanticized, which makes sense for a 19th-century text. Specifically, this passage contains a lyrical quality in its alliteration within the s sounds of “streams and brooks” and “pure sand of the sea.” The alliteration gives the imagery rhythm that makes it literally sound as beautiful as the imagery paints it out to be. In turn, the imagery and romanticizing of this supernatural world and entity beautifies the “other,” turning it into something attractive. This attractiveness for which the “Other” has, is no longer “worthy” to be enjoyed by the “present,” or ideology of the industrial age, due to its push toward urban growth, destroying its beauty. 

Furthermore, Froqué not only romanticizes the water spirits but also exalts their beauty more than that of humans, emphasizing purity in things untouched by civilization. Undine tells Huldbrand that “Those, however, who dwell” in such elements “are very fair and lovely to behold, and for the most part more beautiful than human beings” (Penguin 105). Froqué, again, creates this ethereal image of beauty with diction such as “fair,” “lovely,” and “beautiful.” There is a hyperbolic sense of charm to Undine’s words, that water spirits are “more beautiful than humans.” It is a way of “exaggerating” the depiction of water spirits as manifestations of beauty and the supernatural perfection beyond human standards. Doing so idealizes nature, tying it back to Romantic themes, making nature pure and uncorrupted, whereas humankind has fallen, relating back to “the present” (ideology of the industrial age), no longer being “worthy to enjoy” its beauty. Froqué depicts the water spirits in this pure light to show the importance of and purity in what humankind’s urbanization cannot or has not touched, that it is important to uphold these things in a higher place than human nature. 

Later, as Undine continues her speech to Huldbrand, she confesses that her kind “vanish into dust, and pass away, body and spirit, so that none of the stage of us remains behind; and when you mortals hereafter awake to a purer life, we remain with the sand and the sparks and the wind and the waves” (Penguin 105). Dust, in this context, can be seen as a symbol of divine morality and the decay of industrialization. Modernization of nature turns nature to dust, eroding and destroying its purity. Undine describes these elements of nature, the “sand,” “wind,” and “waves” as idyllic and eternal, yet with industry’s materialism, these things are reduced to dust. This elemental imagery of dust reflects that of Genesis 3:19: “for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” The scripture from the Book of Genesis is supposed to be a reminder that there is no amount of human achievement that can defy human destiny. Allusions to such scripture are used as a way to mourn how humankind’s “progress” loses its spiritual and natural connection to the environment, and due to Industrialization, people have turned the environment, not to a sacred dust, but to a polluted ash. Romantic ideals of spirituality are tied to Christian cosmology, “awakening to a purer life,” both of which long to move beyond industrial corruption and instead put spiritual and natural divinity above it. Ultimately, Undine’s fear of vanishing into dust reflects that of humanity’s fear of spiritually losing themselves amidst mechanization. A world in which moral worth is measured by production, and not a person’s soul. 

In the following quote from that stated previously Undine goes on to say that water spirits “have no souls; the element moves [them], and is often obedient to [them] while [they] live, though it scatters [them] to dust when [they] die; and [they] are merry, without having aught to give [them] […] but all beings aspire to be higher than they are” (Penguin 105). Froqué’s depiction of the water spirits as “soulless,” counteracts his previous hyperbolic depictions of their beauty. This contrast from being something beautifully lively to being “soulless” parallels what industrial society does to nature and its laborers. The people and environment become valued for their work and function, rather than what they have inside or, in other words, their soul. The environment and its elements, in this case, are personified—“the elements moves us.” The personification of the elements depicts Romantic views on nature having spiritual vitality, while the mechanical world, in contrast, “moves” humans with a mechanized obedience. Undine and the water spirits lack a “soul” is a symbol of modernization alienating people from the divine and natural world. The final line that “all beings aspire to be higher than they are” is a Romantic and Christian view on this need to reunite with the natural world’s surroundings. Christian rhetoric is used by Froqué as a means of expressing Romantic ideals. The use of Christian teleology critiques industrial times’ view on “progress” away from the sublime. Religious framing, in essence, reinforces Romantic ideals that salvation is not just found through faith but the preservation and restoration of spirituality with nature. 

