What the Rejected Know of Love

It was a boost to my ego, this fact that I learned recently: only 10 percent of the American population is pursing higher education in English (Literature) studies. 

Over the years, I can recall receiving such grief for my choice of an academic discipline. From my elders, I would often receive a quizzical expression and the question, "What are you going to do with [a degree like] that?" From my peers, one in particular, I was the butt of jokes. 

"What is the difference between an English major and a pizza?" the latter mentioned peer asked. The answer was not obvious to me. "One can feed a family of four." I did not laugh.

Yes, we English (Literature) majors are a minority.

At the risk of overly glorifying my own scholastic tribe, however, I feel the need to present the following argument:

Literature nurtures empathy. Outside of a psychology class, fiction offers the greatest insight one might come to have of the human psyche, or the human heart. Fact: Some of the most intelligent, empathetic, and complex people I know are English majors.

In truth, practically everything that I have come to understand about Love I learned from the monsters, the outsiders, and the unwanted of literature.

The following three stories and characters have served as my greatest mentors. (NOTE: For the benefit of those who have yet to read the books I am about to mention, I have incorporated media clips that best represent my driving points.)

Frankenstein
Mary Shelley's story of an ambitious (albeit 'mad') doctor and his ghoulish creation always struck me as more of a tragedy than a horror. While some people may argue that it is a cautionary tale of what happens when man plays God, I believe it to be a depiction of a (if not the) chronic human condition: finding acceptance, finding love, in a loveless world. 

In 1931, director James Whale and actor Boris Karloff frightened the world with their cinematic rendition of Shelley's novel. Four years later (1935), both Whale and Karloff reunited and fleshed-out the previous (film) story of Frankenstein's creation with 'The Bride of Frankenstein.' Although the screenplay was more original than faithful (to the novel) in terms of events and characterization, it brought to audiences a more tragic portrayal of the "monstrous" creation. 

One of my favorite scenes from the movie is featured below:

To this day, the conclusion of 'Bride of Frankenstein' still makes me cry . . .

A second rendition of the story: Recently, I was turned on to the Showtime original series Penny Dreadful -a Gothic series that follows its own storyline while also incorporating iconic literary characters and plots from such classics as Dracula, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and Frankenstein. 

In the first season of the show, the (original) creation of Victor Frankenstein is given the name Caliban -from Shakespeare's The Tempest. After being abandoned by his creator, Caliban (portrayed by Rory Kinnear) wanders Europe in search of his 'father.' Eventually, he makes his way to London. After being made to suffer at the fists and feet of a handful of drunken men, Caliban unexpectedly finds himself being both adopted and employed by a seasoned veteran of the amateur British stage. (It is from this elderly actor that Caliban actually receives his name.) Living amongst humans, albeit as a scorned outcast, Caliban comes to witness both pain and love. 

Eventually, as in the novel and the latter mentioned film, Caliban confronts Frankenstein and makes a chilling demand of him: the creation of a mate.

Below, I have included one of the most heartbreaking scenes that revolves around Caliban.

Both Karloff and Kinnear, in my opinion, do just portrayals of Frankenstein's creation. Although both 'The Bride of Frankenstein' and 'Penny Dreadful' follow their own storylines, Frankenstein's creation is depicted as a sensitive, rather childlike, figure that is both prone to horrific violence and intense emotion. The creature, in fact, has such a strong sense of emotional intelligence that he understands his inner need for acceptance by another living creature.

Jane Eyre
Hailed as one of the most beloved heroines of literature, Jane Eyre (of Charlotte Bronte's classic Gothic romance Jane Eyre) suffered the ridicule often reserved for monstrous villains. Such behavior, however, was not provoked by any ugliness that she possessed physically. Rather, the abuse transpired because Jane was an orphan; an unwanted orphan that was demeaned and then thrown away by her only known and living relatives. 

Raised in a puritanical boarding school, Jane continued to suffer abuse and loss before finally receiving her chance to escape: she receives employment as a governess in the remote and dreary estate of Thornfield Hall. 

Although a rather self-efficient and independent being, the heroine finds herself drawn to the older and troubled owner of the estate -Mr. Edward Rochester. Although such accusations can merely be written off as a cruel form of flirting on her employer's part, Jane cowers under Rochester's domineering voice and his accusations of her being a 'witch,' an 'elf,' and a 'strange, unearthly thing.' Such words, one must understand, bared a close resemblance to the harsh words she received as a child -her being called 'it' and an 'unnatural child.' 

If little else, Jane Eyre creates a fairly realistic portrait (just one among many) as to how people who were abused as children tend to handle relationships as adults.

While there have been many film renditions of Jane Eyre over the past several decades, only one stands out in my mind as possessing the most profound portrayal of the iconic proposal scene. The following clip is from 1983 BBC miniseries of Jane Eyre, starring Zelah Clarke and Timothy Dalton:

The Phantom of the Opera
Much like the story of Frankenstein's creature, Gaston Leroux's novel The Phantom of the Opera felt misplaced -to me -as a work of horror. True, the Phantom -Erik -did some rather horrific things throughout the story; however, I always found him to be redeemable on account that, what he did, he did out of a need for love. Over and over again, he was willing to kill and sabotage the members of the Opera Populaire only to prove his devotion to the young singer Christine Daae.

As a child, my father introduced me to the original Broadway soundtrack for Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical adaptation of Leroux's novel. Although the cruelty of Erik is toned down a bit for the theatre, the haunting ache that the Phantom possesses is reflected so profoundly in the music that it is hard to overlook. Such is especially true in the final few scenes of musical, as featured below: (NOTE: The following clip is from the 25th anniversary recording of the musical, starring Ramin Karimloo and Sierra Boggess.)

Much the same as with 'The Bride of Frankenstein,' I cannot watch 'The Phantom of the Opera' without crying. And reading the book has only made me more sympathetic and understanding of the poor wretch that was Erik the Phantom. 

*SPOILER* I say "was" only because, unlike in Webber's musical, it can be assumed that -at the end of the novel -Erik dies from a broken heart.

What I Have Learned From "Monsters":
While at least two of the three characters mentioned in this post are physically grotesque, what made them monsters is the fact that they were all rejected and scorned by society. While I usually say the following as a joke, it is true: People create their own monsters. 

There are few social sins greater than being born disfigured, physically ugly. A close second would be to be born poor, economically disadvantaged. Even in the world of today, there are those poor souls who are set apart from the majority in a scornful manner simply because of physical appearance or financial depravity. And from scorn does the seed of malice take root.

There are those outcasts,however, who if shown a glimmer of kindness, can find it in themselves to rise above the hatred others show to and breed in them. Frankenstein's creature had the kind old man; Jane Eyre had Miss Temple, a teacher; and Erik had the Persian, who saved him. 

If Literature teaches anything, it is that those who are typically deprived of Love tend to be the ones who come to understand the emotion best. At least, they come to know all the suffering and punishment of Love; and, sometimes, they get to reap its reward. Though, not always. Of the three mentioned, sadly, only Jane received a happy ending.

 
from 'The Phantom of the Opera,
25th Anniversary at Royal Albert Hall

If my three mentors have taught me anything, however, it is thus: Love is a gift, not a right. It is not expendable. Love sees past physical ugliness, to the depth and soul of a being. It is the child of Compassion and Respect. Truth and commitment are its cornerstones. 

Love means enduring disappointments; and sometimes, it means having to let the other person go.

Love is a joy and a sacrifice. Love is an emotion, and it is a choice. It is a blessing and a curse. 

But it is worth it, all the same. 

Such is what the rejected know of Love.