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Leslie Marmon Silko Celebrates at SUNY Albany

On Tuesday, January 30, 2007, at 8:00 p.m. Leslie Marmon Silko performed an enjoyable reading at the New York State Writers Institute to celebrate Penguin Classics? 30th Anniversary Edition of Ceremony. This bestselling novel was Silko?s first, written in 1977. According to the New York State Writers Institute, it is ?the tale of a ?half-breed? World War II veteran and his battle against personal demons. Ceremony received the American Book Award, sold three quarters of a million copies, sparked a revolution in Native American literature, and has remained a major influence on younger generations of writers? (NYSWI). Silko has also written Laguna Woman: Poems (1974), the story collection Storyteller (1981), the novel Almanac of the Dead (1991), the essay collection, Yellow Woman and a Beauty of the Spirit: Essays (1996), and the novel Gardens in the Dunes (1999). She received the Pushcart Prize for poetry in 1977, a MacArthur Foundation award in 1983, and was the youngest writer included in The Norton Anthology of Women’s Literature for her short story “Lullaby.”

In stark contrast with the scholarly suit who stiffly introduced her credentials as listed above, Silko tripped up the stage steps sporting faded blue jeans, sneakers and a dark tee shirt, waves of thick, black hair bouncing behind her. Her entrance was met with enthusiastic applause, filling the moderately attended Recital Hall of the Performing Arts Center with a generous welcome. Under yellow lights on a stage bare but for the podium, Silko introduced herself on a more intimate level as a woman coming from an oral tradition of storytelling which inspired her to write since elementary school. She was going to read the portion of her book where Tayo, suffering from PTSD after WWII, is being taken to Betonie, a medicine man, because he doesn?t respond well to hospital treatment. The story is set within the Navaho Reservation in Gallup, NM. Rocking on her ankles as she spoke, Silko?s saddened voice explained that she knows from personal experience that this reservation has not improved in the 30 years since the book was first written. Promising to take questions after reading because, as she noted, she reads ?a lot? and has ?an opinion on everything,? Silko started on page 94.

With a powerful, biting voice and confident posture, occasionally reaching up with both hands to tame her wild hair, Silko echoed the harsh reality of reservation life, In one instance, Tayo sees a dying cottonwood tree where he used to play. In a moment of mental escape, he remembers the comfort of the shade it once provided, that these trees were more than ?just shade,? and the way the boys would throw the berry pods at each other, feeling the rush of the seeds exploding on impact. In this moment, ?in a world of crickets and wind and cottonwood trees, he was almost alive again; almost visible. The green waves of dead faces and the screams of the dying that had echoed in his head were buried? (96). Silko has a gift for contrasts like these, contrasts that jerk her audience from a lovely, safe place and hurl them face first into the horror of surviving the war. Visions of the joyous youth are polluted with death of the undead. It may seem that Tayo is feeling at ease in this childhood reverie, yet even in burial, the faces of war haunt him. He claims they are buried, that he is nearly alive, yet the screams scream on even in his memory of them.

Told he must leave, that the old men are talking about the trouble he has caused, we are led down a bleak memory lane as Tayo recalls his childhood along his journey to Betonie. It is here we learn that Tayo has few nostalgic memories to cling to. His mother, from what he remembers, is a prostitute who left him in the care of bar patrons, giving them a dollar to feed him. Living under bar tables by day, he was always hungry. ?When he found chewing gum stuck beneath the tables, he put it in his mouth and tried to keep it. He could not remember when he first knew that cigarettes would make him vomit if he ate them? (101) When temporarily taken from his mother and kept in a room full of white walls and cribs, Tayo ?cried for a long time, standing up in the bed with his chin resting on the top rail. He chewed the paint from the top rail, still crying, but gradually becoming interested in the way the paint peeled off the metal and clung to his front teeth? (101). With her strong economy of words, Silko illustrates with fine brush strokes, Tayo?s vulnerability at not more than the age of three, the denial of his mother?s love, his desperate need of food, and his childlike resiliency to somehow survive the pain of it all. Used gum and cigarette butts are not sustenance for a developing human being, and yet the young Tayo of memory knows nothing else.

