Ion, part 3

Great questions, Mr. Clark! I tried to reply in a comment, but apparently I had written too much for the textbox. :) I'd love to hear your thoughts on these as well.

1. Can Ion’s quest for land be seen as a metaphor for something else? Can it be seen as an example of humanity’s futile quest to capture and embody characteristics that more properly belong to God? Or maybe a rebellion against the frail confines of human existence? Or a quest for significance apart from God?

Yes, I definitely think Ion’s quest for land is a metaphor of a greater struggle. Though any of the three options you propose are quite possible, a quest for significance seems to be one of the more likely ones. But I’m still thinking about this question…

2. You mention the frequent beatings and oppression women endured in the novel. Are there any instances of defiance by women characters? Do you think the judge’s comment about women being the source of all crime is an attitude the novel itself asserts, or does the book undercut this attitude?

I think the novel, overall, perpetuates extreme patriarchy and the oppression of women, for reasons I’ve mentioned in my last post. Women in the novel seem to accept their social position without qualms, and in fact it seems women are actually among the chief enforcers of patriarchy. For the most part, women simply accept their position of housekeeper and bedmate and do their best to fly beneath the radar, in some cases to avoid beatings. Ana is obviously the prime example of such a lifestyle, and Macedon Cercetasu’s wife encourages her to accept her fate, (that "God has willed it that women shall suffer" on p. 252).

However, there are also minor subversions that crop up in the novel. For one thing, several women have a powerful voice in their families, sometimes even overpowering their husbands. For example, in the Herdelea household, all three women have incredible sway with the father, and they convince him to act as they wish (albeit using tears and pleas instead of relying on logic and discourse). Zenobia Glanetasu also runs her family in her husband’s stead, working hard to make up for her husband’s laziness, but also fighting to protect her dowry from his drinking habit. Roza Lang is another woman in the novel who steps outside normal patriarchal roles, but she does so in a sexual manner, for her promiscuous ways are known to everyone in the surrounding villages. In fact, she is the one who awakens Titu’s sexuality, which reverses the traditional stereotype that man must be the more sexually experienced one in a relationship.
Though these instances reveal that some women to attempt to defy patriarchy, they are not successful in doing so, for all of them remain dependent on men for approval and sustenance, and thus never actually construct meaning for themselves outside of the social construct of wife-hood. Indeed, to be an old maid is one of the most-feared "conditions" women face in this novel, as Savista, Florica, Laura, Ghighi, and several other women clearly show by their attempts to secure husbands.

Only one woman seemed to me to be an independent thinker, and only one other dared defy male authority to extend charity to a woman need. Both women are minor characters, easy enough to forget (and I even have to look up their names), yet powerful in their quiet demeanors. Virginia Gherman is the school mistress Titu meets during one of his clerk stunts; she is a strong, independent thinker, and echoes his patriotic sentiments. In her, Titu feels he has found a "friendship born of the same unselfish aspirations" (285), based not on physical attraction but rather on intellectual stimulation. However, Titu is extremely disillusioned when Virginia proceeds to make her own decisions, independently of Titu, and becomes engaged to a Hungarian lieutenant. For Titu, the action is irreconcilable to their common philosophy, but Virginia has no problem crossing social and ethical constructions in order to construct for herself a life that is as pleasurable as possible.

The other woman is Macedon Cercetasu’s wife. Her name is never given, and she appears a total of three times (if I remember correctly). However, she is the only kind soul in the book, in my opinion, because she is the one who runs to Ana after her father and husband beat her (on separate occasions). She does indeed affirm patriarchy by encouraging Ana to take on a suffering servant role (as the woman herself does). However, Mrs. Cercetasu subverts patriarchy by "interfering" in the men’s "affairs" (read: rushing to soother Ana after the beatings) when no one else will; the villagers cite a man’s supreme authority in his own yard as the primary reason to stay away (175). Mrs. Cercetasu does not overtly reject patriarchy, but she does make a tiny step in the right direction: defending the innocent and helpless despite consequences to her own personal safety. And that, I believe, is an act of bravery (which just so happens to be a traditionally "male" characteristics).

3. Your observation concerning Romanian Christians’ inability to separate themselves from pagan practices and beliefs seems to be an issue that has plagued the church from its founding. Paul warns the Corinthians against maintaining pagan practices; the early church had to deal with Gnostic influences; in more modern times we’ve seen churches defend inhumane practices, such as slavery, or compromise themselves in order to ingratiate themselves to the state, such as the German Church during Hitler’s rule. Are there any indications in the text that Christianity can be anything more than a tool for gaining/maintaining power and authority over others? Why does it seem so easy for the church to fall prey to seeking earthly power and to compromising the Christian message to conform it to contemporary trends? Is Ion fairly representative of a humanity attempting to be its own god?

