Elements of Fiction and "The Far and the Near" by Thomas Wolfe

Elements of Fiction:

Note: if you need additional definitions for terms in fiction, poetry or drama, refer to the "Glossary of Literary Terms" that begins on page 1523 in your textbook

In analyzing fiction that you are assigned, refer to the questions at the end of the story AND your text, pages 48-49 "Questions for Responsive Reading and Writing" 

Two types of fiction:

• Escape fiction - entertaining, perhaps not worth a second thought, such as Stephen King's Shining or Salem's Lot, both of which are well written and provide  hours of enjoyment, with little to reveal about "real" life; escape fiction takes the reader AWAY from reality
• Interpretive fiction - takes the reader deeper into real life and often provokes contemplation after the story is finished; one example of interpretive fiction is Stephen King's Stand By Me, a nostalgic story of friendship and initiation, that revolves around a journey filled with obstacles and which tests the fortitude of each character

ALL fiction and drama that we read in English 1102 is interpretive; it is literature that is meant to be read, reflected upon and written about. 

* it should be obvious, but for our use, the word "man" is meant to suggest either gender or humanity as a whole

Plot - the series of events that happen in the story

• the exposition-the introduction; often presents time, place and major characters- the first three paragraphs of "The Far and the Near" comprise its exposition:
• rising action - "the plot thickens;" events happen; characters are added; conflict is established
• climax - the moment of greatest drama in the story; the conflict comes to a head; a decision is made; after this point, there's "no turning back;"
• falling action- more events, but these lead to a natural conclusion and seldom build complexity
• denouement-how things end up--the conclusion
• conflict
• protagonist- the main figure of a story, whether good OR bad; a protagonist is NOT always heroic, not always "good," not always the brave cowboy in the white hat, riding the white horse; he could just as easily be a scruffy-faced character with adamantium [not a real metal] or a thief who turns his life around. {Thank you, Lone Ranger, Wolverine and Jean Val-Jean.]
• antagonist - the forces arrayed against the protagonist, whether internal or external, tangible or intangible; as such the following conflicts may arise:
• man vs. man
• man vs. nature/environment 
• man vs. society; 
• man vs. fate; 
• man vs. himself . . . According to William Faulkner, it is this last one that is most important: "the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself  . . . alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat"

Character - those figures that people the story; it is important for the reader to study a character, his actions, and his thoughts and to fully understand that even relatively insignificant words/actions may have meaning in the context of a story. 

• round - to paraphrase Stephen King, even murderers and criminals can love animals and help old ladies cross the street
• flat -  one dimensional characters who may still serve a valid purpose in the story
• stereotypical - characters who have been seen so often, in so many similar contexts that he/she is often easily identifiable; in much modern writing and in films, these characters are often parodied [made fun of]
• revealed by either: 
• direct characterization- the author tells the reader exactly what a character is like 
• indirect characterization - the author chooses to allow a character's actions or thoughts to reveal his personality or other characters who speak to or about a character

Theme - what the story reveals or suggests about life in a general sense; theme does not just relate to the people in the story, but to the reader and to most people, as well; theme is more complex than a single word, phrase, or cliche and should always be expressed as a statement/sentence; a story may have more than one theme; theme is revealed through plot and character; theme is often supported by point of view, symbolism or irony

Point of View - "who tells us the story and how it is told" (Meyers 195); the teller of a story is the narrator (see Meyer 1536), and the narrator my either be the author who is omniscient, who tells the story in 3rd person OR the a character in the story who tells the story in 1st person. Note the introductions to "A & P," p. 201 and "A Rose for Emily," p. 82

Setting - where AND when a story takes place, the importance of which depends on the context of the story; consider "To Build a Fire," 518

Symbolism - "a person, object, image, word, or event" that has meaning beyond its "literal significance" (Meyer 1545); note the two types listed by Meyer, p. 1545:

• conventional symbols
• literary or contextual symbols

Irony - see page 1535 of the glossary; important to remember is that irony often contains opposites or a contradiction; for example: 

• verbal irony, a person means the opposite of what he/she says; we usually mean this to be sarcasm
• situational irony, the outcome is the opposite of what one expects; consider the poem "Richard Cory" and the ending of "The Far and the Near;" in both cases, the appearance is different from reality and leads to an unpleasant surprise.

Richard Cory By Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head. 

NOTE:  Poetry often contains irony, just as prose does.

• dramatic irony, there is a difference between what a character on stage, in the drama, believes to be true, and what the audience knows is true; for example, in the final scene of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, the audience knows that Juliet is only sleeping when Romeo discovers her body in the tomb; unaware that she has taken a sleeping potion, Romeo believes she is dead and is so overcome with grief that he drinks poison, dies, and leaves Juliet to awaken immediately thereafter

The Far and the Near

by Thomas Wolfe

On the outskirts of a little town upon a rise of land that swept back from the railway there was a tidy little cottage of white boards, trimmed vividly with green blinds. To one side of the house there was a garden neatly patterned with plots of growing vegetables, and an arbor for the grapes which ripened late in August. Before the house there were three mighty oaks which sheltered it in their clean and massive shade in summer, and to the other side there was a border of gay flowers. The whole place had an air of tidiness, thrift, and modest comfort.