Froqué’s Romanticization of nature in Undine’s speech functions as a moral critique of industrialization values. There is a spiritual cost in the name of “modern progress,” that the liveliness and purity of nature give way to “soullessness” in a world of industry. Undine’s speech to Huldbrand acts as a warning to him and humanity that a loss of connection to nature means losing connection to divinity, echoing Romantic and Christian ideals of morality. Froqué’s use of imagery elevates nature to a higher status as a way to call for humanity’s re-evaluation of “progress” as a connection to nature rather than industry. 

Discovery #1

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In “Freakshows and Fantasies” Chapter 4, Vaughn Scribner writes, “Just as Eades’s and Barnum’s mermaids brought the Western merpeople craze to fever pitch ( in London and America respectively), so did they implode it.” The moment when a widely accepted belief and a communal sense of wonder turn into disbelief and ridicule represents a pivotal point in society’s ongoing negotiation between truth, spectacle, and cultural imagination. This observation captures a central paradox of the nineteenth century: Even though science progressed and skepticism evolved, the public’s desire for mystery and spectacle only grew greater. The mermaid craze is a perfect example of how the elements of modernity’s fascination with the marvelous and its faith in reason and progress intersected. The reveal of mermaid belief showcases how easily fascination can turn into cynicism when confronted by modernity’s competing demands for both reason and wonder. The change of mermaids from potential objects of wonder to objects of fraud and satire depicts a larger trend in nineteenth-century Western culture. It shows how the same forces that wanted to encourage science, media, truth, and capitalism, also perpetuated they very myths they tried to disprove.

The Western fascination with mermaids did not spring up in a vacuum. It grew, as did empire and exploration, and the age’s desire to know more about the unknown. While sea expeditions reached more new land, and new discovered species were being documented such as the platypus and kangaroo, the line between possible and impossible started to become faint. The global awareness of these curiosities developed fertile ground for hybrid creatures such as the mermaid to possibly seem real. Spectacle and science continued to grow in tandem with the other and both continued to feed off each other’s inspiration. The public was deeply fond of this tension, and they began to blur the boundaries between true knowledge and myth.

The ultimate demise of this mermaid craze, especially after the Fejee Mermaid by Barnum, revealed contradictions around modernity during the nineteenth century. Society celebrated rationality but still adored spectacle and emotionality. Barnum’s mermaid captured that tension. While his mermaid was fully described as fact and real, it was ultimately taken as entertainment. Audiences were enraptured based on the confusion between real or fake. The mermaid was never scientific; it was about the joy of deception but a joy felt in the moment of believing, however temporary.

Barnum perfected a technique he called “humbuggery,” an intricate process of conjuring belief without the not-so-simple act of demanding it. He prompted spectators to enjoy their own indecision–to be both skeptic and believer. This typified a cultural moment where a promise of the grand truth would no longer be held as a situated, ideal way of understanding the world but instead exhibited, called into question, and eventually turned into profit. Barnum’s mermaid was representative of the contradictory affection for wonder in modernity: A culture prideful of rational progress, but eager for amazement. That audiences were drawn in to this event demonstrated that even in a supposed age of enlightenment, people still longed for the delight of mystery–especially when wearing the clothing of science.

While this was happening, the media that had stimulated the public’s curiosity was also engaged in dismantling it. As scientists examined the material and newspapers began exposing hoaxes, the idea of mermaids shifted from legitimate curiosity to ironic amusement. What had been touted as a mystery of nature had become a story of gullibility. Nonetheless, debunking did not erase mermaids from the cultural landscape, it only adjusted their form. The belief underwent a transformation from a possible reality to a sign of deceit and mass credulity. The unveiling of the Fejee Mermaid demonstrates how the mass media, on the one hand could manufacture excitement, yet, on the other, could destroy it, profiting from the very wonder it later disparaged. The same presses the printed enthusiastic accounts of discovery sold issues by ridiculing the credulous. Disbelief, it seems, became entertaining in its own right.

This change in tone demonstrates the broader media logic of the nineteenth century. Newspapers and periodicals put curiosity into commerce. Reports of mermaids sightings made appearances before 1845, sometimes with semi-serious musings that relied on natural history or comparative anatomy. After hoaxes were revealed, journalists took on a more cynical tone, using mermaid reports to ridicule ignorance and the human desire to believe. This represented the professionalization of journalism, and however simplistic, the skepticism became an indicator of modern intelligence. But it also demonstrated how capitalism and and mediation had mechanisms by which they can carry on impressions while emoting them wrecked them. By retrievably printing, ridiculing and mentioning mermaids, the media had ‘realized’ a cultural presence, even without consideration for belief.

