The history of literature is arguably a cycle of repetition. It is the nature of the mind to return to subjects of perpetual interest and to exorcise the eternal concerns of the human condition through artistic work. The subjects on which creative invention is based have remained constant throughout the evolution of temporal change. As a result, the compositions of the giants of the profession imitate each other in theme and tone. Modern society's tendency to clearly categorize has produced eras in which literary legacies are mapped. These movements include affiliations of authors noted for their similarity. But, as the works of Romantic scribes Jane Austen, William Blake, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge show, a wealth of variety exists even among these families. All three writers explored innocence during their careers, and each of the resulting works shows both a surprising association with their contemporaries and a distinctive individuality. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on 'Why violent video games should not be banned'? Get an original essay With charming wit, Jane Austen's novels scrutinize the rigid culture of England in the early 19th century. The books shine in their realism, with the humanly flawed protagonists crafted from elegant prose. Northanger Abbey is the earliest testament to Austen's genius, an entertaining freshman effort that combines humor and sagacity. Tracing the maturation of a young woman over the course of a vacation period, the tome is an unforgettable exercise in the universal experience of coming of age. In the upbeat comedy, the narrator follows the adventures of an unlikely heroine as she encounters the reality of society for the first time. Catherine Moreland, the reader is taught, is completely unexceptional in any respect, except for her unpleasant propensity to read Gothic literature. The action is peppered with ironic comments which refer to the conventions of this genre of writing. The talent for reading texts, however, is only a metaphor for the ability to read people. These are both skills acquired through experience, and it is this acquisition of abilities that will define Catherine's tenure at Bath and the titular estate. As she leaves for the first in the second chapter, the young woman is the incarnation of the neophyte: Her heart was affectionate, her character joyful and open, without vanity or affectation of any kind; her manners had nothing to do with the awkwardness and shyness of a young girl; Her person is pleasant and, when she is beautiful, pretty; and her mind is about as ignorant and uninformed as the female mind of seventeen usually is. This ignorance of the harshness of nature manifests itself in an imperturbable enthusiasm for the central goodness of others. She resists change, admitting her negativity and flaws only after catalysts. Indeed, Miss Moreland's extreme beliefs about the virtue of her relationships border on parody. She suffers from the youthful tantrums of her brother and the Thorpes when she cannot go away on weekends due to prior arrangements. She is so unsure of the wisdom of her decision that she needs Mr. Allen's moral support. Likewise, she holds Captain Tilney entirely guilty of a flirtation with Isabella, staunchly defending Isabella's conduct until the dissolution of her engagement to Catherine's brother. In the part of the novel devoted to the Abbey intrigue, Catherine persists in her fantasies of murder and suspense until she has offended the object of her affection. Heroin preservesstubbornly adheres to her ideals, unwilling to consider realities other than those she perceives. However, the sum of the climaxes in the latter part of the book proves sufficient to change the girl's appearance. Once she realizes the truths of the people she has spent the last few months with and masters the art of insight, she is enhanced by her knowledge of the cynical potentialities of humanity. The story ends optimistically, but scathing assessments are made of those who contributed to the progress on which the story is based. Isabelle, the enchanting and lively personality of the previous chapters, is no longer degraded to a pejorative appearance: “She was ashamed of Isabelle and ashamed of ever having loved her. » Catherine expresses a comparable opinion of Patriarch Tilney: “In suspecting General Tilney of the murder or confinement of his wife, she had hardly sinned against his character or amplified his cruelty. Although she retains the winsome kindness of her adolescence, the adult Catherine is well prepared for life's injustices with an ability to see things perfectly. A product of Austen's typical structure, Northanger Abbey is distinguished from contemporary works by the verve of its satire and the hopeful conclusion toward which it directs its audience. It is the most individual of the three works, although it acutely observes the dangers of innocence and inexperience in a similar way to the poetry of William Blake. During his lifetime, William Blake's humility resulted primarily from his moderate success as a painter. He is the forgotten member of a beloved sesset of modern years. Despite the impact of his contributions to literature, the specter of Blake commands respect but not affection, the unexceptional milestones of his biography paling in comparison to the vibrant legends of his five contemporaries. As an early romantic, the poet endured the limitations of circumstance, content with