complete sample essay

Embedded in the human nature is the desire to classify, to clarify, to order the world in which we exist.  Everyone has a different system of classification.  Two or more people discussing how to classify a particular set of elements will never agree unless they are mathematicians talking about numbers, or physicists discussing the periodic table - and even then there may be differences, depending on the subject matter.  In science and math, lines of classification are, if not concrete, then at least thick enough to be perceived.  Not so in the world of the humanities, the social sciences, art, and literature--these discourses which deal with not the laws of nature but the essence of humanity. 

            To attempt to sort a writer's work into a particular classification at any particular period in history is a difficult task indeed.  Even when some works share certain elements in common, the individuality that each author brings to the text, and the individual interpretation which the reader brings to the text may skew and blur those lines of separation which are defined as "genre".  When referring to literature, genre becomes more than simple classification; it proffers the initial idea for describing an evolving entity which branches out in bursts of life from one common root. 

            While "genre" does, indeed, refer to the "expectations of the audience" (midterm, 1998, ST), the sorting of literature into genre imposes limitations as much as it raises expectations.  Genre exists only as far as the human need for classification, and is, in fact, a construct of that need which often limits perception and narrows expectations to so fine a point that an author's message may be lost in those heightened expectations of the reader.  Yet genre remains necessary as long as the human need to classify exists.  Genre orders the literary world in a similar way that the periodic table orders the chemical world; yet genre is not as immutable as nitrogen, nor is it as easy to dissect into orderly components.  A literary person who perceives genre first or first seeks to classify a work into a particular genre, rather than first approaching the work and the author's message, limits himself or herself to only a partial understanding of that work.

            Keeping all this in mind, a literary person may delve into the rich literary history of humanity while glancing occasionally at the unreliable compass of genre which has been constructed by various critics over time. As long as the reader remains aware of the limitations of genre and seeks not to classify a work but to intensely study it without pre-formed expectations, then genre may remain in the literary world as a means of facilitating academic discussion.

            The genres of Tragedy, Comedy, Romance, and Satire have evolved over time through various critics, and the body of works to which each genre refers continues to grow.  The genre of tragedy dates back to the most fully complete record of a society's advance into introspection on the nature of humanity.  This is not to say that no society before the Greeks wondered about the issues addressed in the tragedies which we call "classic"--indeed, works such as the Baghavad Gita or the epic of Gilgamesh show that wonderment was alive and well in other societies besides the Greek.  However, when speaking of genre, and speaking of the genre of tragedy, it is to the Greeks that we turn, for they are the society that first perfected the art of written tragedy, and they are the ones who first delved deep not into the mysteries of human origin but into the mysteries of the human soul.  Human beings have ever turned to works in the genre of tragedy in order to create a space for themselves in which they might examine the darkest parts of life in some semblance of safety, and come away from the otherworld of the fictitious with a sense of gain, rather than the loss derived from real-life tragedy.  Yet, is tragedy the greatest "genre"?  If so, why?  It may be said that tragedy appears more serious than comedy, romance, or satire.  The differences between these genres are moderately apparent, but again, is saying that tragedy, as a genre, is greatest not indulging in those imposed limitations once more?  Works of tragedy are indeed great.  Many works have "withstood the test of time" (midterm samples 2000, complete exam, example 1, part III).  These two statements are true but do not equal up to the designation of "greatest".  Understanding tragedy lies in knowing what elements this form consists of, and, once understood, perhaps the point of greatness may be argued further.

            What defines a tragedy?  A first response might be a work in which "things do not end happily" (midterm sample answers 2000, TP).  Yet tragedy goes much further, much deeper, than this.  The classical construction of a tragic work relies heavily on the concept of "fate" and also "coincidence".  It is important for the reader to remember that fiction is a construct, not a reflection of reality.  "In all great works of fiction, regardless of the grim reality they present, there is an affirmation of life against the transience of that life[. . .].  This affirmation lies in the way the author takes control of reality by retelling it in his own way, thus creating a new world" (Nafisi 47). Keep always in mind that tragedy has been constructed by a writer for a purpose, whether that purpose be to expose some social limitation or to delve deep into the human psyche.  Tragedy is not solely centered around unhappy endings but achieves its effect through contrived circumstances that bring about unfortunate endings for the characters.

            In Oedipus Rex, through the mechanism of prophecy and the whimsy of fate, Oedipus finds himself doomed from the first breath he draws.  The tragedy at first glance seems to be Oedipus's inevitable loss of respect, wife, kingdom, and sight.  Yet the author's message resides deeper than the thin surface of misfortune.  The true tragedy, Sophocles makes clear, is Oedipus's unwillingness to truly see.  Had Oedipus sought to learn about himself, to ask questions and to accept the answers without horror, i.e. about his true parentage, he might have remained safely out of harm's way for all his life with his adoptive family.  Yet he flees the prophecy, thinking only to listen to the "what" and not ever to ask the "why" or the "how". 

            In many ways, Oedipus's prophecy is self-fulfilling--in attempting to run away from doom, he inevitably causes it.  That Sophocles chose to show Oedipus as gouging out his eyes is significant. It shows the reader (or watcher) that the most important sight, in the end, is in the mind, not in the eye which sees only the surface.  The tragedy in Oedipus is found not in what he lost but in that ability which he never had--the ability to discern truth.  Sophocles plays with the idea that although fate is a necessary element to a tragedy on stage, how much may human beings be obsessed with the inevitable while ignoring the actual? And although the fall of Oedipus from his might into squalor does make the ending of the play unhappy, his realization of himself and his new blindness leave the reader to hope for a new sight. 