Silko peppers her story with background characters which are inherently part of the landscape. At the podium, she read with compassion about the plight of Navajos, Hopis, Zunis, and Lagunas under a bridge. These were once entire nations of people who were now scattered and searching for work among the tourist trap of the Gallup Ceremonial Grounds. ?They walked like survivors, with dull vacant eyes, their fists clutching the coins [Tayo had] thrown to them. ? They were educated only enough to know that they wanted to leave the reservation; when they got to Gallup there weren?t many jobs that they could get? (106). The Gallup landscape people are but one example of those who occupy this territory. Tayo and his mother lived like that when he was small, until a fight broke out between some unruly men and the prostitutes. ?The police came. ? He watched them tear down the last of the shelters, and they piled the rags and coats they found and sprinkled them with kerosene? (103). The police did their best to destroy these communities of impoverished people, breaking apart families in the process. Escaping to the stink of the tamarack, Tayo never saw his mother again after she was hauled away that day. Many years later, people still live under bridges. Hauling them away is not the cure.

Taking questions after the reading, most querries were structured around Silko?s personal political views. By writing about wine, poverty, prostitution, shelters, rags, comfortless smells, sounds and sights, Silko lifts the veil from the multiple horrors of racism and oppression on a very personal level. She spoke of the rape of Indian lands through Uranium mining and of the people with the introduction of alcohol and gambling. Having experienced these atrocities and their after effects first hand, it is no wonder Silko could create such an articulate and passionately crafted narrative. As Robert M. Nelson of Richmond University notes:

The disease that has infected the people, including Silko?s protagonist Tayo, is the old bane known at Laguna as Ck?o?yo medicine, which takes several new, but precedented, forms in the novel: World War II and its dreadful fallout, including such new art forms as nuclear fission and the atomic weapons capable of destroying all life (Nelson).

To each and every scarification, of both her land and her people, Silko speaks with conviction, ?Despite the appearance of war, corruption and chaos, don?t lose hope. Spiritual healing persists on parallel but different plains.? She believes this emphatically and spoke so assuredly, she convinced me to believe the same even after hearing about the atrocities in such vivid detail.

What I?ve learned about writing through Leslie Morman Silko is that it is most rewarding to write about what you are most passionate about. Experimentation with form is one thing, but the way to truly reach people and raise awareness where little light is shed is to simply write from the heart. The world of settings and images, populated with characters ripe for contemplation, is already at an author?s fingertips. That passion, as Silko has made evident, reaches through the words and strums the chords of compassion within the depths of the soul. The dank detail we fear to face in our lives must be confronted and recorded. A lifetime of detail, snippets of conversations, people we love, hate, and love to hate are already stewing under the surface. They simply need to be wrestled out of hiding and brought into the light.

Works Cited
Nelson, Robert M. ?Leslie Marmon Silko: storyteller? Joy Porter and Kenneth Roemer, eds., The Cambridge Companion to Native American Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. 245-56. University of Richmond, Virginia. 1 May 2007 .
Silko, Leslie Marmon. Ceremony. New York: Penguin Books, 2006.
Silko, Leslie Marmon. New York State Writers Institute, State University of New York. 1 May 2007 .

The three poems I read from Unsettling America: An Anthology of Contemporary Multicultural Poetry are ?Heavy Blue Veins? by Luis J. Rodriguez (5), ?Crazy Horse Speaks? by Sherman Alexie(237), and Joseph Bruchac’s ?Birdfoot?s Grampa? (266). I actually read more than that but began to feel like an ambulance chaser, intrigued by the racist gore. ?Heavy Blue Veins? confused me. I was unsure about why the woman was cutting her ankles. ?Crazy Horse Speaks? was right up the alley of my other class in which we are reading Dee Brown’s Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. My favorite though is ?Birdfoot?s Grampa.?

Initially, ?Birdfoot?s Grampa? is not as emotionally difficult as many of the others. On the surface, the poem depicts an act of kindness rather than a reaction to the unkind. Birdfoot?s Grampa saves toads in the road after a rain. Of course, between the lines is where the tragedy lies. These toads are displaced from their homes, much like the American Indians with their weathered brown skin, by an influx of water symbolic of white men flooding into Indian Territory in the name of Manifest Destiny. The toads are unable to find their way clear of danger having been blinded by white headlights. This is reminiscent of the US government?s deception of American Indians in order to steal their land. If the American Indians did not step aside, the result was often a mass slaughter. The difference between history and this poem is that Indians were overrun rather than run over, as would be the fate of the toads if it weren?t for the consideration of Birdfoot?s Grampa. He is an Indian with high regard for the spirit of the Earth and all her creatures. This seemingly small act of protecting each toad demonstrates that no life is unworthy or insignificant. His conscience demands that he live in harmony with all creatures, regardless of the advancement from horses to cars, although the whites believed their advancement of weaponry earned them the right to claim superiority. While Birdfoot, the grandson, is initially annoyed at the constant disruption in their journey, he gains understanding of life?s value by learning from the wise old man. The Indian tradition is passed down through the genealogical lines as they are depicted in the title.