Every day, a few minutes after two o’clock in the afternoon, the limited express between two cities passed this spot. At that moment the great train, having halted for a breathing-space at the town near by, was beginning to lengthen evenly into its stroke, but it had not yet reached the full drive of its terrific speed. It swung into view deliberately, swept past with a powerful swaying motion of the engine, a low smooth rumble of his heavy cars upon pressed steel, and then it vanished in the cut. For a moment the progress of the engine could be marked by heavy bellowing puffs of smoke that burst at spaced intervals above the edges of the meadow grass, and finally nothing could be heard but the solid clacking tempo of the wheels receding into the drowsy stillness of the afternoon.

Every day for more than twenty years, as the train had approached this house, the engineer had blown on the whistle, and every day, as soon as she heard this signal, a woman had appeared on the back porch of the little house and waved to him. At first she had a small child clinging to her skirts, and now this child had grown to full womanhood, and every day she, too, came with her mother to the porch and waved.

The engineer had grown old and gray in service. He had driven his great train, loaded with its weight of lives, across the land ten thousand times. His own children had grown up, and married, and four times he had seen before him on the tracks the ghastly dot of tragedy converging like a cannon ball to its eclipse of horror at the boiler head—a light spring wagon filled with children, with its clustered row of small stunned faces; a cheap automobile stalled up the tracks, set with the wooden figures of people paralyzed with fear; a battered hobo walking by the rail, too deaf and old to hear the whistle’s warning; and a form flung past his window with a scream—all this he had seen and known. He had known all the grief, the joy, the peril and the labor such a man could know; he had grown seamed and weathered in his loyal service, and now, schooled by the qualities of faith and courage and humbleness that attended his labor, he had grown old, and had the grandeur and the wisdom these men have.

But no matter what peril or tragedy he had known, the vision of the little house and the women waving to him with a brave free motion of the arm had become fixed in the mind of the engineer as something beautiful and enduring, something beyond all change and ruin, and something that would always be the same, no matter what mishap, grief or error might break the iron schedule of his days.

The sight of this little house and these two women gave him the most extraordinary happiness he had ever known. He had seen them in a thousand lights, a hundred weathers. He had seen them through the harsh light of wintry gray across the brown and frosted stubble of the earth, and he had seen them again in the green luring sorcery of April.

He felt for them and for the little house in which they lived such tenderness as a man might feel for his own children, and at length the picture of their lives was carved so sharply in his heart that he felt that he knew their lives completely, to every hour and moment of the day, and he resolved that one day, when his years of service should be ended, he would go and find these people and speak at last with them whose lives had been so wrought into his own.

That day came. At last the engineer stepped from a train onto the station platform of the town where these two women lived. His years upon the rail had ended. He was a pensioned servant of his company, with no more work to do. The engineer walked slowly through the station and out into the streets of the town. Everything was as strange to him as if he had never seen this town before. As he walked on, his sense of bewilderment and confusion grew. Could this be the town he had passed ten thousand times? Were these the same houses he had seen so often from the high windows of his cab? It was all as unfamiliar, as disquieting as a city in a dream, and the perplexity of his spirit increased as he went on.

Presently the houses thinned into the straggling outposts of the town, and the street faded into a country road—the one on which the women lived. And the man plodded on slowly in the heat and dust. At length he stood before the house he sought. He knew at once that he had found the proper place. He saw the lordly oaks before the house, the flower beds, the garden and the arbor, and farther off, the glint of rails.

Yes, this was the house he sought, the place he had passed so many times, the destination he had longed for with such happiness. But now that he had found it, now that he was here, why did his hand falter on the gate; why had the town, the road, the earth, the very entrance to this place he loved turned unfamiliar as the landscape of some ugly dream? Why did he now feel this sense of confusion, doubt and hopelessness? At length he entered by the gate, walked slowly up the path and in a moment more had mounted three short steps that led up to the porch, and was knocking at the door. Presently he heard steps in the hall, the door was opened, and a woman stood facing him.

And instantly, with a sense of bitter loss and grief, he was sorry he had come. He knew at once that the woman who stood there looking at him with a mistrustful eye was the same woman who had waved to him so many thousand times. But her face was harsh and pinched and meager; the flesh sagged wearily in sallow folds, and the small eyes peered at him with timid suspicion and uneasy doubt. All the brave freedom, the warmth and the affection that he had read into her gesture, vanished in the moment that he saw her and heard her unfriendly tongue.

And now his own voice sounded unreal and ghastly to him as he tried to explain his presence, to tell her who he was and the reason he had come. But he faltered on, fighting stubbornly against the horror of regret, confusion, disbelief that surged up in his spirit, drowning all his former joy and making his act of hope and tenderness seem shameful to him.

At length the woman invited him almost unwillingly into the house, and called her daughter in a harsh shrill voice. Then, for a brief agony of time, the man sat in an ugly little parlor, and he tried to talk while the two women stared at him with a dull, bewildered hostility, a sullen, timorous restraint.

And finally, stammering a crude farewell, he departed. He walked away down the path and then along the road toward town, and suddenly he knew that he was an old man. His heart, which had been brave and confident when it looked along the familiar vista of the rails, was now sick with doubt and horror as it saw the strange and unsuspected visage of the earth which had always been within a stone’s throw of him, and which he had never seen or known. And he knew that all the magic of that bright lost way, the vista of that shining line, the imagined corner of that small good universe of hope’s desire, could never be got again.