            The elegance of the Greek tragedy lies not in the depiction of unhappiness or misfortune but in a character's resolution or recognition of self or circumstance, and a lingering hope.  In many ways, the tragic hero or heroine becomes a sacrificial entity for the readers--he or she opens the eyes of the readers with the details of his own downfall. Nafisi best expresses this when she says, "[. . .]the magic comes from the power of good[. . .] which tells us we need not give in to the limitations and restrictions imposed on us by McFate, as Nabakov calls it" (Nafisi 47).

            Shakespeare's approach to tragedy builds upon the formula of the ancient Greeks.  In his "Romeo and Juliet", he makes extreme reference to the notion of "fate" in the characters' talk of stars and premonitions of death; yet he leads the reader to a point overlooking the text in which that reader may see where fate and coincidence have meaning only in the perceptions of the characters, and it is the individual choices and the personality flaws of the characters that shape the tragedy, not any exterior or irresistable force.  He emphasizes this idea in Hamlet, as readers watch the prince move from indecision to indecision, constantly in motion but never affecting change. Hamlet's tragedy is that he, very literally, cannot lay his father's ghost to rest and deal with circumstances as they present themselves.  He cannot act--he remains a frozen creature, dead before ever living, and completely ineffectual in death. 

            Yet, as in Oedipus, a hope, a vital lesson, and an admonition reveals itself at the end of the play.  Over a decade ago, in the film "Rennaisance Man", a character observed of Shakespeare's "Hamlet": "[. . .]when everyone is dead, the only two left are the scholar and the soldier."  Horatio says to Fortinbras, "Let this same be presently perform'd/ [. . .]lest more mischance/ on plots and errors happen" (Hamlet 5:2:375-77).  The scholar and the soldier, two archetypes that will shape the world now that the king and prince are dead, agree to act upon events rather than spend time in idle vacillation.  Shakespeare unites education with decisiveness, pointing the way towards hope, the road out of tragedy.

            The difference between the genres of comedy and tragedy seems to reside solely in the ending.  Tragedy moves a contrived character through a contrived set of circumstances that resolve in the death or fall of the main character.  Comedy, on the other hand, is generally perceived to end happily, although the character's journey to that happy ending may be very similar to the tragic character's own tale.  But does comedy always end happily?  Or is comedy just another aspect of tragedy in which the characters, and, indeed, the author, are whistling in the dark, so to speak?  Are comedies and tragedies defined merely by their happy and unhappy endings, or are these two forms merely two sides of the same coin?

            In Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream", the plight of the various characters and their problems are concealed behind a screen of hilarity involving mistaken identities and ridiculous actions and speeches.  Shakespeare's enchanted forest is a maelstrom of mishap, and the readers laugh, and the characters remain unaware of the hilarity of their situation.  Yet, at the end, when the marriage rites are performed and it seems that all is set right, Shakespeare still leaves the perceptive reader with a sense of unease, even as Titiana's blessing showers over the characters.  How happy can Helena and Demitrius be in a bespelled love?  How deep is Lysander's love for Hermia, really, when readers remember how reluctantly he moved himself away from Hermia on that fateful night or how these two lovers always seemed to talk without really ever hearing one another.  Will they be happy?  As in fairy tales, where no one questions what life is like for Cinderella after she finds her prince,  "A Midsummer Night's Dream" ends with only apparent resolution, yet it still draws the reader to ask questions about the nature of love and its vagaries, and about the characters themselves.  When studied apart from the veil of humor, the flaws of Shakespeare's characters in this play are just as tragic as those in "Oedipus" or "Hamlet", yet without the recognition of those flaws in the end.  Comedy asks its readers to think deeply about a life without consequences and without true resolution.  In this sense, comedy is just as strong as tragedy as it relays its message to the reader.

            A further illustration of this phenomenon may be gained by examining one of the lesser-known Shakespearean "comedies", entitled "Measure For Measure".  Isobel, the young, caustic heroine reveals her desire to become a nun.  Readers are aware that she does not wish to marry.  At the end of the play, the Duke not only commands a terrible, punishing marriage for Angelo but commands his own marriage to Isobel, the self-proclaimed celibate, as well.  Is this happy?  Certainly, the comedy ends neatly in marriages, but the readers are left in darkness without a light or hope, to contemplate the unseen consequences of the outcome.  Along the same lines, the romance of Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott ends in the marriage of the hero Ivanhoe to the insipid and lifeless Rowena, and the true heroine, the vibrant Rebecca, is left behind.  Is this happy? Is it any less tragic than Hamlet or Oedipus? Does it teach readers less about human nature?

            The final conclusion is not that tragedy is the greatest of all genres, but that works in and of themselves can be great.  The illusion of genre may blind readers to the greatness of a work.  Genre sets a framework of expectations in place and may cause readers to take one work less seriously than another due to the set pattern of definitions.  The great truths of literature are not revealed through "genre" but through the message of the author and how well he or she uses form--whether it be comedic, tragic, romantic, or satirical--to achieve the passing of that message from author to reader, distilled through the language of a text. [BLM]