The enduring popularity of the mermaid myth highlights something basic about spectatorship in the nineteenth century. Modern viewers were not merely duped; they engaged in a performance for credulity. To attend a freak show, or to read about a peculiar specimen, involved a social experience where wonder was shared as a form of collective wonder, where curiosity was counterbalanced with irony. This shared disbelief went on to become a characteristic of modern culture and continues to inform out enjoyment of mass media and spectacle today. Thus, Barnum’s presentations anticipated the cultural patters of modern entertainment, where disbelief and fascination are enjoyed together.

The shift of mermaids from potential objects of wonder to objects of fraud and satire represents a larger trend in nineteenth-century Western culture. As science allegedly “banished” superstition, the same social processes – capitalism, mass media, and the hunger for spectacle – ensured the survival of the very figures they mocked. The mermaid, then, persists not as an object of belief but as a cultural icon that reminds us that even in a so-called age of reason, the distinctions between knowledge, entertainment, and belief are not clearly distinguished.

Overall, the similarities among science, media, and myth in the nineteenth century captured a deeper dissonance in modernity: disbelief and belief are not oppositional; they are rather alike. Although the true reveal of the Fejee Mermaid did not stop the fascination of the Mermaid, it did transform it. Myth continued as satire, while the truth became yet another performance. The mermaid swims in the Western cultural memory because she encapsulated that which modern life cannot fully abandon – a yearning for wonder amid an obsession with proof.

Femininity Through the Male Lens

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Women have always struggled with living in a patriarchal world, constantly being told what to do and how to live. In “The Revenge of the Faery Melusine”, André LeBey uses the character of Raymondin in his distressed ascent to Melusine to highlight how femininity is adjusted through the male gaze of mistrust and domination. Raymondin’s suspicion exposes how male imagination defines a woman’s reality rather than through female actions. These thoughts in Raymondin’s head portray the patriarchal impulse to see female freedom as wrongdoing, inevitably forcing women, like Melusine, to live within a narrative constructed from male fear over veracity. 

From the moment they got married, Raymondin and Melusine had agreed on one thing: that Raymondin must never disturb her on Saturday nights. This agreement lasted many years, until Raymondin’s imagination got the best of him. LeBey states that as Raymondin was making his way up the steps to Melusine, he thought to himself, “He climbed quickly in his eagerness to strike, his heart pumping…there where he had never been before. Neither he, nor anyone, except her—and—who else? He believed there must be someone, but without entirely believing it” (Lebey 121). The language LeBey uses in this passage portrays Raymondin’s fears and imagination that led him to break his promise with Melusine. The use of his “eagerness to strike” and “his heart pumping” presents the notion of desire and hostility that Raymondin is experiencing. This wording is significant to the storyline because of how it portrays his relationship with Melusine, the fusion of rage and love. It portrays Raymondin as an intruder of Melusine’s precious space by expressing his actions as a “strike”. His motivation at this moment is jealousy rather than love; he no longer wants to understand Melusine but to conquer her. This, as a result, displays Raymondin’s desire to control a mystery that intimidates and threatens his masculinity. Not knowing this one aspect of Melusine’s life creates a more significant issue for his identity because she is choosing her own space over him.

LeBey’s language provides a deeper context for Raymondin’s toxic masculinity towards Melusine and her female freedom. When it’s stated that he was making his way to a place “where he had never been before. Neither he, nor anyone” (LeBey 121), it enhances the idea that Melusine has a space that has been untouched by the male presence. A space that gives her independence from Raymondin. This independence is the exact reason Raymondin feels he must defy it, furthering the idea that Melusine is forced to live in a male narrative created out of fear and jealousy. This furthers the thoughts that he had while scaling the stairs to Melusine. 

As Raymondin thinks, “her—and—who else? He believed there must be someone” (LeBey 121), it materializes from nothing but his own imagination, furthering his own insecurities. By providing the context of using his own imagination, LeBey can show how patriarchal narratives are created. Not by how women inherently act, but by how the men in their lives interpret female actions, based on their own imagination and free will. This assumption stems from the patriarchal idea that women hold secrets that are incomprehensible to their male counterparts. Secrets which Raymondin feels entitled to know at this moment in time. Without thinking about how Melusine might feel about his intrusion or “strike” into her female space. This loss of common sense is shown when Raymondin thinks, “He believed there must be someone, but without entirely believing it” (LeBey 121). Highlighting the aspect of suspicion without confirmation, further forcing this narrative he has created onto Melusine. This exposes the idea that Raymondin feels that he knows his wife, but has been so corrupted by the patriarchal gaze of control and mistrust. By picturing Melusine as an unfaithful wife, he can keep her in a story that he is ultimately controlling.

