The history of literature is undoubtedly a cycle of repetition. It is the nature of the mind to return to topics of perpetual interest and exorcise the eternal concerns of the human condition through artistic work. The subjects upon which creative invention is based have remained constant through the evolution of temporal change. As a result, the compositions of the giants of the profession imitate each other in subject matter and tone. Modern society's penchant for precise categorization has produced eras in which literary legacies are mapped. These movements include affiliations of authors known for their similarity. But, as the works of Romantic scribes Jane Austen, William Blake, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge show, there is great variety even among these families. All three writers explored innocence throughout their careers, and each of the resulting works displays both a striking association with their contemporaries and a distinctive individuality. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay With a fascinating wit, Jane Austen's novels carefully examine the rigid culture of England in the early 19th century. The books shine in their realism, the humanly flawed protagonists crafted in elegant prose. Northanger Abbey is the oldest testimony to Austen's genius, an entertaining freshman work that blends humor and sagacity. Tracing the maturation of a young woman over the course of a holiday season, 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 realities of society for the first time. Catherine Moreland, the reader is informed, is completely normal in every respect, except for her unpleasant propensity for reading Gothic literature. The action is dotted with ironic comments that refer to the conventions of this type of writing. The talent for reading texts, however, is only a metaphor for the ability to read people. Both are skills acquired through experience, and it is the acquisition of skills that will define Catherine's tenure in Bath and the titular estate. As she sets out first in the second chapter, the young woman is the epitome of the neophyte: her heart was warm, her character cheerful and open, without presumption or affectation of any kind; his manners were scarcely removed from the awkwardness and shyness of a girl; His person was pleasant and, when he was good-looking, pretty; and her mind is as ignorant and uninformed as a woman's mind usually is at seventeen. This unfamiliarity with the harshness of nature is demonstrated by an unabashed enthusiasm for the basic goodness of others. Resists change, admitting negativity and flaws only after catalysts. Indeed, Miss Moreland's extreme beliefs regarding the virtuousness of her relationships border on parody. He agonizes over his brother and the Thorpes' youthful tantrums when he is unable to go on a weekend trip due to prior arrangements. She is so unsure of the correctness of her decision that she needs Mr. Allen's moral support. Likewise, he finds 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 plot, Catherine persists in her fantasies of murder and suspense until she has offended the object of her affection. The heroine stubbornly preserveshis ideals, reluctant to consider realities other than those he perceives. However, the sum of the climactic moments in the later part of the book proves enough to change the girl's appearance. Once she becomes aware of the truths of the people she has spent the last few months with and masters the art of intuition, she is improved by her knowledge of humanity's cynical potential. The story ends optimistically, but harsh judgments are made towards those who contributed to the progress on which the story is based. Isabella, no longer the enchanting and vivid personality of previous chapters, is degraded to a pejorative: "He was ashamed of Isabella, and ashamed that he had ever loved her." Catherine formulates a similar opinion of the Tilney patriarch: "In suspecting General Tilney of having killed or silenced his wife, she had scarcely sinned against his character, nor amplified his cruelty." Although she retains the attractive kindness of her adolescence, the adult Catherine is well prepared for life's injustices with the ability to see things perfectly. A product of Austen's typical structure, Northanger Abbey stands out from contemporary works by the verve of its satire and the hopeful conclusion to which it directs its audience. It is the most individual of the three works, although it keenly observes the dangers of innocence and inexperience in much the same way as William Blake's poetry. During his lifetime, William Blake's humility stemmed primarily from his moderate success as a painter. He is the forgotten member of a beloved sextet in modern years. Despite the impact of his contributions to literature, Blake's specter earns respect but not affection, the unexceptional milestones of his biography pale in comparison to the vibrant legends of his five contemporaries. As the first Romantic, the poet endured the limitations of circumstance, contenting himself with private whiteness as violent change engulfed the kingdom of the British Isles. He was the oldest member of a movement associated with the youth and boasts none of the marketable charms of his brotherhood: Byron's great drama; Shelley's Fiery Rebellion; the rich tragedy of Keats; Coleridge's vague scandal; or even Wordsworth's inexplicable