In Act I of “The Tempest,” William Shakespeare paints Prospero as a character who possesses a great deal of power, quite analogous to that of the King of England. Attributing this power to his education in ?liberal arts,? Prospero?s enchanting abilities appear to stem from his study of books, the donning of a magical cloak, and by carrying a magical staff, much as the King?s crown and vestiges, although not powerful themselves, lend to the visual definition of his authority. While each of these items do supply Prospero with the ability to cast spells, it is his ?art? of conversation that affords him the most power.

As Paul Brown remarks in ??This Thing of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine?: The Tempest and the Discourse of Colonialism,? Prospero calls to his various listeners ?and invites them to recognize themselves as subjects of his discourse, as beneficiaries of his civil largess.? (Brown 218) The technique with which Prospero bestows his ?civil largess? upon his daughter, Miranda, and his servant, Ariel, varies in degree of applied patience, yet it conclusively achieves the desired effect as each bend to his will. While Caliban, Prospero?s slave, offers the vilest resistance, Prospero demands compliance by employing the use of painful threats, only occasionally requiring additional reinforcement through action. Prospero?s command of language, ultimately his most useful tool, influences and manipulates the thoughts, ideas and behaviors of all the play?s participants, including those of the audience.

Miranda?s character is akin to the citizens of England, each governed by the power and guidance of their rulers. Through suggestive conversation, Prospero educates Miranda on the subject of their history, molding her perspective to ready her for a future orchestration of events. As he begins the tale, Prospero asks Miranda to, ??pluck my magic garment from me. So, [laying down his magic cloak and staff] Lie there my art.? (Shakespeare 14, 24) Here Prospero engages in conversation exclusively, making a point to shed all other forms of power. With this simple action, Shakespeare demonstrates the innate power of Prospero?s persuasion and how it is used to educate and thus govern Miranda with the provision of a singular perspective. This directly reflects England?s own normative view as colonizer, enforcing the belief that English culture is superior both within and beyond the country?s borders.

Prospero takes pride in his ability to educate. He speaks passionately of this role in regard to Miranda, ?Here have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit than other princess? can, that have more time for vainer hours and tutors not so careful.? (Shakespeare 19, 171) Prospero has been grooming Miranda to be obedient all her life, and she, a naive student, exclaims, ?Heavens thank you for ?t!? (Shakespeare 20, 175) In his technique of reinforcing his daughter?s loyalty and attention by repeatedly asking, ?Dost thou attend me?? (Shakespeare 16, 78) requires Miranda to engage in the dialogue and actively confirm, ?Your tale, sir, would cure deafness,? (Shakespeare 17, 107) In this way, Miranda reflects the desired perspective as it is presented to her, satisfying Prospero?s need for loyalty and support in his plot to resume his dukedom. As Brown explains, ?A major strategy of this scheme is to engineer another courtship between Miranda and the son of his enemy ? his daughter having been duly educated for such a role.? (Brown 219) In grooming Miranda to marry Ferdinand, Prospero intends to place her like a pawn among royalty, ensuring his ties to political authority.

In Ariel, Prospero?s servant, Shakespeare depicts an English colonizer, one sympathetic toward the American Indians. Ariel proves useful in forging a foundation for Prospero?s new world order but must be commanded to continue in the face of unpleasant tasks, particularly those he believes will cause harm. Applying the approach used with Miranda, Prospero begins to question ?Dost thou forget from what torment I did free thee?? (Shakespeare 22, 250) Ariel challenges that he has not. With this exchange Prospero begins a detailed call and response, ?Hast thou forgot the foul witch Sycorax? Thou hast. Where was she born?? (Shakespeare 23, 261) Recounting this story of how Prospero freed Ariel from the witch?s curse actively recalls the details of Arial?s torment and debt to Prospero for release. Ironically, this freedom from the pine has merely released him into a new form of bondage. (Brown, 220) According to Brown, ?This operation of constant reminding acts as ?symbolic violence.? What is really at issue is the underlining of a power relation.? (Brown 220) Illustrating a bending will, Ariel replies, ?Pardon, master. I will be correspondent to command and do my spriting gently.? (Shakespeare 24) As Ariel submits, Prospero is able to expand his power to that of the spritely realm with Ariel to do his bidding.