Overall, LeBey’s language in describing Raymondin’s inner thoughts in this passage highlights the male-created narrative Melusine has been forced to live in during her marriage. It’s important to note how this use of language exposes how Raymondin’s want to “strike” stems from this narrative he has created in his mind to control Melusine. Through the relationship and mistrust of Raymondin and Melusine, LeBey can critique the unsteady male authoritative foundation that makes it so easy for uncertainty to mutate into allegation. This passage sheds light on the concept of how female narratives stem from the male fear. Ultimately proving how patriarchal narratives are built to control the lives of the women they are forced onto. 

“Who Tells Your Story:” The Importance of Legacies in Undine

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In “The Day after the Wedding, from Undine,” Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué categorizes the elements as having an “evil particular” to them because “not a vestige of [them] remains” after death since they don’t have a soul, but Humans are deemed “purer” because of this divine connection that gives them the ability to live on (Penguin 105). By making humans superior to the elements because of their permanence, humans now have the validation to reign over the environment because the elements are seen as fleeting. This allows for the industrialization of the land to create a more lasting legacy.

In the middle of her speech where she confesses to her husband that she is a spirit of water, Undine explains that “there is one evil particular to [beings like her]” since they “vanish into dust, and pass away, body and spirit, so that not a vestige of [them] remains behind” since elemental beings are soulless (Penguin 105). Before Undine even describes what “evil” elements these beings contain, it is explicitly stated that it is something that is not approved of. The use of the word “evil” by Undine showcases that she does not view this feature of elements as something to be celebrated, but as something that is a blight to their kind. This positions the reader’s mind to understand that whatever default elemental beings contain is wrongful. By describing these elemental beings as having an evil component, they are already being put in an inferior situation through their flaw that is only “particular” to them. When Undine finally reveals the crime of elemental beings in the next line as being scattered back to nature so that “not a vestige of [them] remains behind” when they die, the reader already understands that lacking a soul is a defect because they do not have a chance at a permanent afterlife. It is through this negative tone used before the reveal of the specific “evil” among the elements that paints the action of the elements “[vanishing] into dust” as something to be frowned upon. Their inability to achieve a legacy becomes an evil action since they simply “pass away” and “not a vestige of [them] remains behind.” These beings are then categorized as fleeting because they do not leave any footprint on the Earth. They do not have to worry about creating a mark or doing what is right to reach a divine afterworld because they do not have a soul to help them achieve that goal. Rather than spend their afterlives in heaven or hell, the elements cease to exist and return to the environment from which they came. Nature becomes something insignificant since it can be erased “without having aught to grieve [them]” and no one there to remember it (Penguin 105). The environment is then seen as something to be dominated because it is construed as an unimportant part of life due to its temporality.

However, further down in her speech, Undine uses a more positive tone when characterizing humans as righteous because their souls allow them to “awake to a purer life” instead of “[remaining] with the sand and the sparks and the wind and the waves” after death (Penguin 105). In these lines, Undine places humans in a superior position with the use of the word “purer” to describe the fate of humans after death. Their ability to have a permanent afterlife grants them a higher status because they are not forgotten to the “sand,” “sparks,” “wind,” or “waves,” because there is someone there to grieve them and carry on their memory, while the elements are forgotten in time. Whether through memories or physical objects, humans leave traces of their lives on Earth for generations to come long after their death – something that Undine describes as “purer.” In turn, humans become virtuous beings because of the lasting impact they have on the world around them. This signals to the reader that it is noble to be impactful and leave a legacy on Earth because it is “purer” than being left to remain with the temporary elements of the environment, such as the “sand” and “waves,” which may only last a moment. Thus, the human afterlife becomes increasingly appealing to Undine to the point where she is willing to marry a human so that she can obtain a soul and get access to an afterlife and not remain with the elements. Subsequently, the author creates a boundary between human and elemental beings, where the elementals are painted as being beneath humans because of their fleeting nature. Creating the dichotomy between good versus bad through Undine explicitly using the word “evil” to describe the plight of these elemental creatures in comparison to the “purer” humans serves to paint permanence as something to aspire to.

