Johnathon Hao
Excerpt:
Perhaps the reader has already guessed why I was so willing and anxious to play the accompaniment to this violin solo; if not—the violinist was a girl of seventeen or eighteen whom I had first heard play a short time before on a Sunday afternoon at a special service of some kind, and who had moved me to a degree which now I can hardly think of as possible. At present I do not think it was due to her wonderful playing, though I judge she must have been a very fair performer, but there was just the proper setting to produce the effect upon a boy such as I was; the half-dim church, the air of devotion on the part of the listeners, the heaving tremor of the organ under the clear wail of the violin, and she, her eyes almost closing, the escaping strands of her dark hair wildly framing her pale face, and her slender body swaying to the tones she called forth, all combined to fire my imagination and my heart with a passion, though boyish, yet strong and, somehow, lasting. I have tried to describe the scene; if I have succeeded, it is only half success, for words can only partially express what I wish to convey. Always in recalling that Sunday afternoon I am subconscious of a faint but distinct fragrance which, like some old memory-awakening perfume, rises and suffuses my whole imagination, inducing a state of reverie so airy as just to evade the powers of expression. She was my first love, and I loved her as only a boy loves. I dreamed of her, I built air castles for her, she was the incarnation of each beautiful heroine I knew; when I played the piano, it was to her, not even music furnished an adequate outlet for my passion; I bought a new note-book and, to sing her praises, made my first and last attempts at poetry. I remember one day at school, after we had given in our note-books to have some exercises corrected, the teacher called me to her desk and said: “I couldn’t correct your exercises because I found nothing in your book but a rhapsody on somebody’s brown eyes.” I had passed in the wrong note-book. I don’t think I have felt greater embarrassment in my whole life than I did at that moment. I was ashamed not only that my teacher should see this nakedness of my heart, but that she should find out that I had any knowledge of such affairs. It did not then occur to me to be ashamed of the kind of poetry I had written. Of course, the reader must know that all of this adoration was in secret; next to my great love for this young lady was the dread that in some way she would find it out. I did not know what some men never find out, that the woman who cannot discern when she is loved has never lived. It makes me laugh to think how successful I was in concealing it all; within a short time after our duet all of the friends of my dear one were referring to me as her “little sweetheart,” or her “little beau,” and she laughingly encouraged it. This did not entirely satisfy me; I wanted to be taken seriously. I had definitely made up my mind that I should never love another woman, and that if she deceived me I should do something desperate—the great difficulty was to think of something sufficiently desperate—and the heartless jade, how she led me on! So I hurried home that afternoon, humming snatches of the violin part of the duet, my heart beating with pleasurable excitement over the fact that I was going to be near her, to have her attention placed directly upon me; that I was going to be of service to her, and in a way in which I could show myself to advantage—this last consideration has much to do with cheerful service—. The anticipation produced in me a sensation somewhat between bliss and fear.
Analysis:
In Johnson’s novel, The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, the narrator’s juxtaposing revel in his love for the violinist and embarrassment of his love are amplified by the first-person perspective and imagery present in the passage.
The unique perspective of the narrator highlights his infatuation with the girl, composing poetry and passages in attempts to describe her, and yet a sense of dread and fear in others realizing his emotions for her. His description of the girl in the first paragraph is preceded by, “I have tried to describe the scene; if I have succeeded, it is only half success, for word can only partially express what I wish to convey”; the quite lengthy scene where he details at length the probably imagined romantic surroundings of the event with a description of the girl that one can only describe to be crafted with extreme detail and care, only to be preceded by his note that his description of the situation is but a ghost of what he actually saw that day and is something he has tried over and over again to truly capture, allow us to understand the extent of this boy’s infatuation. In the first appearance of this girl in his life, her performance, or more likely her, made such a marked impression on the narrator that he has replayed the moment he first saw her numerous times, each time trying but failing to “perfectly” capture how she appears to him. Under normal circumstances, a simple performance would never create such an impactful impression on a person, and he himself admits that he “do[es] not think it was due to her wonderful playing” that he would have this sort of impression. His critical comments about his already fantastical description of her reveals how he revels in his love for the girl; he tries to do his utmost to do her justice in his words – and yet, he also feels immense embarrassment and fear for if his love was to ever be exposed. The narrator recalls a day where he accidentally turns in a poem in name of his love for the girl to his teacher, and this situation leaves him to have never “felt greater embarrassment in my[his] whole life than I did at that moment. I was ashamed not only that my teacher should see this nakedness of my heart, but that she should find out that I[he] had any knowledge of such affairs.” If we were looking at this passage from a different perspective, it would be difficult to understand the extent to which he fears others of realizing his true emotions and how he acted (in creating poetry) in response to his love. Yet, through first person perspective, it’s clear that the narrator was petrified of his love being revealed, and this embarrassing event has haunted even to this day. Internally, he feels happy with his love, picking up writing and playing music for her. Externally, he feels great embarrassment at this fact being found out, he feels vulnerable at the occurrence that the thoughts hidden in his mind, his love, should ever be found out by anyone, and wants to appear invulnerable to the tendrils of love.
The imagery reveals the extent to his thoughts and therefore their importance, revealing two emotions most prevalent at this time: his love and his embarrassment. He writes “I dreamed of her, I built air castles for her, she was the incarnation of each beautiful heroine I knew; when I played the piano, it was to her, not even music furnished an adequate outlet for my passion; I bought a new note-book and, to sing her praises, made my first and last attempts at poetry”. His lengthy descriptions of the various ways he sang her praise shows how much his passion for her fueled him and the extent to which he loved her. Despite his desire to express his feelings for her in multiple mediums, when it came to actually vocalizing his love, he felt a “dread that in some way she would find it out”. Although the narrator yearned to become more than just an accompaniment to the girl, but he was unable to vocalize his feelings, and had to be content with just standing by her side, never closer. The imagery in the final paragraph perfectly captures his complex emotions: “So I hurried home that afternoon, humming snatches of the violin part of the duet, my heart beating with pleasurable excitement over the fact that I was going to be near her, to have her attention placed directly upon me; that I was going to be of service to her, and in a way in which I could show myself to advantage—this last consideration has much to do with cheerful service—. The anticipation produced in me a sensation somewhat between bliss and fear.” The boy is excited just to be of help to the girl, and his presence beside her, even if it carries no romantic connotations, is something he feels both excited and fearful about.
The Megaphone 