David Kuten

E603B

Project 1

02/25/04

I was “beginning to get very tired of sitting” by my roommate in the dorm room, “and of having nothing to do.”[1] As is standard procedure during such moments of supreme boredom, I pulled out my notebook and began writing about my sense of place.

I wrote for a while,

But my work was a pile,

Of confusion and nothing but crap.

I tried to recall,

As I stared at the wall,

Just exactly what old Bump had said.

I thought and I thought,

But it all was for naught,

‘Cause nothing would come to my head.

I figure this went on for three pages and about twenty awkward glances from my roommate. My struggle formally ended when the small brown spider, which I had spotted in the far corner of the room earlier in the day, ventured within a few inches of my pen. Though I have never been considered an animal-hater and have in fact been told not just a few times that I seem to have an uncanny connection with them, I was nonetheless surprised when the spider very bluntly blurted out, “ ‘Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall be too late!’”[2] At this the spider crawled a few feet more and then under my door. Needless to say, this was more exciting than the last time Kinsolving served steak, so I quickly followed the speaking spider out of my room.

I followed it down the stairs, out the door, and across the street. Though I had lately become bored with the campus, this episode filled me with enthusiasm and, as I quickly realized, a new perspective. The chase continued towards Battle Hall and I began to think about how often I used to spend time in the building’s upstairs library, pretending to study while I actually just gazed at the intricate architecture. How intrigued I was by this building’s interior! Here as in few other places on campus, it was obvious the architect, Cass Gilbert, had painstakingly considered each and every aspect of the building. Built in 1911, it is the earliest example of Spanish Renaissance architecture on campus. I remember being drawn during my first couple months on campus to the building’s “wide projecting eaves,” “ornate coffers,” “delicate balconies, and huge ornate iron lanterns.” This “architectural gem of the campus” embodied the refined atmosphere of learning I was then so eager to embrace.[3] But no time to reflect! The chase continued.

I followed the spider towards the Main Building and Tower. I recalled in passing how years ago, when the idea of attending college was still so distant, this structure was the symbol of higher education. It signified everything I had to look forward to. When I came to campus, it was something to look up to in both shape and values: engravings of historic universities’ seals reminded me of the everlasting importance of education, its rigid and towering shape gave me a sense of pride in the greatness of this seemingly infallible college, and “a huge clock” at its peak offered an illusion of the University’s unerring grandeur. But as I spent more and more time on campus, the clock tower began to symbolize above all my monotonous routine. With classes, labs, meetings, and homework, it wasn’t long before work consumed all my time—time that was once spent admiring the architecture on campus. Sense of responsibility overtook my appreciation of the surroundings and soon my sense of place was lost. Campus became a place of work. But during the moment at hand I was truly excited—I had to catch up with this spider!

Before I could reach the spider and begin questioning, however, it dove into a large hole near the sidewalk. I hurried over to the hole and realized it was some sort of abyss, for no matter how hard I looked, I saw nothing but black. Certainly, the spider was lost. I put my eyes closer to the ground but I still saw nothing. I put my arm down the hole but I still felt nothing. I put my ear near the opening but I still heard nothing.

Unwilling to give up on this curious affair, I decided to make one last and desperate attempt. I took my notebook, which I had been clutching from the start, and threw it down the hole as hard as I could. Pages of writing were lost, gone for good. It would have been worth it if I heard just one splash or groan. I never would have guessed at what happened next (or rather what didn’t): the notebook did nothing but fall into the blackness until it became a part of it. Deciding this enigma was beyond my comprehension, I walked back to my room thoroughly disheartened and with no desire to continue reminiscing about my surroundings. A rare glimpse of excitement had entered my life and then vanished along with the spider. Bored once more, I reverted to my former state of mindless doing rather than meaningful being—interest in place was lost again. Back in my room, I had no way of knowing the great stir my actions had in fact created.

Down, down, down. As I had guessed, the notebook fell a great distance. Consumed by the black abyss, it wasn’t long before it was many miles from where I had thrown it. Then, suddenly, thump! thump! and the fall was over. The spider hit first and barely had time to move out of the way before the much larger notebook touched down. Shocked and not just a little bit annoyed at his near-death encounter, the spider immediately confronted it.