With this in mind, the characterization of the elements as “evil” because they are fleeting and humans as “purer” since they have the ability to leave a legacy becomes significant by giving humans the license to dominate the environment. When placing nature in an insignificant position because they have no lasting tether to the Earth, humans no longer have to worry about the preservation of the environment since it is deemed an inferior entity. There is seemingly no reason for humans to care for beings that “pass away, body and spirit” and leave no trace of their existence, which is presented by Undine as a particular “evil.” Humans can conquer the environment and use it as they see fit because it is not worthy of value since it “vanishes” back to the environment without any lasting legacy. This then leads to the industrialization of the environment because there is no reason to work with nature since it is an “evil” being, leading nature to be neglected to allow the creation of more permanent objects like buildings and homes to create large cities to fulfill the righteous action of cementing a footprint on Earth. Nature becomes a canvas for human advancement since these elementals are viewed as subservient and therefore are delegitimized, making nature there for the taking.

Close reading essay #1: Taught to fear the unknown

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In his children’s book The Little Mermaid, Hans Christian Andersen explores the human relationship with nature through the nature’s point of view, telling of fictional mermaids who live under the sea. These “other” beings long to be with humans, and desire things we have. However, humans and mermaids have a limited understanding of each others’ worlds, and their actions end up scaring each other away. Through this relationship, Andersen reminds us that we only have surface-level knowledge of the ocean, and the deeper parts remain inscrutable to us. As a result, The Little Mermaid teaches us to fear things we cannot understand.

Mermaids are commonly thought of as an embodiment of not just the feminine body, but of hybridity. They are a result of humans trying to integrate themselves with nature, allowing them to exist in and with the environment. However, the thought of mermaids existing with the human world is something we cannot fully grasp, since the blending of human and non-human traits is considered a violation of the laws of nature. Andersen demonstrates this through the mermaids’ attempted interaction with the humans during a storm. In his story, the mermaids “sang most sweetly of delights to be found beneath the water, begging the seafarers not to be afraid of coming down below. But the sailors could not understand what they said, and mistook their words for the howling of the tempest, and they never saw all the fine things below, for if the ship sank the men were drowned, and their bodies alone reached the sea-king’s palace.” (Penguin 112-113)

The sailors’ misinterpretation of the mermaids’ calls for “the howling of the tempest” illustrates how an irrational mind alters our perception of the world, including our perception of the other. When we panic, our brains prioritize survival over rational thought which incapacitates our ability to think clearly. The mermaids’ calls are drowned out by the “howling” of the storm, as though they were a part of the storm itself. The sailors are implied to be in a state of panic in fear of their ship sinking, and they are too focused on survival to hear the words of these other beings. The “howling” adds to the sailors’ fears because very strong winds can capsize a ship and lead to them drowning.

The imagery of the men drowning and “their bodies alone reach[ing] the sea-king’s palace” captures our incompatibility with the ocean. Humans have not evolved to breathe underwater unlike sea mammals, so we rely on machinery to know what happens in the deep ocean. However, the crushing pressure in deeper parts makes this infeasible, as if it is a boundary we cannot cross. The line, “their bodies alone reached the sea-king’s palace” also emphasizes how most human bodies, like shipwrecks, are never recovered in ocean-related deaths. The bodies of those who have died there are found on the ocean floor, which can be miles below the surface. As such, we are never able to see “all the fine things below” because we would not be alive to see it.

Moreover, the line “the sailors could not understand what they said” highlights the inscrutable nature of these mermaids and the world they live in. To understand something is to comprehend it. If we cannot comprehend it, our mind defaults back to fearing it. Andersen tells the readers that the ocean is home to many “delights” that are only found under the sea, but since we do not have the means to reliably explore the deep ocean, it is unknown if there are any “delights” to be found if at all. This makes us doubt the mermaids’ words, since we do not know if these so-called “delights” are good or bad. And since we cannot comprehend the unknown, we fear what we cannot understand.

Despite being a story for children, Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid features much darker elements compared to the stories we tell today, yet it sends powerful messages. For one, it teaches us that most decisions do not come without a cost. For two, it tells us that a soul is what makes us human. And lastly, it reminds us that the deep ocean remains unknown and uncharted, and that’s why humans fear it so much.