Jane Austen PowerPoint

Multiple Choice Practice Questions

Duffy's Queen Kong in Comparison to Austen's Emma

Sometimes, a woman will do anything for love. Make sacrifices to be with her lover, travel far to see him, and in some peculiar cases, wear his corpse around her neck in order to be close to him even in death. In Carol Ann Duffy’s Queen Kong, the narrator of the piece exhibits the power of loneliness, and what it can do to someone’s sanity. This parallels Jane Austen’s Emma regarding the urgency in both poem and novel for women to wed and be with a man, versus living a life of independence, which to them means solitude and loneliness. Queen Kong depicts the story of King Kong, only through the perspective of a female gorilla that falls in love with one of the men that is exploring her natural habitat. For her, “it was absolutely love at first sight” (Duffy). The Queen had been all alone for much too long, and she desperately craved the affection of a man. When her lover leaves her to go back to New York City, she becomes even more obsessed with the idea of a man and marriage, and goes to insane measures to feel close to him such as “[drinking]/ handfuls of river right by the spot where he’d bathed” (Duffy). In the end, the Queen gives up the chance to live a life of independence and follows him to New York, tracking him down and staying with him until the day he dies. Even after his death, she holds onto him by “wear[ing] him now around [her] neck,/perfect, preserved, with tiny emeralds for eyes. No man/has been loved more” (Duffy). The rash way that Queen Kong behaves is very similar to the women of Jane Austen’ s Emma. Emma and the women she surrounds herself with are after one thing in life; to escape loneliness and be wed to a man that will protect them and keep them company. The only thing that they are taught from a very young age is that they must marry, specifically into a high class family of either similar or better rank than their own families. They know no other life than the one where they are wed into another family, and have a man by their side constantly. The very thought of ending up an old maid leads them to desperately seek a husband, looking for a groom before they look for love, and tricking themselves into falling for the first high class, worthy suitor that comes their way. Similar to the ladies of the novel, the Queen is distraught at the idea of being without a man in her life, and when he leaves she “thumped at [her] breast, distraught I lasted a month. I slept for a week, then woke to binge for a fortnight” (Duffy). Queen Kong cannot picture her life without a man, who she sees as ever powerful and superior. The women in Emma act in a similar, yet more civilized way about the matter. They crave the stability of a man in their lives, and they do not seem to dream or desire of anything more than being settled down into a marriage and starting a family. This complete lack of thought about an independent lifestyle is similar to the way Queen Kong sees living without her lover, stating that “[she] had been so lonely” and that “no man has been loved more” regarding her affection and devotion to him (Duffy). Although Emma herself does not seem to want to marry at the beginning of the novel, it all changes as the novel unravels. The fact that the singular woman who seemed as if she could make it on her own without a husband eventually crumbles to what society wants of her says something for the values of the women and society during the beginning of the 20th century.

Analyzing Duffy's Queen Kong

In “Queen Kong” by Carol Ann Duffy, the role of King Kong is replaced by a woman narrator, who falls for one of the men that is exploring her native habitat. The poem is heavily sexualized as she comes to realize very quickly on that “it was absolutely love at first sight” (Duffy). She goes on to praise her lover, claiming that not only was he gorgeous but that she “swore in [her] huge heart to follow him then to the ends of the Earth” (Duffy). Queen Kong becomes obsessed with the thought of the man, “[drinking] handfuls of river right by the spot where he’d bathed” when he is no longer on the island (Duffy). The narrator of the poem is bent on being with her lover, so she decides to go searching for him when he leaves her, and winds up in New York City. At the very end of the poem, the lover dies, and Queen Kong wears him around her as a necklace, claiming that “in his silent Death, against [her] massive breathing lungs, he hears [her] roar” (Duffy). Queen Kong acts more drastically, yet eerily similar to the women in Jane Austen’s Emma. Similar to the ladies of the novel, the Queen is distraught at the idea of being without a man in her life, and when he leaves she “thumped at [her] breast, distraught I lasted a month. I slept for a week, then woke to binge for a fortnight” (Duffy). Queen Kong cannot picture her life without a man, who she sees as ever powerful and superior. The women in Emma act in a similar, yet more civilized way about the matter. They crave the stability of a man in their lives, and they do not seem to dream or desire of anything more than being settled down into a marriage and starting a family. This complete lack of thought about an independent lifestyle is similar to the way Queen Kong sees living without her lover, stating that “[she] had been so lonely” and that “no man has been loved more” regarding her affection and devotion to him (Duffy).