I agree that Christianity has long been used as a political tool to gain power over others, and, certainly, Father Belciug uses it as such. However, I do not believe manipulation is Christianity’s main purpose for the characters in Ion. Rather, it appears that most of the Romanian peasants in this novel are sincere—yet seriously misguided—in their faith.

Mrs. Herdelea, for example, constantly prattles her prayers and church chants, hoping to gain God’s ear and his favor on her family; yet she also seeks to fulfill her "duty" toward Him—she observes fasts, attends services, and generally tries to stay away from anything "pagan;" yet her conduct does not always line up with her religion. In fact, she is prone to show favoritism to those people who will prove helpful to her or her family, shamelessly fawning over inspectors, prospective suitors, and distant relatives; she also swears brazenly those whom she formerly praised; in short, her life is self-centered.

Compare Mrs. Herdelea with Zenobia Glanetasu, however, and one can see more fully the shortcomings of religion in these characters’ lives. Zenobia, like Mrs. Herdelea, fasts, attends services, and kneels daily before the icons to raise her prayers to God. However, she is also quick to swear, pass judgment on the innocent, treat her husband cruelly, and dabble in witchcraft. Laura and George Pintea also view religion as a means to an end, hoping to raise nationalistic spirit in their missionary village from the pulpit.

Religion, for the peasants at least, seems to be more of an added safeguard (albeit with minor inconveniences) against evil than a radical lifestyle of selfless abandonment and grateful obedience.

Ion, part 2

Well, praise God, I've finished reading Ion! Actually, I finished reading it two days ago, but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to write about it. Perhaps because the plot is so intricate it leaves one with a content sigh after the last page is turned. Perhaps because it is an incredibly well-written novel that covers a large spectrum of topics. Perhaps because I'm an incurable procrastinator. *sigh*

Pofta vine mancand, [One's appetite comes after beginning the meal] some say. Well, I hope that's true and I will find my desire to write while doing so. Here it goes!

I've been following several important themes throughout the novel, noting the progression of ideas and the affirmation of my suspicions page after page.

• Different understandings of love surface in this work; both Titu and Ion say they "love" women, but what is their love based on? How does their view of love develop as they interact with different women? How does the men's understanding of love contrast with women's in the novel? How do Laura and Ghighi grow in their understanding of love?

• It appears all significant themes connect, in some way, with the land:

1. Class rank is intimately bound to how much land one owns, particularly in the rural scene; Ion attempts to break class structures by acquiring more land
2. Women are treated unjustly throughout the novel; Ana, in particular, is objectified on account of her dowry, transformed into a means to an end
3. The political power struggle between Romanians and Hungarians is actually a dispute over the Transylvanian land; this struggle is quite apparent in the conflict between the Lusca village men and Paunis Saxons (324)

• Ironically, Ion spends his entire adult life trying to conquer land, to assert his dominance over the fields of corn, wheat, and grass. At the beginning of the novel, it appears land is the master as Ion "gaze[s] at [the fields] with boundless reverence, like a faithful servant before a powerful and pitiless master" (40) (see earlier post about land). The twist seems to come when Ion does indeed secure Ana's dowry and all of his father-in-law's possessions. For a precious few days, the scale is inverted and Ion basks in his achievement: "His heart was steeped in happiness. There was nothing else in the world he desired; his bliss was supreme. The land, all the land lay prostrate at his feet, paying homage to him . . . it all belonged to him; all was his, his alone . . . [...] He felt in him the pride and might of the giant in fairy tales who, after a grim, deadly battle, has slain a host of fearful dragons. He thrust his feet deeper into the ground, as if he were crushing the last writhings of a defeated foe. And the land reeled and shuddered and bowed in obeisance before him" (329-30). Though Ion had indeed achieved his lifelong dream, the victory seems empty. After all, land in and of itself was not the end goal of his battle; he wanted a position of irrefutable superiority and dominance, where all others bowed before him and offered him whatever his heart desired. (I do not wish to imply that Ion was not ready to work hard for his wealth; after all, his work ethos is praised throughout the novel and earns the respect of the Herdelea family and others, before his descent into narcissism.) I believe the greatest irony in the book is spoken close to the very end, when Vasile Baciu unwittingly reveals the true victor in the struggle for the upper hand: “[Ion] stole my land, and God gave him all the earth he could want!” This phrase alludes to the Biblical verse “Of dust you are made, and to the dust you shall return.” Though Ion may have tried to exert his dominion over the land while he lived, it is the land that eventually engulfs him and decomposes the remains of his physical body, proving once more the immutability of the land amidst the fleeting days of humans.