Caliban, having occupied the island long before Prospero, represents the idea of ?savage? as it exists within the colonization of Ireland and America. Prospero tries in vain to educate Caliban, to civilize him in the ways in which Prospero is accustomed. Miranda too, as an extension of Prospero, teaches Caliban the language common to her and her father. In regard to this education, Caliban is not grateful for their ?gift,? but rather feels enslaved by it. ?You taught me language and my profit on ?t is I know how to curse. The red plague rid you for learning me your language!? (Shakespeare 27, 367) Before the arrival of Prospero and Miranda, Caliban understands his thoughts perfectly well, explaining that they didn?t give him knowledge, but only the means to express what he already knows in a way they understand. He too can understand their demands as they bark orders at him. Brown believes Caliban ?recognizes himself as a linguistic subject of the master language. Caliban?s refusal marks him as obdurate yet he must voice this in a curse in the language of civility … Whatever Caliban does with this gift announces his capture by it.? (Brown 220) In his unwillingness to easily submit, Caliban poses a real challenge for Prospero. While still embracing his mastery over communication, Prospero must change his approach. Keeping the upper hand, he incorporates the use of threats backed by real action, making Caliban submit out of fear.

At the play?s end, as so ordered by Shakespeare, the shipwrecked aristocrats suffer to Prospero?s content, extracting sufficient remorse from their maddened state with no lasting harm dealt by his hand. His daughter, too, is arranged neatly in the arms of King Alonzo?s son, assuring her royal future and his. Ariel is freed for a job well done, and even the stubborn Caliban all too easily sees the light after falling further from grace, accepting Prospero as a more desirable master than Stephano. Each fragment is neatly tied up with one exception. In what way does Shakespeare deal with Prospero?

By educating the island inhabitants as he sees fit, Prospero gets an unforeseen education of his own. During the marriage of Miranda and Ferdinand, Prospero is startled with the realization of his aloneness without her. Fiedler with the idea that Shakespeare ?appears more and more to divest himself of the very power he has so relentlessly sought. … even as Prospero?s game plan succeeds he himself is played out, left without a move as power over his daughter slips away.? (Brown 226) Prospero speaks of this dissolve of power, as well as the erasure of existence when he says, ?We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded in sleep.? (Shakespeare 70, 156) Caliban?s attempt on Prospero?s life leads Prospero to look more closely at his inability to civilize the savage. He raves, ?A Devil, born a Devil, on whose nature nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost!? (Shakespeare 71, 188) And lastly, in an effort of revenge on his brother, Prospero learns compassion, characterized by his epiphany that ?The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.? (Shakespeare 75, 28) Brown believes, ?At the ?close? of the play Prospero is in danger of becoming the other to the narrative declaration of his own project, which is precisely the ambivalent position Caliban occupies.? (Brown 228) and is unsatisfied with how Shakespeare handles Prospero?s abandonment of magical external power with no ?triumph for colonialism? (Brown 228). With this I disagree.

At the time Shakespeare writes “The Tempest,” no societal answers existed in response to the play?s questions. Shakespeare appears to synthesize the culmination of Prospero?s lessons to demonstrate the hope for England of one day being wiser, more accepting of others, and willing to forfeit control where it already exists rather than to attempt the civilization of the world. As the rest of Prospero?s powers fade, his reign over language is not lost. ?Now my charms are all o?erthrown, and what strength I have ?s mine own.? (Shakespeare 86, 1) The power of persuasion has always been an innate part of his being only to fade when Prospero himself expires. He uses his remaining capacity for language to appeal to the audience. He seeks their applause and thus forgiveness for his character flaws. This may also be a plea from Shakespeare himself to forgive weak plot point. The questions raised are left to us, the audience to ponder and answer for ourselves.

Works Cited:

Shakespeare, William, et al. “The Tempest” Ed. Gerald Graff and James Phelan. William Shakespeare, The Tempest; A Case Study in Critical Controversy, Boston: Bedford/St. Martin?s, 2000, 10-87

Brown, Paul. ?This Thing of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine?; The Tempest as the Discourse of Colonialism? William Shakespeare, “The Tempest;” A Case Study in Critical Controversy, Boston: Bedford/St. Martin?s, 2000, 205-229

A Summary of Paul Brown’s “‘This Thing of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine’: The Tempest and the Discourse of Colonialism”

In his essay, Paul Brown explains that Shakespeare?s “The Tempest” reaches beyond mere contemplation of colonialism and more toward ?intervention in an ambivalent and even contradictory discourse.? (205) Brown feels that Shakespeare attempts, in his narrative, to suitably redefine the power relations between classes, gender and cultures, but fails to accomplish this task.