Queen Kong--Carol Ann Duffy

I remember peeping in at his skyscraper room And seeing him fast asleep. My little man. I’d been in Manhattan a week, Making my plans; staying at two quiet hotels In the Village, where people were used to strangers And more or less left you alone. To this day I’m especially fond of pastrami on rye I digress. As you see, this island’s a paradise. He’d arrived, my man, with the documentary team To make a film (there’s a particular toad That lays its eggs only here.) I found him alone In a clearing, scooped him up in my palm, And held his wriggling coma, shouting life till he calmed. For me, it was absolutely love at first sight. I’d been so lonely. Long nights in the heat Of my own pelt, rumbling an animals blues. Alright, he was small, but perfectly formed And gorgeous, there were things he could do For me with the sweet finesse of those hands That no gorilla could. I swore in my huge heart To follow him then to the ends of the earth For he wouldn’t stay here. He was nervous. I’d go to his camp each night at dusk, Crouched by the delicate tents, and wait. His colleagues Always sent him out pretty quick. He’d climb Into my open hand, sit down; and then I’d gently pick At his shirt and his trews, peel him, put The tip of my tongue to the grape of his flesh. Bliss. But when he’d finished his prize-winning film, He packed his case; hopped up and down On my heart line miming the flight back home To New York. Big metal bird. Didn’t he know I could swat his plane from the skies like a gnat? But I let him go, my man. I watched him fly Into the sun as I thumped at my breast, distraught I lasted a month. I slept for a week, Then woke to binge for a fortnight. I didn’t wash The parrots clapped their migrane chant. The swinging monkeys whinged. Fevered, I drank Handfuls of river right by the spot where he’d bathed. I bled when a fat, red moon rolled on the jungle roof. And after that, I decided to get him back. So I came to sail up the Hudson one June night, With the New York line a concrete rainforest Of light; and felt, lovesick and vast, the first Glimmer of hope in weeks. I was discrete, prowled Those streets in darkness, pressing my passionate eye To a thousand windows, each with its modest peep-show Of boredom or pain, of drama, consolation, remorse. I found him, of course. At 3.am. on a Sunday Dreaming alone in his single bed; over his lovely head A blown up photograph of myself. I stared for a long time Till my big brown eyes grew moist; then I padded away Through central park, under the stars. He was mine. Next day, I shopped. Clothes for my man, mainly, But one or two treats for myself at Bloomingdales. I picked him, like a chocolate from the top layer Of a box, one Friday night, out of his room And let him dangle in the air between my finger And my thumb in a teasing, lovers way. Then we sat On the tip of the empire state building, saying farewell To the Brooklyn Bridge, to the winking yellow cabs, To the helicopters over the river, dragonflies. Twelve happy years. He slept in my fur, woke early To massage the heavy lids of my eyes. I liked that. He liked me to gently blow on him or scratch, With care, the length of his back with my nail. Then I’d ask him to play on the wooden pipes he’d made In our first year. He’d sit, cross-legged, near my ear For hours: his plaintive, lost tunes making me cry. When he died, I held him all night, shaking him Like a doll, licking his face, breast, soles of his feet, His little rod. But then, heart sore as I was, I set to work. He would be pleased. I wear him now about my neck, Perfect, preserved, with tiny emeralds for eyes. No man Has been loved more. I’m sure of that, sometimes, in his silent Death, Against my massive breathing lungs, he hears me roar.