The spider called out loudly against the notebook, “Why have you fallen so close to me? Especially when I have such an important meeting to attend!” He crawled quickly away and muttered as he went, “Oh! The Reverend will be furious with me.” The little spider hurried down “a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof” and lined with “doors all round.” [4] Seeming to know exactly which one to choose, the spider crawled beneath a door and continued its frantic voyage, chattering nervously all the while….

In the meantime, I sat in my room, regretting that I had thrown my notebook down the hole. Now what could I use to describe my surroundings? How ever would I develop my sense of place? Good riddance, I decided at last!

The notebook was useless,

I still hate this place!

I do nothing but work,

My life’s such a waste!

With that I crept into bed, hiding beneath the comforter, which had assumed the full meaning of its name by providing my sole refuge from the campus-life I had come to consider monotonous and dull. Only when I slept could I forget about my troubles. And my dreams seemed all the more elaborate compared to my lackluster waking experience. My bed was the box on which sleep brought hours of boundless amusement.

When I awoke, I felt a strange compulsion to investigate the curious abyss once again. I approached the site feeling quite certain that it had all been a dream, but as I drew near, I thought I caught a glimpse of a small object lying on the ground. Sure enough, when I reached the spot there was a small, brown notebook lying right next to the hole. Covered by worn leather and bound by rusted metal clamps, it looked like an antique. Judging by the number of papers within, I determined it was definitely important to someone. But who would just leave a notebook, especially one as unique as this, on the side of the street? This must have something to do with the earlier events, I thought, for it seems as though this notebook has been purposely placed in this particular spot. Had some sort of trade taken place without my knowing? Mysterious as it was, I was sure it wasn’t attached to a landmine, so I picked up the notebook and headed inside.

Once in my room I decided to figure out who the notebook belonged to. I placed it on my desk and began to inspect it. I noticed almost immediately that the initials C.L.D. were branded into the leather cover. Intrigued by this oddity, I took hold of the notebook and began to peruse the material within: several black-and-white photographs, even more drawings, and countless pages of writing. I looked at a few of the drawings and was amazed to see that they were signed “Charles Dodgson,” the man I knew as Lewis Carroll.

Bewildered, I examined one of the first few pages and saw that the date read ‘The 24^th of January, 1851.’ I proceeded:

Today marks the formal end of my days as a student at Rugby and my first at Christ College in Oxford. Even now that I take up residence here I know it will always be part reality and part wonderland. The “view of every tower in the city” is one that offers “a fairyland of spires and pinnacles, rising from a foreground of trees and verdure.”[5] Every aspect of this place is so rich in history. This afternoon I took a tour of the chapter house with a few other students. I was so impressed by the “elegant structure” that I could not pay attention to their small-talk. It is as though the “ribbed vault” and “tall lancet windows,” which allow the place to be “flooded with light,” create by themselves a feeling of spirituality that could only be marred by words.[6] That I will be making my “home among these ancient monuments for years to come” is a fact that elicits “irrepressible delight” within me.[7]

Needless to say, I was overwhelmed by my finding and was struck with a thousand questions, though I would have been satisfied with the answer to one: How had I come into possession of Lewis Carroll’s journal? Perhaps this really did have to do with the spider, the hole, and my notebook. Blah! This was all foolish. In all probability one of the pale gnomes who guard the exhibits at the Harry Ransom Center dropped it after being tripped and beaten by a group of uncultured business students. Whatever the cause of my current situation, I had Lewis Carroll’s journal and I might as well make the most of it.

After reflecting for a while on Carroll’s reactions to Oxford, I realized that the place was indeed the ideal university setting. John Henry Newman’s The Idea of a University, written in 1854 while Carroll was still working towards his degree, was finally put into real-life context. I imagine Carroll’s first glimpse of Oxford as he rode into the then pastoral town in a horse-drawn carriage must have been impressive: approaching “by a magnificent park,” Carroll must have caught “glimpses and views of the fair city” as he passed “fine trees in groups and groves.”[8] Nestled near the “leisurely Thames,” Christ College Cathedral must have been the “first ancient medieval pile that he had encountered.”[9] Both “fully developed example[s] of Early English Gothic,” St. Frideswide’s and the Lady Chapel probably stunned Carroll with their architectural greatness. With “clusters of vertical shafts,” intricate “mouldings to enhance and exaggerate the linear feeling, and abundant stiff-leaf carving on the capitals,” Carroll’s imagination must have been set loose by the visual magnificence of this place.[10] But I remembered that as majestic as the town must have seemed to Carroll, there were also critical problems during that time. As Newman notes, “evil times” consisting of “party brawls” and “heresy” had come over the University. Since I am familiar with his life and work (which were in many cases quite contrasting), I know that Carroll is capable of managing “different levels of reality”: he must have fully appreciated Oxford for all its history and mystique, while also being cautious about the “frivolous” and “self-indulgent” nature of many of its inhabitants.[11] Though my first glimpses of the University of Texas were perhaps not as scenic as Carroll’s of Christ College, I believe they were quite similar.