Three connections within complex colonial discourse, according to Brown, are ?class discourse (masterlessness), a race discourse (savagism) and a politically and courtly sexual discourse? (209) as illustrated by the desire of John Rolf, a Virginia planter, for Pocahontas, the daughter of Powhatan, chief-of-chiefs. Using Rolf?s letter asking for the Governor?s blessing over their marriage, Brown shows Rolf?s belief that the power of British civility can transform the ?other? or American Indian, even if sexual desire may threaten to undermine that mastery. (207) This, in turn, is compared with Prospero?s narrative in which his ruling power is determined by his control over his subjects? sexuality, particularly Miranda?s and Caliban?s. Brown argues that the colonizer seeks to control, repress and exploit the ?other? even as the ?other? has beneficial offerings that may erode that civil order.

Moving beyond the American example, Brown examines British counterculture and Irish ?others? to illustrate the colossal range of contemporary colonialist discourse. He discusses the perceived threat within England of anti-social man, the masterless who require ?surveillance, classification, expulsion and punishment? (210) as Brown believes is embodied in “The Tempest” by Stephano and Trunculo. Their threat of counter-order serves to unify rulers in their authority, channeling a positive civil service. (211) Brown next points out evidence of this within the context of Ireland. It was in need of reordering and of ?a colony where the savage other needed to be civilized conquered and dispossessed.? (214) Masterless Irish were especially targeted, and jesters like Trinculo were exemplary of that lot. (210) To further tie Ireland to “The Tempest,” Brown offers the idea that the uninhabited island (of civility) offered not only the opportunity for the expansion of civility, but the undoing of it as well, freedom being a temptation. (216)

Brown says the narrative of the play ?is always related to questions of power.? (218) The tempestuous storm was produced by Shakespeare to show Prospero?s mastery over the island. He demonstrates his control over his listeners as he narrates, establishing himself as father and educator of Miranda, rescuer of Ariel, colonizer of Caliban, and corrector of errant aristocrats. Prospero?s function is to divide the characters along gender lines as with the malleable Miranda and irreformable Caliban, and along class lines such as in the usurping aristocrats versus unmastered plebians, conjuring colonial discourse. (221)

This binarism is accompanied by the aesthetic ordering of power through ?narrative to maintain social control.? (223) ?Euphemistic? use of romantic rhetoric as well as gifts of freedom and education underline the non-exploitive representation of power as when Caliban is taught to speak Prospero?s language. (223) This language is seen by Caliban as linguistic capture and restraint, not a gift. (220) Alternately, to ?denigrate the masterless? (225), as with Trinculo and Stephano, Caliban is placed in a more positive light. His eloquence is revealed when describing the island and how its music causes him to dream. This dream, according to Brown, is the apothesis of colonial discourse, a wish for release, a desire for utopian powerlessness. (225)

Prospero too desires to ?divest himself of the very power he has so relentlessly sought? (226), as is the plausible threat of freedom to the civilized. After losing his power over his daughter, the play ends not with his resumption of public duty but his retirement. Brown asks, ?Is this final distancing from the narrative an unraveling of Prospero?s project?? (227) The disruption of the marriage masque by Caliban?s plot leads to Prospero?s declaration that all representation is illusory, yet he ?goes on to meet the threat and triumphs, and thus completes his narrative.? (227) Brown is troubled by the ?ambivalence? here between narrative declaration and dramatic struggle. ?The threat must be present to validate colonial discourse; yet if present it cannot but impel the narrative to further action. The process is interminable. And yet the play has to end.? (228) It is for this reason, Brown believes, that “The Tempest” declares no triumph for colonialism but simply offers up it?s characteristic operations.

ASSESSMENT AND RATIONALE

Paul Brown aligns himself with the post-colonial school of criticism. This is demonstrated by his use of intertextuality and his goal to show the oppression of colonized peoples. He talks not only of language as a binding factor in colonization as given to Caliban by Prospero and Miranda, but he also examines the euphemistic manipulation of language by Prospero to establish and maintain dominance. In exploration of the colonized people?s reaction, Brown studies Caliban and in what ways he speaks out against his plight. In the end, he looks for ways to change the system of colonization and finds ambivalent answers in Shakespeare?s interpretation of order.