dissipation. His words are isolated, detached from all myths except those they describe. Indeed, the typical complaint against Blake concerns the intimidating complexity of his personalized epics, which require stories that reward only the diligent, as The Book of Thel demonstrates. An unusual parable, Thel has been interpreted as representing the laborious progression from imagination to invention, as an abstraction of Christian dogma, and as a commentary on the political upheaval that befell England during the collapse of the Stuart dynasty. While the diversity of these hypotheses is intriguing, the text becomes, under careful scrutiny, a bold and original study of the relationship between sex and religion. The poem recounts the attempt of an eponymous heroine (whose name specifically derives from the Latin root of "will") to satisfy her curiosity about woman's identity in an ephemeral environment. The search begins in a real Eden, in the picturesque landscapes of pre-existence. The reader learns that Thel is one of the "daughters of Mne Seraphim." Unlike her blessed sisters, "the younger one sought the secret air in her pallor." Thel's pale character is not surprising. As a function of allegory, it is symbolic of common human experience. Adolescence is often a time of hyperbole, of exaggeratedly theatrical emotions. The first soliloquy that Thel utters is a masterpiece of melodrama: O life of this spring of ours! because the lotus witherssome water? Why do these children of spring wither? born but to smile and fall.Ah! It is like a watery arch, and like a cloud that opens, like a reflection in a glass. Like shadows in the water. Like children's dreams. like a smile on the face of a child, like the voice of doves, like a transitory day, like music in the air; Ah! softly, I can lie down and rest my head softly. In this grandeur of her melancholy, she recalls the stereotype of the adolescent who abandons herself to her sorrows in The Collected Works of Sylvia Plath. Plate I, however, does much more than solidify the representational nature of the background and characters. The transience of the idyllic meadows that precede birth is emphasized, since the irreparable joy of childhood has already been lost. They will be tormented by questions until they have an answer. Ignorance, once lost, cannot be recovered. The opening section also introduces Lilly of the Valley, one of three entities Thel will converse with in her search for the truth. In the interview, the angelic young man is not convinced by the flower's arguments. Lilly responds to the aforementioned wonders of the protagonist, enjoying the responsibility given to her by God. The flower has a fragile composition, alluding to the traditional view of woman as a physically tiny Eve, the cause of original sin. A skeptical Thel proceeds towards the Cloud. In a speech identical to Lilly's, the Cloud conveys the glory of his surrender to the environment. The self-denial of which it is a part also involves marriage with the dew. In his body the "light-eyed" substance evaporates, consumed until it is released by rain. Thel maintains contempt for the cycle of life, rejecting a fate of servitude only to be reciprocated with a grave full of worms. La Nuvola does not hesitate to respond. In a decidedly condescending tone, he echoes Lilly, underlining the gratitude with which Thel should carry out the task entrusted to her: So if you are the food of worms. O virgin of heaven, how great is your use, how great is your blessing; all that lives does not live alone, nor for itself: do not fear and I will call the weak to work from his humble bed, and you will hear his voice. The degradation of femininity is further illustrated by the contrast between the celestial maiden and the subterranean worm, obviously the embodiment of the connection between nature and death, but also a connotation of the phallus. The previously apprehensive Thel is unable to contain her disbelief when presented with the image of the insect: "Are you a worm? Picture of weakness. Are you just a worm?" Amazed by the creature's harmlessness, the heroine reacts with maternal instinct. What was terrifying in theory turns out to simply need security. Motherhood requires loving trust, a quality that is exemplified in the Sod. Clay accepts the task of raising the earthworm even if it means its own destruction. She is faithful to her Creator, obsequious and dependent. His dark breast reflects the end that will lead to successful fertility, but indicates once again the esteem in which he should hold such magnanimous deeds. In this vision of perfection, mediation in the union of the sexes is impossible. One (ideally the woman) must give herself completely to the other (ideally the man) for the sustenance of balance and harmony. The female however does not die in this submission, as she fulfills her purpose and never truly dies. Humanity perpetuates itself, the globe continues to turn, all thanks to the right balance of society. Plate 6 extends this theory, offering a portrait of a lawless abyss in which the battle between male and female threatens to tear the cosmos apart. Thel's entry into the fossa is anatomically impossible, since the insertionof a cylindrical shape in a circular void reflects the physics of the relationship. Since he uses the female Clod to his advantage, it can be inferred that he has undergone gender alteration and sees the damnation of