Last spring I took a day off from school in order to visit the University at Austin. Driving towards campus, I remember the first distinctive structure I saw was the football stadium. This gigantic construction of concrete and metal dwarfed everything around it, including me. I remember feeling unsure if I was ready to live among such hugeness. Despite my inhibitions, I was attracted to the infinite opportunities for self-growth that a university of this size would offer. Yet the stadium also symbolized the frivolous behavior that had occurred within its stands and the campus as a whole. I knew that in order to make the most of my academic endeavors I would have to stay away from disruptive behavior. Similar to Carroll’s first reactions to Christ College, I was impressed by the obvious greatness of the University of Texas yet guarded against the hedonistic temptations I knew it would offer.

Directing my thoughts back to Lewis Carroll, I remembered that his early years in the “Dodgson household [were] busy and followed a strict regimen.”[12] Therefore, upon arrival at Oxford he must have been both excited and eager to begin his studies. As I flipped through the pages of his journal, I came to an entry that reflects his diligent work ethic. This entry is written on December 2, 1852, during Carroll’s early years as an undergraduate at Christ College:

Today I have been recommended for Studentship, an honor granted to few undergraduates. I am doing well in mathematics but have done no better than a third class in both philosophy and history. I have compiled a list of readings which will provide “a system of general readings”[13] in the “classics, divinity, history, languages, mathematics, novels….”[14] “I believe 25 hours’ hard work a day may get through all I have to do, but I am not certain.” [15] Lately I have spent most of my time studying in the library. I rarely allow myself to partake in leisurely activities. I can tell the work is taking a toll on me but I must continue.

I set the journal down and began to reflect on what I had just read. Carroll must have been about the same age as me when he wrote this, and I can see that our situations are in fact quite similar: he is eager to excel and takes pride in accomplishment, yet he is constantly considering how he can improve himself. By saying twenty-five hours of work a day will be needed to possibly get through his studies, he shows that although Christ College is a demanding environment, he is not in over his head. In fact, it is clear that he sought out this challenge. He could have easily slacked off, but it is as though this was not even an option. Perhaps coming from a family that “could aspire to rise in the world only by developing their minds”[16] made him realize from early on the importance of academic success.

At this point in his life, Carroll must have been like most students at the University of Texas, including me: members of the middle-class who understand that academic success can set them apart. Like Carroll, they are ambitious and diligent in their studies. I wondered for a long while, “How similar Carroll’s early experiences at Christ College are to mine at the University of Texas!” It didn’t take him long to see past the fairyland of architecture and history that captivates most people’s thoughts of Oxford and get to work as a student. It’s as though the place had nothing to do with his studies at all. He was all work—his eyes were more likely to be set on the pages of a book than the view of the city from one of its many “beautifully proportioned…medieval towers.”[17] The reality of Oxford as a learning institution rather than just a spectacle was becoming clear to me. In many ways, my present experiences as a student are similar to his. Though I once appreciated the University of Texas for the sense of place it offered, it was not long before I disregarded my surroundings completely and became swallowed up by my studies. Rather than allowing myself the luxury of reading inside Battle Hall or on the South Mall as I used to, I am now compelled by a newly-acquired sense of productivity to simply study in my architecturally-uninspired dorm room. What difference does it make whether I sit in a beautiful setting or in a box if either way my eyes are restricted to the pages of a book? Perhaps the fact that I have become apathetic towards my surroundings denotes a failing on the part of the University of Texas.

