Flea in the Mask: Performance as Self Destructive within Practice

In Junot Diaz's "Drown" performance of masculinity is shown as a self destructive as a practice, as particularly illustrated in the short story "No Face". The character Ysrael through his two appearances in the book is highly symbolized through his physical appearance and actions. His character trait of a masked, disfigured face, and obsession with masked wrestling in itself illustrates a great deal.

The character's focus on masked wrestling both as a cultural hyper masculine sport and performance art illustrate the gender theory proposed by post-structuralist Judith Butler of gender as a result of collective performance rather than a result of physiological tendencies. Butler’s model explains performance as the existent and perpetuated series of acts that have come to support what the culture has, through it’s own practice, come to identify as the idea of masculine or feminine. That is to say the culture has come to associate acts, which in themselves would be gender neutral, as part of a specific gender identity solely because of the continued project of those acts upon that gender identity and the resulting submission of individuals to performing said acts.

Self created identifiers such as gender serve the purpose of a cultural language; same as language, created for ease of communication and to allow or better discussion a previous lexical gap had left- in the cases of identifiers we add to the cultural language in order to map out an increasingly complex world. When an individual's acts are deemed inappropriate in relation to the identifier by society the individual becomes ostracized from society, deemed as an ‘other’. It’s in this fear of ostracization that Ysrael wears a mask, his deformation separating him in physically appearance from being relatable with the rest of his village. Ysrael is regularly referred to as No Face, or Monster; by being unable to physically perform as “normal” person, and is dissociated by almost the entirety of his village. To mask his difference he strives to take on the identifier of wrestler and even hero to a sense, both powerplays that are attributed to hyper masculine traits, masked wrestling and fighting evil are “manly” acts.

It should be mentioned that Ysrael’s fantasy as Wrestler and super hero is not negative and does not promote violence. In his book on child development and make-believe, Killing Monsters, Gerard Jones explains how children are both able to distinguish and rely on make believe violence as part of their development. While the world is violent and readily opposed to Ysreal and his differences, Ysreal is shown combating that in a peaceful manner. Instead of running into fights with his strength, he runs away, he does just enough to get away. When confronted with violence or feeling threatened we see him revert to this make-believe hero persona. The heroes in his comics, the wrestlers he looks up to, he knows they are fake; but as play they allow him a safe place to deal with and confront feelings of adversity because of his difference while adhering to -and again giving him solitude from- the expected performance.

This is important to note to fully grasp the significance of Jonet’s Mask as metaphor, in the final section of the short story No Face. It isn’t the mask, the masculine persona, Ysreal hides behind that is damaging, it is the fleas, the parasitic tendencies within hiding yourself and constantly performing that Ysreal loses himself. What society deems "masculine" while within itself isn't harmful the unrealistic expectations and pressure to perform; specifically in submitting to pursuing a social mirage, lead to self destructive patterns. 

Works Cited

Gerard, Jones. Killing Monsters: Why Children Need Fantasy, Super Heroes, And Make-Believe Violence. New York: Basic Books, 2002. Print

Diaz, Junot. Drown. New York: Penguin Group, 1996. Print.

Butler, Judith. “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory.” Theater Journal, Vol. 40, No. 4 (Dec., 1988), pp. 519-531. Web

Things He Do.

Things He Do

My lord this is going to be fun. So this summer is opening up a ton of projects for me, all of which I am super excited about. More frequent blogging plus I'm going to look at finally using that youtube channel... for things besides music and cat videos. I'll be uploading things -raises eyebrow- yeah, be impressed. A thin white pasty American young adult uploading opinion videos about geeky things from his parent's basement, breaking all kinds of social norms!

I'm expecting a million views within the first hour or so.

Anywho, my plans are a sort of commentary walk-through, slash reviews. A video format of the [E]pisodes I write on my game blog (ComplexToy)... And a cooking show. Friend of mine and I are going to talk delicious food and how easy it is to make. 

I will be continuing my work with KineCritical while over the summer and hopefully with school gone now be able to put out a bunch more full-scale reviews and articles. Encase you are interested this is what I've written on so far- The Grifters, I'm a Cyborg But That's Okay, Butter, Batman: Year One, God Bless America, V For Vendetta , The Adams Family Values, Spirited Away, Warriors of the Rainbow: Seediq Bale International Cut, A Clockwork Orange, Metropolis, The Powerpuff Girls Movie, and Game Movies. From here on as these go up on the KineCritical blog and the facebook page they will also go up (via links) here. Both for better organization and so that while I'm not able to bring out stuff on comics, books, or whatever I will still have some activity on topic to show for it.

I'd like to start writing on tv and webs series as well as the standard fare of films. And lord knows I have plenty to write on internet comics ^^.  

creepy hotel plot assignment

Steve Bullin

3/13/13 Vopat

Fiction Writing

Plot Exercise

A Model House

            Veronica was chilled to the bone and anxious. Her car wasn’t starting and the weather she was caught in wasn’t getting any better. The rain bounced off the cobble path as Veronica ran up the lawn to the shelter of the front porch. Her car had the decency to leave her within running distance of some off-the-track bed and breakfast. Her hurried knocks on the door echoed unanswered. Studying the place Veronica figured anyone staying here was up in years and would probably be a while responding. There was the frame of an old dog house out on the lawn, siding painted to match the house, the dog dish left unattended was rusting and old, dead leaves beginning to pile inside the vacant home. The whitewash was chipping from the shutters that sealed out the windows and the structure seemed to creak like old wood in the wind of the storm, the rain was coming in sideways. The rain drops weren’t as noticeable as they were wet and cold. Veronica folded her arms close and leaned closer to the house to try and fend off her back getting soaked in the storm. Last thing she needed was to get sick before the next board meeting. The creak of the door startled Veronica. A small woman peering behind thick distorting spectacles craned up at her.