his private frankness as violent changes engulfed the realm of the British Isles. He was the oldest member of a movement associated with youth and possessed none of the commercial glamor of his brotherhood: the high drama of Byron; Shelley's fiery rebellion; the rich tragedy of Keats; vague Coleridge scandal; or even Wordsworth's inexplicable dissipation. His words stand alone, detached from any myth except those they represent. For the typical complaint against Blake concerns the daunting complexity of his personalized epics, demanding stories that reward only the diligent, as The Book of Thel demonstrates. An unusual parable, Thel has been interpreted as a depiction of the painful progression from imagination to invention, as an abstraction from Christian dogma, and as a commentary on the political upheaval that swept England during the collapse of the Stuart dynasty. Although the diversity of these postulations is intriguing, the text becomes, on closer inspection, a daring and original study of the relationship between sex and religion. The poem recounts the attempt of an eponymous heroine (whose name comes notably from the Latin root of "will") to satisfy her curiosity about the identity of women in an ephemeral setting. The search begins in a veritable Eden, the picturesque landscapes of pre-existence. The reader learns that Thel is one of the “daughters of Mne Seraphim.” Unlike her blessed sisters, “the pale youngest sought the secret air”. Thel's pale character is not surprising. Depending on the allegory, it symbolizes the common human experience. Adolescence is often a period of hyperbole, of exaggeratedly theatrical emotions. The first soliloquy that Thel delivers is a masterpiece of melodrama: O life of our spring!why does the water lotus wither? Why are these children of the spring fading? born but to smile and fall. Ah! Thel is like an arc of water and like a parting cloud, like a reflection in a glass. Like shadows in the water. Like infant dreams. Like a smile on the face of a child, Like the voice of a dove, like a passing day, like music in the air; Ah! gentle, may I lie down and gently rest my head. In this grandeur of her melancholy, she recalls the stereotype of the adolescent giving herself over to her sorrows in The Collective Works of Sylvia Plath. Plate I, however, does much more than solidify the representational nature of the background and characters. The ephemeral nature of the idyllic meadows that precede birth is emphasized, because the irremediable joy of childhood has already been lost. They will be tormented by questions until they are answered. Ignorance, once lost, cannot be regained. The opening section also introduces Lily of the Valley, one of the three entities that Thel will converse with in his quest for truths. In the interview, the young angelic person is not convinced by the flower's arguments. The Lilly responds to the protagonist's aforementioned questions, reveling in the responsibility given to him by God. The flower is of a fragile composition, alluding to the traditional view of the woman, the physically tiny Eve, the cause of original sin. A skeptical Thel heads to the Cloud. In a speech identical to that of Lilly, the Cloud expresses the glory of its abandonment to the environment. The self-sacrifice of which he is a part even involves marriage with the dew. In his body, the "light-eyed" substance evaporates, consumed until released by the rain. Thel harbors a contempt for the cycle of life, refusing a fate of servitude only to be rewarded with a grave full of worms. The Cloud does not hesitate to respond. In a decidedly condescending tone, he echoes Lilly, emphasizing the gratitude with which Thel should carry out the task assigned to him: So if you are food for the worms. O virgin of heaven, what is your greatness, what is your blessing; everything that lives does not live alone, nor for itself: fear not, and I will call the weak work from its humble bed, and you will hear its voice. The degradation of femininity is further illustrated by the contrast between the celestial maiden and the underground worm, obviously the incarnation of the link between nature and death, but also a connotation of the phallus. Thel, previously worried, cannot contain her disbelief at the image of the insect: "Are you a worm? Image of weakness. Are you just a worm?" Astonished by the harmlessness of the creature, the heroine reacts with maternal instinct. What was terrifying in concept simply turns out to be needy in terms of security. Motherhood requires loving trust, a quality that is exemplified in the clod. Clay accepts the task of raising the earthworm even if it means his own destruction. She is faithful to her Creator, obsequious and dependent. Her dark breast reflects the end that will lead to fertility, but it once again emphasizes the esteem in which such magnanimous deeds should be held. In this vision of perfection, mediation in the union of the sexes is impossible. One (ideally the woman) must give herself entirely to the other (ideally the man) to maintain balance and harmony. However, the female does not die in this enslavement, because she fulfills her purpose and never truly dies. Humanity continues, the globe continues to rotate, all thanks to the good balance of society. Plate 6 extends this theory by painting a portrait of an anarchic chasm in which the battle between male and female threatens to tear the cosmos apart. The entrance toThel in the fossa is