According to Newman, one of the principle aims of a university is to bring together “strangers from all parts” to enable “communication and circulation of thought” as found no where else.[18] It is essential that once a diverse group of people is brought together, the academic requirements of the university are flexible enough to allow students time to partake in “familiar conversation” “between man and man.” The University of Texas clearly offers a place where many people can study. However, the very fact there are so many people at one school makes “personal intercourse” between students nearly impossible.[19] In all of my Natural Sciences courses, the result of enormous classes is that professors lose sight of the fact that they are teaching actual people. “The special spirit and delicate peculiarities of” the material are lost as the information travels from professor to class rather than from one mind to another.[20]

When I first came to the University of Texas, I admired the buildings for all the knowledge I hoped to find within their walls. But as I realize now that I can make the same academic progress whether I attend lectures or simply read in my room, I no longer associate the buildings on campus with education. Perhaps Lewis Carroll never had this problem because his classes were smaller and more interactive than those offered here. It is clear, however, that Carroll’s extracurricular studies required he search through countless books in order to find information his classes did not cover. He must have realized that despite the rich legacy of Christ College, he would have to look beyond its walls for the knowledge he desired. After these reflections I read on.

As I flipped through the numerous pages, I started to see more and more drawings of fantastic creatures and scenes. It was as though his imagination was becoming increasingly childlike as the months and years passed by. It seemed the longer he spent at Oxford the more he resorted to his imagination for inspiration. The next entry to catch my attention was written on November 14, 1856.

“I am weary of lecturing, and discouraged…. It is thankless, uphill work….”[21] I have begun to spend a considerable amount of time with the Liddell sisters. We have elaborate picnics on the lawn and go on walks around the deanery. I tell them stories and photograph them. I have taken a particular liking to Alice. As for lecturing, “something must be done, and done at once, or I shall break down altogether.”[22]

“What was going through Carroll’s head,” I thought. For years he had worked tirelessly for professional success. Now that he had it he considers his work a bore. There is no longer boundless ambition driving him to progress. Yet how to explain the fact that when he wrote this he had not even started his most memorable works? Troubled, I put down the notebook and decided I better start some of my World Literature readings. The assignment for this week: Gargoyles and Grotesques.

When I read about the grotesques at Oxford’s Christ College, I naturally thought about how Carroll must have responded to them. A man living during a time of strict Victorian conventions, how would he react to blatantly sinful figures that seemed to have no place in proper society, and yet occupied the very walls he held in such esteem? As contradictory as they first seemed, I recalled that Carroll himself was a man of contradictions: “beneath a polished veneer… [lies] an emotional struggle….”[23] Even during times of professional success, his writings included “recurring themes of dashed hopes, disappointment in love, despair echoing despair.”[24] As the gargoyles were “symbols of the evil forces such as temptations and sins lurking outsides the sanctuary of the church,”[25] there were certainly some unwanted desires assailing Carroll’s façade of purity.

Is this what’s in store for me, I thought, if I continue along the academic path? Is education the apple that offers knowledge without protection against the evil that is sure to come with the good? Frustrated by the hardships of learning, perhaps children offered Carroll “a symbol of innocence, without which, he could not have worked.”[26] Above all, Carroll’s love for children was probably based on the idea that a child can teach an adult repentance and the way to salvation.

I sat in numb confusion for what felt like days until my roommate shook me out of my stupor. I didn’t understand what had created this complex in a man of such noble ideals. I began flipping through the pages once again. Soon the journal entries came to an end and all that remained were drawings, depictions in fact of several characters from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Soon I reached the journal’s end, or so I thought, but as I began to close the back cover, a single page fell to the ground. I picked it up and saw that it looked newer than the others. I read its contents:

Your writing is fine,

If it’s place you seek,

But when places grow dreary,

Try the child’s technique.

I know you might think,

I find children erotic,

It’s sooo not true,

They just make ordinary exotic.

I was stunned. It was as though Lewis Carroll had read the notebook I threw down the hole and sent this up in response. I grabbed his journal and headed for the curious hole. As I passed Battle Hall, I was surprised to hear “Hoot! Hoot!” Confused, I looked around me in search of the sound’s source, but the only animated objects were three decorative owls engraved on the building’s roof. Someone must be playing a trick on me, I thought, but as I turned my head from the owls I could swear one of them twitched an ear ever so slightly. When I headed towards the Tower the bells began to ring. “How strange,” I thought, for the bells never rang at this time of the day. It was as though the campus had come alive in order to play a part in this fantastic episode. I now understood why Lewis Carroll had used Christ College as “a shadowy background to the adventures” in his stories.[27] It takes the imagination to revive places that have become bleak.