“Wicked conditions outside, where on earth did you come from poor thing?”

“My car stopped a little ways from your front gate, and I can’t get it to turn over. This is a bed and breakfast right? I have cash.” Veronica reached for her wallet to show her good intent. The old woman’s hand stopped her, leading her into the orange light of the house.

“No need to talk about that now. Goodness me, come in before you catch your death of cold.” When Veronica passed into the front hall she was taken aback by the silence in the house. The blue light of the storm was a vanishing shape cast on the rug beneath her feet until it was gone, the old door silently closed behind her, all sounds of the storm cast out.

The old lady pealed Veronica’s coat off her shoulders from behind, placing it on a coat hook with a number of other dusty coats the lady opened a nearby closet for her guest.

“These are for your shoes, place them on that thick rug there to dry. We’ll get you in the sitting room to warm up a bit before dinner.” While her eyes were adjusting to the light the house was warm and a welcome change to the outside. Veronica’s hostess went elsewhere to prepare dinner or the fire presumably while Veronica removed her damp shoes to rest beside the others. Warm air blew through the vents warming the hardwood flooring and soft rugs underneath her feet. The front hall lead to a few separate halls and rooms, leaving little indication to where her hostess went, Veronica called out into the house.

“You have a lovely home Miss..”

“-It’s Miss Dylis, dearie.” Miss Dylis’s voice drifted in from the left hall. Veronica stepped off the rug venturing forward to gain a view through the doorway. The cramped hallway opened up into a large sitting room. Couches covered with afghans fitted into the walls, surrounded by bookshelves and china cupboards stocked with small glass figurines. There were two old dusty lamps perched on top intricately embroidered doilies positioned on end tables to lighten the room, you could make out one large table silhouetted in the one dark corner of the room with various things perched on it, but the center piece was the fireplace, two lounge chairs were set close by with a small tv tray between the two.  Miss Dylis held a tray with two steaming coffee cups set neatly on their individual saucers.

“But please dearie, feel free to call me Vivie. Would you like a cup?” Old Miss Dylis seemed to wait on her guest’s answer. Veronica smiled politely.

“I’d love one.” That seemed to cheer up Miss Dylis plenty. Veronica wondered how often the old woman got company way out here. The house seemed deserted. Veronica settled down into the warm lounge chair and thankfully accepted her cup of coffee, two sugars one creamer. Miss Dylis took her seat across from Veronica and sat, enjoying the warmth of the saucer on her lap as she watched the fire. The orange flame casting a yellow flicker across her dense glasses. Veronica tried not to chuckle at how large the glasses made Miss Dylis’s pupils look. She seemed like such a sweet little woman.

“My name’s Veronica.” Vivie seemed woken up from a trance.

“-I’m sorry dear?” The old woman cocked her head to hear.

“My name, it’s Veronica.”

“Oh, what a pretty name dear. You’re a lucky one you are. Our names have bits of magic in them my mother always said.” Veronica chuckled, enjoying the pleasantness of the setting and her warm beverage Veronica was in better mood.

“Well I might have lost mine, I mostly go by Vera these days. There are two other Veronicas in my building at work. I like Veronica, but it just makes things simpler.” Turning back to her host Miss Dylis looked terribly sad suddenly. Her old leather face turned from that pleasant greeting into a startling frown, emphasized by her bug like spectacles.

“How terribly sad dearie, to lose your name for such rubbish.” Miss Dylis’s hands were cupped around her small mug, she leaned straight back in her chair watching Veronica.

“It’s not all that bad Miss Dylis, I’m looking at getting a different job soon, I can take back Veronica easily enough. They haven’t stolen it from me or anything.” Veronica tried to make light of it but her hostess still seem upset.

“Vivie. Would you mind telling me what’s over on that table? In the corner…” Miss Dylis’s silly bug eyes smiled as she stood up and scooted over to the table in the dark corner. Veronica simply sat and watched, relived she hadn’t somehow ruined her pleasant relations with the mostly sweet Miss Dylis.

Her hostess reached around the bottom of the table and flicked a small switch, small white Christmas lights flickered to life casting light on the miniature town that was spread out before them on the table. Like a small train town everything was miniature to a set scale and from Veronica’s spot she could make out a small town with little hills and trees populated with small glass figurine people milling about in the town center. Most everything was set in an early fifties, late forties vibe. Miss Dylis beamed proudly at her work.

“Here’s my town. Or at least this is what it looked like when I was a girl. But you know how time goes, people change, people leave. Here’s where we are.” Vivie pointed to a small cottage on a hill, which Veronica couldn’t deny looked very much like Miss Dylis’s home, little less run-down, but perfectly to scale. Veronica made to stand up from her chair but couldn’t. Her body was completely asleep, her legs like stone. Veronica willed herself to wake up to no avail.

Miss Dylis scooted over and kneeled in front of Veronica removing her thick glasses. From the corner of her eye Veronica spotted a small black model car set a ways from the front gate of the little model cottage. She was panicking, her body was still not responding but it was Vivie’s eyes that made her panic. Underneath the thick distorting glasses Miss Dylis’s eyes were small, they were so small. Like little beads or toy glass eyes peering out from the rough old skin that covered her sunken eye sockets. Those beady little glass eyes flickered with the light from the fire place.

“No worries dearie, I’ll take care of you.”