Duffy's Eurydice in Comparison to Austen's Emma

Carol Ann Duffy takes a twist on an old classic in her poem Eurydice, showing the perspective of the myth through the eyes of Eurydice herself. Eurydice is fearless, honest, and independent; this is a stark contrast to the way the females act in Jane Austen’s Emma. While Duffy uses a carefully constructed dramatic monologue to show the power that one woman possesses, Austen uses her character Emma to portray women at the beginning of the 20th century for how she sees them; fake, suppressed, and desperately in need of a wealthy man to walk them down the aisle. Eurydice tells the tale of a young, dead woman, and the lengths that a certain god by the name Orpheus would go to in order to have her as his bride. The only problem with this “love story” is the fact that Eurydice wants nothing to do with Orpheus, and much rather stay put in the Underworld, even going as far as to say that the Underworld is “the one place you’d think a girl would be safe/ from the kind of a man/ who follows her round writing poems,/ hovers about while she reads them,/[and] calls her His Muse” (Duffy). Eurydice’s want for solitude shows how empowered she believes she can be without being somebody’s wife, regardless of whether or not the man that wants to wed her is a god and could give her all the material desires she could ever dream of. Eurydice’s view of happiness is much different than the women pictured in Austen’s Emma. The ladies in this novel are bent on finding a husband, snagging a higher social status, and letting the love hopefully follow after that. When Emma’s friend Harriet is asked to wed a man by the name Mr. Martin, Emma urges Harriet to refuse his offer, claiming that the Martin’s are “course” and “unpolished”, therefore not worth Harriet’s time (Austen 20). Emma’s whole goal is to match people together in order for them to be married, and her as well as the other women in the novel are impressed and delighted when a man of valuable societal status attempts to court them. While small gestures of courtship are something to be admired in Emma, Eurydice finds them to be frustrating and bothersome. Eurydice would rather stay in the Underworld than “follow him back to our life -/Eurydice, Orpheus’ wife -/ to be trapped in his images, metaphors, similes,/octaves and sextets, quatrains and couplets,/elegies, limericks, villanelles, histories, myths…” (Duffy). Eurydice does not desire to be doted on and followed around, being whispered to about sweet nothings. This would come as quite a surprise to the girls in Emma. Lastly, Emma and her friends are much different from Eurydice when it comes to their view of men of higher power as a whole. While Emma finds it tolerable to have miniscule squabbles with men of high society, she would never dream to go out of her way to insult them or pass cruel judgments on them. This is due to the fact that while Emma is by far the most outspoken of the women in Highbury, she pales in comparison to Eurydice’s belief of equality to men. Eurydice mocks Orpheus, claiming that “we've all, let's be honest,/ been bored half to death by a man/who fucks like he's writing a book./ And, given my time all over again,/ I know that I'd rather write for myself” (Duffy).

Analyzing Carol Ann Duffy's Eurydice

In Carol Ann Duffy’s “Eurydice”, a woman from the Underworld name Eurydice is chosen by a God, namely the God Orpheus, to be his prize, or bride. The interesting spin to this poem, however, is that Eurydice is very keen on staying in the Underworld, and “[she’d] rather be dead” than be known as Orpheus’ “dearest, beloved, dark lady, white goddess, etc. etc” (Duffy). In order to escape the fate of forever being known as this patriarchal God’s wife, Eurydice tricks Orpheus into turning around to look at her as they are ascending into the living world. This causes Orpheus to be given the opportunity to escape the bonds of marriage to a God, and return back to the Underworld where she is more comfortable than being in a strong, powerful man’s arms. This poem is more of a contrast to Jane Austen’s Emma than it is a comparison. Eurydice is tormented by the concept of devoting her future to a man that craves to be the dominant one, and mocks Orpheus for “strut[ing] his stuff” (Duffy). This opinion of marriage is very different from what the ladies in Emma believe. To them, marriage is the end all be all; the end goal and destination to a happy life. Therefore, it would probably come as quite a shock to Emma, Harriet, and the other women in the novel that Eurydice preferred to be “unavailable” and “out of this world” instead of being married off to a man that she barely knew (Duffy). Eurydice even goes as far as to make fun of men’s ways of courting a lady, saying that the Underworld was “the one place you’d think a girl would be safe from the kind of a man who follows her round writing poems hovers about while she reads them, [and] calls her his Muse” (Duffy). This is a very strange perspective compared to the women’s in Emma, who revel in small riddles and love letters sent from men of high status.