an anatomical impossibility, because inserting a cylindrical shape into a circular void reflects the physics of sexual intercourse. As she uses the female Clod to her advantage, it can be inferred that she has undergone gender alteration and sees the damnation of sexual conflicts with a male psyche. Women, manipulative and worldly, wield the weapons of the “poison of the smile”, “an eye of gifts and graces, showing fruits and minted gold”, “a tongue imprinted with honey”. Faced with the consequences of her aspirations, Thel ostensibly submits to the status quo, reverting to the docility of the unborn. In reality, however, she is alone, a solitary prophet in a defiled existence. She is separated by her knowledge, and it is therefore unreasonable to think that she conforms to the restrictions of an inaccessible garden. With “Christabel,” an ambitious experiment in form and expression, Samuel Taylor Coleridge presents a vision remarkably similar to Blake’s. Peers are otherwise a dichotomy of functionality. Critical praise is the rarest for Coleridge among the six great British Romantic poets, but his position in the sphere of public recognition is assured, largely due to the accessibility of his inimitable style and the flair of a also distinctive. The popularity of “Kubla Khan” and “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” probably depends on their sing-song cadence and dazzling emotional impression. “Christabel” is the third and most universal lyric in this sequence of supernaturally themed pieces. On the surface, the stanzas constitute a technically conventional, if slightly bizarre, fairy tale whose occasional strangeness can be attributed to the debilitating maturity of its author. Countless readers have denounced the poem as incomprehensible, but the work's ornate façade contains as complex an exploration of spirituality as ever. The submersion in the ethereality of the first part is immediate. From the first mention of her name, the titular girl is already halfway through the only bodily journey for which the text will provide a primary narrative. The two verses which precede this data are entirely devoted to the realization of closeness. Distance from the events is impossible and the reader accompanies the heroine on her nocturnal journey. We identify with her and fear for her safety. That the young woman is almost completely one-dimensional is not a problem since the details do not matter in the page's dreamland. Absent from this seductive region are the systematized oppositions of the human domain, the hesitation between one extremity and another through which contradictions are formed. All creation is in perpetual transition. “Is the night cool and dark?” asks the narrator. The answer is: “the night is cool but not dark,” on which the following lines expand in the same indirect way. The moon is full but hidden by a gray cloud, dulled in a compromise between luminescence and darkness. Time is also treated in this way, as it is said that "It is a month before May, / And spring comes slowly this way." April provides a fitting backdrop as the middle month of the season in which life meets death, with lingering frosts delaying the summer heat of May. The population of this idyllic setting provides further testimony to Coleridge's fidelity to the fairy tale format. The parallels between Christabel and the young girls in other stories are numerous and unmistakable. She is basically isolated, her mother dead, her father useless and her lover distant. Personal facts are retained in thetradition of the generic protagonist, whose importance is the effect of a symbolic function. Like the allegorical Thel, the damsel represents something greater than herself. Motivation is not mentioned; rather, it is the audience that colors the inhabitants of the hypothetical wood. Although the witnesses to Christabel's adventure in the forest are explicitly informed of the dreams she has been having lately, it is they who infer distress from her actions. The seductive reality into which one is led goes beyond the normality of ordinary earth. Communion with heaven is, however, ephemeral, and it is with this awareness that it cannot last, that we arrive at the most enigmatic figure in a confusing and innovative effort. Geraldine has disoriented generations of analysts, whose consensus has unfortunately been to present her in an unflattering light. The least difficult approach to the puzzle is to condemn the fair lady, the embodiment of evil in a fable about the Fall, but she is, in fact, the antithesis of that, a personification of the kind of benevolence that is neither regular nor pleasant but necessary. Only the risk of this interpretation shows that the ballad-like story is the penetrating and bittersweet statement that it is. The character's sudden appearance is alarming, an unexpected event that disturbs the absorbed reader. The narrator suggests that the severity of the impending circumstances will require divine intervention with his appeal to Christian deities ("Jesus, Maria, protect her well!"). The implications of Geraldine's presence in the wild offer a multitude of sinister possibilities. However, Christabel herself is in the Dark Forest, and it is inconsistent to allow a practice in one person and consider it suspect in another. The dominant school of thought discerns in the exclamation to Mary (“Mary mother, save me now!”) the automatic reflex of kindness in the face of sin, but if the heroine invokes