“Two Poems, One Kinda Cave, and a Bottle of Cheap Perfume: Intertextuality for the Hungover”
Welcome to the “Cave of Writerly Wisdom” (and Witty Banter) aka Tim & LeeAnna’s Washington DC podcast studio
Gather 'round, dear readers, as we embark on an epic journey into the hallowed depths of the "Cave of Writerly Wisdom," where Tim, our cave-dwelling sage, and LeeAnna, the intrepid explorer, tackle the mystical art of intertextuality. Spoiler alert: this cave is stocked with more sarcasm than scrolls, and the wisdom is often served with a side of snark.
But let’s get serious—well, as serious as two slightly hungover intellectuals can get on a Friday that should’ve been a Thursday. You see, Tim and LeeAnna aren’t just here to shoot the literary breeze. They’re diving deep into the murky waters of intertextuality, a concept so grand it sounds like it belongs in a stuffy academic paper rather than a boozy podcast. Lucky for us, they’re taking this pompous term and giving it a good shake, like a martini with a little too much vermouth.
“Dover Beach” or “Dover Whine”? A Victorian Pity Party
First up, we have Matthew Arnold’s “Dover Beach,” a poem that Tim, in his best British accent, reads aloud, probably while clutching a cup of tea like a prop. This is where intertextuality gets its first victim—a poem so drenched in Victorian melancholy, you can almost feel the damp sea breeze and smell the despair.
Tim asks LeeAnna when she thinks this poetic masterpiece was penned. “Around 1851,” she guesses, proving that she’s done her homework, or at least glanced at a Wikipedia page. Tim, ever the pedant, corrects her: “Actually, it was published in 1867.” So, what was Arnold doing for those 16 years? Probably agonizing over every syllable like a true literary masochist. “That’s a long time,” LeeAnna remarks. Understatement of the century.
Arnold’s poem, we learn, is his poetic middle finger to Darwin’s theory of evolution. He’s not thrilled about the whole “humans evolving from monkeys” bit, and he’s certainly not sending Darwin a thank-you note. Instead, he’s penning what LeeAnna dubs “poetic hate mail,” the 19th-century equivalent of a passive-aggressive tweet. “We are here as on a darkling plain,” Arnold moans, clutching his pearls at the idea of a godless universe. Tim, ever the empathetic soul, notes, “He does bang on a lot about human misery.” No kidding.
Intertextuality Gets a Makeover: Enter the “Dover Bitch”
Fast forward a century, and we have Anthony Hecht’s “The Dover Bitch,” a poem that, according to Tim, is more about the girl than the actual beach. This isn’t just any girl, though—it’s the same woman from Arnold’s moody seaside sob-fest, only now she’s got a bit more sass and a lot more agency.
Hecht doesn’t mince words, titling his poem with the not-so-endearing moniker “bitch.” LeeAnna rightly points out that this isn’t exactly a term of affection. Yet, somehow, Hecht manages to mix cynicism with a bizarre kind of fondness. “She’s kind of smart,” Tim notes, as if the bar for female intellect in poetry is set somewhere between “knows what a sonnet is” and “can quote Sophocles in a fairly good translation.”
But let’s not kid ourselves—Hecht’s not here to write a feminist anthem. He’s too busy being intellectually smug, dropping references to Sophocles like he’s tossing out candy at a parade. Meanwhile, our girl is just trying to get through the day, dealing with a guy who’s more interested in waxing poetic about existential dread than actually connecting with her. “He’s treating her like a real person,” Tim claims. Sure, Tim, if your idea of a real person is someone you see once a year and gift with a bottle of “Nuit d’amour” perfume. Sounds romantic, right? “Is it cheap?” LeeAnna asks, hitting the nail on the head.
From Cardboard Cutout to Complex Character: How to Write Women Who Aren’t Props
Here’s where the theme of the day, intertextuality, gets its spotlight. Tim and LeeAnna break down how the same woman is treated very differently in these two poems, depending on the whims of the male poets who “created” her. In Arnold’s world, she’s a mere backdrop, a philosophical sounding board for his misery. In Hecht’s version, she’s suddenly fleshed out, though not without a side of condescension. “She has no speaking role, no identity, no dimensionality,” Tim muses about Arnold’s version. Sounds about right.
But here’s the kicker: neither Arnold nor Hecht really gets her. She’s still a third-person prop, even when she’s given a voice. It’s as if both poets are looking at her through their own foggy lenses, too wrapped up in their own angst and arrogance to see the actual woman before them. “She must’ve been hot at one time,” LeeAnna quips, summing up the male gaze in one snarky line.
A Final Word from the Cave: Writing Characters with Depth (and Sarcasm)
As Tim descends from his cave of wisdom to impart some final thoughts for writers, he emphasizes the importance of seeing characters from multiple angles. If one person views your main character as a hero, while another sees them as a villain, congratulations—you’ve created a multidimensional character. Just don’t forget to give them a voice, unlike poor Mrs. Arnold, who spends “Dover Beach” as a silent observer to her husband’s existential crisis.
So, what have we learned today, kids? Intertextuality isn’t just about connecting texts; it’s about seeing how different perspectives can create (or dismantle) a character. And, of course, that even the most highbrow literary discussions can—and should—be peppered with a healthy dose of sarcasm and a dash of cheap perfume.
The Snark
Official podcast name: "Alchemy... from Effigy Press" (don't forget the ellipsis, folks)
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