sexual conflicts with a male psyche. Women, manipulative and worldly, brandish the weapons of "the poison of a smile", "an eye of gifts and graces, showing fruits and minted gold", "a tongue impressed with honey". Faced with the consequences of her desires, Thel seemingly submits to the status quo, returning to the docility of the unborn. The reality, however, is that she is alone, a solitary prophet in a tainted existence. She is separated from her knowledge, and it is consequently unreasonable to think of her conforming to the restrictions of an unattainable garden. With "Christabel," an ambitious experiment in form and expression, Samuel Taylor Coleridge presents a vision remarkably similar to Blake's. For the rest, peers are a dichotomy of characteristics. Critical praise is scarcest for Coleridge among the six major British Romantic poets, but his position in the sphere of public recognition is secure, largely due to the accessibility of his inimitable style and the appeal of an equally distinctive memory. 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 supernatural-themed song sequence. On the surface, the stanzas comprise a technically conventional, if slightly bizarre, fairy tale, whose occasional strangeness can be attributed to its author's debilitating maturity. Countless readers have denounced the poem as incomprehensible, but the ornate façade of the work contains a more intricate exploration of spirituality than any yet attempted. The immersion in the ethereality of Part I is immediate. From the first mention of her name, the titular girl is already halfway through the only corporeal journey of which the text will provide a primary account. The two verses preceding this figure are entirely dedicated to achieving proximity. Distance from ongoing events is impossible, and the reader walks alongside the heroine on her nightly walk. We identify with her and fear for her safety. That the young woman is almost totally one-dimensional is not a problem since the details are irrelevant in the dream world of the page. Absent from this fascinating region are the systematized oppositions of the human realm, the oscillation between one end and the other through which contradictions form. All creation hovers in perpetual transition. “Is the night cold and dark?” the narrator asks. The answer is: "the night is cold but not dark", which the following lines elaborate on in the same indirect way. The moon is full but hidden by a gray cloud, obscured by a compromise between luminescence and darkness. The weather is also treated this way, as it is said that "it is a month before the month of May, / and spring comes slowly that way." April is an appropriate setting as the central month of the season where life meets death, persistent frosts delaying the summer heat of May. The population of this idyllic setting provides further testimony to Coleridge's faithfulness to the fairy tale format. The parallels between Christabel and the girls of other stories are numerous and unmistakable. She is basically isolated, her mother is dead, her father is unhelpful, and her lover is distant. Personal facts are held in the tradition of the generic protagonist, whose importance is the effect of a symbolic function. Like the allegorical Thel, the damsel represents something greater than herself. The reason is not mentioned; rather, it is the audience that colors thestrains of the inhabitants of the hypothetical forest. Although the witnesses to Christabel's adventure in the forest are explicitly informed of the dreams she has been having lately, they are the ones who derive suffering from her actions. The fascinating reality into which one is led goes beyond the normality of ordinary earth. Communion with heaven, however, is fleeting, and it is with the knowledge that it cannot last, that one arrives at the most enigmatic figure of a disconcerting and innovative effort. Geraldine has baffled generations of analysts, whose consensus has unfortunately been to cast her in an unflattering light. The least challenging approach to the puzzle is to condemn the fair lady as the epitome of evil in a tale of the Fall, but she is, in fact, the antithesis of this, a personification of the kind of benevolence that is neither regular nor pleasant but necessary. Just the risk of this interpretation shows that the ballad-like narrative is the piercing, bittersweet statement that it is. The character's sudden appearance is alarming, an unexpected event that disturbs the engrossed reader. The narrator suggests that the severity of the impending circumstances will require divine intervention with his appeal to the Christian deities ("Jesus, Mary, protect her well!"). The implications of Geraldine's presence in the wilderness offer a multitude of sinister possibilities. However, Christabel herself is in the dark forest, and it is inconsistent to allow a practice to one person and deem it suspicious to another. The prevailing school of thought discerns in the exclamation to Mary ("Mother Mary, save me now!") the automatic reflection of goodness in the face of sin, but if the heroine invokes the protection of the Virgin because she recognizes moral depravity in the appearance of beauty superficial, his subsequent behavior is completely implausible. The fact that Christabel entertains the stranger's story about marauding criminals and aids her in her 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 