the protection of the Virgin because she recognizes moral depravity in sin, appearance of superficial beauty, his subsequent behavior is completely implausible. The fact that Christabel listens to stories of marauding criminals from abroad and helps him escape indicates that she does not feel threatened by her new acquaintance. Intuition in an adolescent would invalidate the premise on which the poem is based, for the untainted purity of youth is often represented as naivety in fictions of the kind to which the fragment aspires. The oath is an affirmation of faith directed towards an angelic face. Dressed in a “dress of white silk,” with “precious stones tangled in her hair,” the radiant Geraldine is an image of the Madonna sung before a blessed sanctuary. Demons are capable of assuming pleasing forms, but Orthodox doctrine holds that devils do not operate in sanctuaries. Lucifer can turn the vulnerable away from the path of righteousness, but he cannot invade the sanctity of the altars. The difficulty with which Geraldine crosses the threshold of the castle is seen by some as a consequence of this law, but there is no evidence to counter her claims of traumatic abduction. The kidnapping, we later discover, is probably metaphorical, but the displaced lady has indeed endured the strains of an incredibly harrowing journey. The role she embodies remains unclear, but like all other elements of the work, the solution is visible in the customs of the fairy tale, the setting of which invariably involves an arduous quest. Obstacles delay the achievement of a goal, but are ultimately overcome through providential help. Although Christabel's task has not yet been revealed, Geraldine, an otherworldly being, is apparently helpingbeneficial. The scene in which the girls prepare for rest seems to ignore this, and the ambiguity of the mysterious refugee is only intensified by the androgyny that characterizes her relationship with the protagonist. Because Geraldine actually replaces the distant knight, controlling the interaction from start to finish. When the couple leaves, it is she who holds her companion in her arms, as a mother would for her child, but also as a lover would for his mistress. However, the masculinity that permeates the marriage does not dominate either party. Geraldine is definitely a woman, Christabel even more so, but the latter shows stereotypically masculine aggressiveness by asking the former to share her bed. In both cases, gender is emptied of its meaning and the conclusion of the first part is relevant to each individual, because sexual awakening is only a metaphor for the acquisition of knowledge. The pervasiveness of the information conveyed to Christabel through the encounter is revealed in the imagery that initiates the second half of the poem. The world in which she wakes is a dark desert of death: Every morning bell, says the baron, brings us back to a world of death. These words Sir Leoline first spoke, When he arose and found his lady dead; These words Sir Leoline will sayMany mornings until his last day!And hence custom and law began that at dawn again, the sexton, who duly rings the heavy bell, forty-five grains must say between each blows a warning toll, which no soul can choose but hear from Bratha Head to Wyndemere. The painful sounds remind the involuntary listener with each blow of the inescapable destiny that generalizes human experience. The delicate paradise of the previous night is shattered with the specification of towns: "Langdale Pike and Witche's Lair, / And Dungeon-ghyll so dirty praised." The fanciful pretensions of the names only amplify the imperfection so glaring in the austerity of the morning. Slowly, the undeniable fact of mortality emerges unflinchingly, unforgiving and permanent. Amidst the banality of this mundane existence, Géraldine's function is illuminated. With a sparkling varnish, the beauty is truly “a lady from distant lands”. She is a messenger from God, sent to offer the privileged Christabel a glimpse of paradise. Geraldine is not ironic when she describes the esteem in which she is held by the celestial forces: All those who live in the upper heaven, love you, Saint Christabel! And you love them, and for them And for good. for me what happened to me, Even I, in my degree, I will try, Beautiful young girl, to reward you well. The utopia resident has no malicious intent, but must complete the mission she has been assigned to do. The homosexual character of the exchange is asserted thematically, because it is the truth of humanity, and therefore of self-knowledge, that Géraldine attempts to communicate to her student. Christabel has earned the goodwill of the spirits above and will be rewarded with the realization of the glory to which humanity can return. The caveat, of course, is that the innocent will also be aware of the current corruption in which the earth languishes. Geraldine's mark of shame and seal of sorrow symbolize this mortality of fallen civilization. And this is one of the first conclusions that Christabel comes to: “Of course, I have sinned!” » said Christabel. It is from this disillusionment that the biological mother struggles to protect her daughter. In the context of the fairy tale, the ghost is the “good” mother who would only protect her offspring. Yet sometimes a parent must betray their child's trust in their best interests, because the things that are the responsibility of young people are not always pleasant things. The “bad.