When I read Hannah W Foster’s The Coquette, my first impression of Eliza Wharton was that she’s a spoiled brat, a petulant child.  I formed this opinion within three sentences, and my opinion of her has yet to improve.  She has everything she could possibly want, is “the darling child of an indulgent…mother,” and yet she is not happy (Foster 5). She reminds me of celebrity princesses like Miley Cyrus, Paris Hilton, and Lindsay Lohan.  They have wealth and fame and could amazing things with the power that comes with it, but they don’t. They get drunk and high and arrested.  Similarly, Eliza could marry Boyer and, as a preacher’s wife, do a great deal of good in their community. But such a complacent life was not good enough for her, and she sought excitement, much as the celeb princesses seek drugs, which ultimately leads to all of their ruins.

In class we discussed “writing in a corset.” I found it amusing to write backhanded comments, but difficult to find the style necessary.  Eventually, I wrote the following snippet of letter:

My Dearest Friend,

            I hope this letter finds you well.  I have been much distressed by your recent silence.  I have worried that some ill had befallen you or that I had offended you in some way…

I have found one way to translate the phrases. Can you find any others I may have missed?

·         My Dearest Friend,  Remember that bit where we’re close? And how we talk all the time? Apparently not.

·         I hope this letter finds you well…  Or not.

·         I have been much distressed by your recent silence…  Thanks for keeping in touch, bitch.

·         I have worried that some ill had befallen you… That’s the only excuse I’m accepting for ignoring me.

·         …I had offended you in some way…  Taking the blame myself drops an elephant full of guilt on you.  I’ll enjoy your profuse up-sucking in your next letter.

Much as I enjoy the layers of meaning which appear in this style of writing, I do not think I could use it with any regularity.  I think it would be exhausting to always have to carefully choose your every word to glean the most meaning from it.  And as someone mentioned in class, this kind of writing can really mess with your mind.  The tone and the words are sweet and polite, but somehow it seems quite nasty despite all that…so what is this person actually trying to say? Are they being nice? Nasty? Am I looking too far into this?  Besides, I am too frank to maintain this kind of communication for long.  If I do not like somebody, I will let him or her know—unless, of course, the person is a professor or potential employer or somesuch, and then I do not show it at all; it is not worth the risk of him or her seeing through the backhanded comments.  Someone mentioned in class that she would find it cathartic to be able to insult somebody in such a silent way.  I do not agree. I would find it too restrictive. For me, the catharsis comes in the shouting and blunt knowledge of displeasure, not in hidden bitchiness.

When we watched Wrestling with Manhood in class, the only thing I could think was “This makes me sick.”  Well, that and “no way are her boobs actually that big,”  But mostly it was “This makes me sick.”  I felt a plethora of negative emotions throughout the film, including disgust, disbelief, horror, and sadness.  I could not believe that someone would be idiotic enough to try these stunts on their own.  These so-called “wrestlers” are little more than stuntmen.  Would the boys jumping off of roofs onto their friends try reenact the action scenes in movies?  I would hope not.  One of the boys described jumping out of a tree onto another boy. He “nearly broke the kid’s back. It was all worth it, though, got it on film and everything.” Would it have all been worth it if he had broken the kid’s back? If the kid had died? If he had been forced to pay the boy’s medical bills? If he were arrested on charges of homicide?  I am not sure which situation would be more terrifying: if he never even considered these possibilities (I’m just going to do this incredibly idiotic act, but it’ll be fine. You won’t get hurt, and I won’t get in trouble.) or if it would have still been worth it.  As I watched some of the stunts that the WWE considered good entertainment,  I declared these people, these acts, these ideas in my notes to be “too dangerous for words.”  I suspect, though, that Díaz del Castillo would praise them, saying “what men in all the world have shown such daring?” (Díaz del Castillo 70)  I cannot imagine a society in which such cruel insanity could exist, and yet, by some terrible miracle, it has.