founded, as the pristine purity of youth is often represented as naivety in fictions of the sort the fragment aspires to be. The oath is an affirmation of faith addressed to an angelic face. Dressed in "a white silk robe," with "gems entangled in her hair," the radiant Geraldine is an image of the Madonna crowded into a blessed sanctuary. Demons are capable of assuming pleasing forms, but Orthodox doctrine holds that devils do not operate in sanctuaries. Lucifer may tempt the vulnerable away from the path of righteousness, but he cannot invade the sanctity of the altars. Some believe that Geraldine's difficulty crossing the threshold of the castle is an enforcement of this law, but there is no evidence to counter her claims of traumatic abduction. The abduction, it later turns out, is probably metaphorical, but the displaced woman actually suffered the hardships of an inconceivably harrowing journey. The role she embodies remains uncertain, but like all other elements of the work, the solution is visible in the costumes of the fairy tale, the framework of which invariably involves an arduous search. Obstacles delay the achievement of a goal, but are eventually overcome with providential help. Although Christabel's task has yet to be revealed, Geraldine, an otherworldly being, appears to be a beneficial helper. The scene in which the girls prepare to rest seems to diminish this, and the ambiguity of the mysterious refugee is only intensified by the androgyny that characterizes her relationship with the protagonist. Because Geraldine is effectively a stand-in for the distant knight, controlling the interaction from start to finish. When the couple doeswithdraws, it is she who holds her partner in her arms, as a mother would with a child, but also as a lover would with his mistress. However, the masculinity that permeates the marriage does not dominate either party. Geraldine is definitely a woman, Christabel is even more so, but the latter shows typically male aggression by asking the former to share her bed. In both cases, gender is stripped of meaning, and the conclusion of Part I is relevant to every individual, since sexual awakening is simply a metaphor for the acquisition of knowledge. The pervasiveness of the information imparted to Christabel through the encounter is revealed in the images that begin the second half of the poem. The world he awakens to is a desolate wasteland of death: Every morning bell, says the Baron, brings us back to a world of death. These words first spoke Sir Leoline, When he arose and found his lady dead; These words Sir Leoline will sayMany one morning until the day of his death! And hence the custom and the law began That yet at dawn the sexton, who duly rings the heavy bell, forty-five grains must say Between each peal a peal of warning, which no soul can choose but hear From Bratha Head to Wyndemere . The painful sounds remind the reluctant listener with each chime of the inevitable fate that generalizes human experience. The delicate paradise of the previous night is shattered with the specification of the towns: "Langdale Pike and Witche's Lair, / And Dungeon-ghyll so disgustingly rented." The extravagant pretensions of the names only amplify the imperfection so evident in the morning's austerity. Slowly, the undeniable fact of mortality emerges in an unyielding, merciless and permanent way. Amid the banality of this mundane existence, Geraldine's function is illuminated. With a glittering patina, the beauty is truly "a lady from the far country". She is a messenger from God, sent to offer the favored Christabel a glimpse of paradise. Geraldine is not ironic when she tells her charge of the esteem in which she is held by the celestial forces: All who live in the highest heaven, love you, holy Christabel! And you love them, and for their good, and for the good. for me, which has happened, I too in my rank will try, beautiful girl, to repay you well. The inhabitant of utopia harbors no malicious intentions, but must complete the mission assigned to her. The homosexual nature of the exchange is called for thematically, because it is the truth of humanity, and therefore self-knowledge, that Geraldine seeks to communicate to her student. Christabel has earned the goodwill of the higher spirits and will be rewarded with the realization of glory to which humanity can return. The caveat, of course, is that even the innocent will know of the current corruption in which the earth languishes. Geraldine's mark of shame and seal of sorrow symbolize this mortality of the fallen civilization. And it is one of the first conclusions Christabel reaches: "Of course I have sinned!" Christabel said. It is from this disillusionment that the biological mother struggles to protect her daughter. From the point of view of the fairy tale, the ghost is the "good" mother who only protects her offspring. Yet a parent must sometimes betray a child's trust in his or her best interests, for the things that fall to young people are not always pleasant things. The "evil stepmother" certainly wishes no harm to Christabel, and it is with a concerted effort that she prepares to bear the burden: Yet Geraldine neither speaks nor moves; Ah! What a distressed look he had! Deep down, it seems halfway to lifting some weight with a sick test. Geraldine understands that the benefits of the epiphany outweigh the potential disadvantages. Tragically, however,.