I am interested in this essay because it supports my initial interpretation of Prospero?s role in “The Tempest.” Paul Brown?s exploration of Prospero?s art of conversation and the power he holds over his fellow characters resonates with my assessment of that power. In addition, I have learned much from Brown?s essay in the context of colonization. This information has influenced me to push beyond my limited interpretation based on New Criticism and complicate it within the context of events occurring at the time the play was written. For me, this legitimizes and expands the themes present in my original assessment of Prospero.

Work Cited:

Brown,?Paul. ?This Thing of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine?; The Tempest as the Discourse of Colonialism? William Shakespeare, “The Tempest;” A Case Study in Critical Controversy, Boston: Bedford/St. Martin?s, 2000, 205-229

I took my professor’s suggestion, sitting for several hours over the weekend with my copy of “The Tempest” and a pencil. I started back at Act 1, picking most of the descriptive notes from the bottom of the page and transferring them into the text. Reading through once more, with those in place, I made notes about the plot in the margins. As I made my way through Act III, it was obvious that I had learned much along the way. Still, I continued to transfer many of the notes, even if I didn?t think I needed them, because this made the double entendres far more apparent and enjoyable.

The difference between ?getting the gist? and picking up the humorous subtleties brought a whole new dimension to life. The whole interaction about chickens and foul was lost on me the first time through. When seeing a performance, the actors? physical cues and tone help identify Shakespeare?s play on language and the running jokes referenced throughout. In reading, I truly miss the cues. It was good to discover that the more effort I put in, the more I was rewarded with enjoyment. All this talk about Shakespeare being such a drag had me doubting how much I?d like him.

Beyond addressing the language, I did have some questions about what happened between some of the characters. In Act III, scene I, it seemed rather forward of Miranda to ask Ferdinand to marry her. Am I judging from a perspective outside the social norm for the day?

In Scene III, Caliban seems to finally speak without venom when he describes the island and his relationship to it. He talks of the noises that lull him and from what he finds comfort. Why does Shakespeare suddenly give us this new glimpse of the character in alight we?ve never seen and yet in the midst of convincing Stephano to kill Prospero?

Also, is Prospero really as magical as he boasts himself to be? It seems he has a genius mind for orchestrating events, but beyond lulling his daughter to sleep, becoming invisible, and freeing Ariel from the tree, he seems to rely much more on Ariel?s handiwork than his own.

In reading Act I of Shakespeare?s “The Tempest,” Prospero?s character is complex, making him an interesting element to focus on. He orchestrates many of the Act?s events, exhibiting many facets, from deriving great pleasure from his daughter?s smile to how demanding he can be on those who serve him.

While Prospero loses his rightful ruling position over Milan at the hand of his brother and is exiled to an island with his daughter, Miranda, he still seems to hold power, both influential and magical. By way of fate, a ship carries his brother and others near to the island and, through the shear will of Prospero, it is tossed about the sea, caught in a Tempest as reparation for the pains he has suffered. This retribution appears to be warranted, leaving me, the reader, glad for Prospero?s chance to demonstrate to his brother the ways he has suffered. But the question remains, how far will Prospero go? When a distraught Miranda asks the same question and it is revealed that none aboard the ship are physically harmed, Prospero appears to be a fair and just soul.

By enslaving the island?s only native inhabitant, Caliban, the animal-like son of a witch, as well as Ariel, an ethereal sprite he released from the holdings of a curse, Prospero?s duality is revealed. He may be too kind hearted to fully destroy the ship?s men, but he has certainly bound others to serve him with an unrelenting exhibition of power. Where does this fit within the ideals of a man who desires to serve his people and who desires to serve his daughter?s best interests? Perhaps he truly believes he helped Caliban by teaching him to communicate, but he is unwilling to see how he might be usurping Caliban?s rightful place as King of the island. He certainly freed Ariel from the pine tree but, as Ariel fulfills each of Prospero?s requests to repay this debt, he finds yet another request awaiting him.

What do these inconsistencies say about Prospero?s character as a whole? Is he really at such odds with himself, or does the text later reveal what ties these traits together? Perhaps these servants are used to show dedication from an earthly as well as spiritual world as each continues to server Prospero regardless of his brother?s refusal to do so. Even the old wise man Gonzales seems eager to help him by sending him to the island with provisions.