Again, as I hurried towards the hole, I saw something lying in the grass. When I reached the spot I was shocked to find my World Literature notebook on the ground with the same brown spider on the cover. To my surprise the spider blurted out in his nervous tone, “Hurry up, give me the notebook! It’s a lot harder to climb up that hole than it is to fall down it, you know.” Naturally, I did as the spider said, watching as it lugged the notebook towards the hole until they both fell down.

The next thing I knew the phone was ringing and I was on the floor. I stumbled up to answer it: “Ughewo?” –“David! You’re thirty minutes late to World Lit. Where are you?” I dropped the phone, hurried to class, and was just in time to present my topic on ‘Gargoyles,’ which, though I had dreamt of so vividly, I had actually not read about. I buried my head in my hands and heard Professor Bump say “Eve, give him the apple.” Dejected, I slowly ate the apple and then sat down.

As I napped while my classmates presented their topics, I began to feel very strange. I opened my eyes to find all of the students looking at me. “What?” I asked as they continued to stare with their jaws unhinged. I found myself nervously wiggling my nose and ears as though such behavior was not in the least bit unusual under the circumstances. I looked down to find that my clothes hung loosely over a body that was now covered in fluffy, white fur. I had turned into a rabbit!

Frightened by this change, I climbed out of the now useless clothing and, as if out of instinct, began hopping over tables and off walls. This seemed to terrify my classmates even more than the much-loathed Alice quiz, for they were all rushing out of the room behind Professor Bump, who, oddly enough, was still quoting Ruskin amidst all the confusion and horror. I was left alone in the room with plenty of time to reflect on my situation. Had the apple caused this change? Was this somehow related to my contact with Lewis Carroll?

Before I could reason through all of my questions as I normally would, a certain object on the other side of the room caught my attention. It seemed that Professor Bump’s grade sheet had turned into a burnt-orange carrot. Though I wasn’t necessarily hungry, I impulsively hopped towards the carrot as fast as I could, fearful that someone else might reach it before me. At this moment it was the most important thing in the world and all else was forgotten. Within a couple seconds of reaching the carrot I had already eaten it with such ferocity that any onlooker would have assumed it was edible gold. I quickly found that this was not the case at all.

Instead, the carrot made me feel so sick that I was able to move but two steps before I toppled over. Now on my back, I realized my stomach had become so bloated that no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t stand up. The idea that I might spend the rest of my life in this pitiful state was unbearably distressing. I could think of no other way to suppress my worries than to force myself to sleep.

Strangely, as soon as I fell asleep in the rabbit form, I woke up in my human form to the jeers of my fellow classmates. Still overwhelmed, I wandered out of class to contemplate the meaning of my dream and any possible relationship it might have with the Carroll episode. It seemed as though by eating the apple I was transformed into a rabbit whose character was similar to that of Carroll’s. As such, I was “hurried, nervous,” and all too eager to pursue a meaningless reward.[28] In my dream this reward took the form of a carrot, so that although I wasn’t hungry, I nonetheless craved the prize for the sake of achievement.

Yet my adverse reaction to the carrot taught me that if I “cling to one dimension” of my identity (in this case an ambitious student) I will end up shortchanging the others.[29] Thanks to Carroll’s influence I was able to see that I have a tendency to act out Professor Bump’s stereotype of the overzealous Plan II student who mindlessly seeks reward. However, this is but one of my countless “incomplete and transient” identities.[30] It can be useful in a situation that requires this part of my personality; likewise, it can be harmful if used at an inappropriate time or place. Either way, it is my choice whether to use it or not.

During the walk back to my dorm, I felt a renewed connection with the buildings on-campus. This sense of place was different from the type I had experienced before. Extricated from my identity of Student, I saw more in the buildings than just the institution they represent. I contemplated the history of the buildings and the land on which they were constructed; I marveled at their present beauty and functionality in our society; I wondered how many more generations of people would have the chance to utilize and respect them. My multifaceted appreciation for the surroundings corresponded with my many different and ever-changing identities.

Once I reached my room I knew I had to begin studying again. This time, however, my decision was based on a desire to expand one part of my mind in order to develop the whole. Because I made no attempt to attach undue permanence to my identity as a student, I was not trapped in it; rather, I used this perspective to satisfy my present needs and nothing more.

“Everything is just as it is.”[31]

Word Count: 4841