• I would very much like to tackle a feminist reading of this novel at some point in the future. Ion is so perfectly patriarchal, that one would be hard-pressed to find an example of equality or fairness throughout. Nearly every woman is tainted by her pursuit of trifling concerns (c.f. the Herdelea women and their incessant, nonsensical chatter and wavering beliefs) and her physical, emotional, and mental inferiority to man. In fact, women appear to be the cause of many ills in village life: “It is my firm belief,” the Hungarian judge presiding over Ion’s murder says, “that if there were no women in the world, there would be no need of any criminal law!” Implicitly, then, women are the root of crime and corruption. Moreover, they are to suffer quietly the injustices raining upon them, having a meek and submissive attitude even when they are beaten within an inch of their lives. Ana, perhaps the most sympathetic character because of the numerous injustices she suffers is concomitantly the most antithetic character precisely because she is a weakling, bending to her father’s and husband’s wrath, cowering in a corner and eventually escaping life by suicide. After the first time Ion beats her, the kind-natured Mrs. Macedon Cercetasu attempts to sooth her, whispering, “There now, child! Don’t cry anymore. Hush! You must bear everything in silence, for God has willed it that women shall suffer. Hush, now! Hush!” (252) Ana unquestioningly embraces her “fate,” and resolves to try harder to please her husband and prove her worthiness. Even as the fists showered on her, she “bore it all, submissive and suffering” (277), even finding excuses for Ion’s behavior in order to spare him any blame. Perhaps the most shocking display of patriarchy in the novel comes when Vasile Baciu beats his daughter upon discovering the father of her child. In this scene, Vasile is punching and kicking the pregnant Ana, her face covered in blood and body writhing in pain. The village women shriek and try to entreat the man to stop, alternatively pleading with their husbands to interfere before the man kills his daughter. They all stand watching until “urged on by their wives, some of the men that lived nearby came up and tried to pacify him, not daring however to rush upon and hold him back as Avrum had done, for every man is his own master in his farmyard, whatever he may be doing there, and no stranger may interfere” (175, italics mine). I simply do not know what else to say after that. Perhaps the reason it leaves me speechless is because I’ve heard that very phrase repeated time and again while I was living in the village, often cited as an excuse for gross injustice. This claim is faulty on a number of levels; however, the most basic fallacy is simply this: though a man may be master over his farmyard, he may never be master over his wife or children. They, too, are created in the image of God and have intrinsic value and worth. I believe that, before the Creator of the Universe, the father and the daughter are equally valuable; moreover, fathers will be called to give account for the way they have treated their wives and children, whether good or bad. Claiming that a man’s yard is his kingdom and thus he has full prerogative to do whatever he wills in it is simply false; a daughter/wife is not an object, she may not be disposed of at one’s whim, she may not be humiliated and tortured simply because of one man’s temper. Not, that is, according to a humane society’s laws. …I will pause here for fear I say something based on pet peeves rather than fact. Unfortunately, I’m afraid other novels on the list will provide plenty of fodder for this discussion.

• Another important aspect to consider is the portrayal of Christianity in this novel. Romania considers itself to be a “Christian nation,” predominantly orthodox, holding to its traditions, fasts, ceremonies, and prayers with rigid dogmatism. However, too often Orthodoxy becomes merely a characteristic and not a heart attitude that affects every aspect of one’s life. The plot is filled with disparity between doctrine and lifestyle. Witchcraft is present throughout the novel, yet coexists with Orthodoxy undisturbed; charms, chants, suspicions and bad omens abound, yet they are conveniently intertwined with Christianity; for example, Zenobia prepares one of her charms to make her grandson, Petrisor, healthy once more, dropping flaming embers in a bucket of cold water to reveal whether someone has cast a curse upon the little one. All the while, she makes the sign of the cross over the bucket and whispers prayers to Mary to release the boy from any spell. Though this behavior may seem irreconcilable with Christianity to a protestant, the inhabitants of Pripas have no qualms about it.

• I thoroughly respect Rebreanu’s attempt to sketch lifelike characters, portraying people as they really are: good moments, bad days, fickle, loyal, praising a neighbor one moment and cursing him another. There is no man too strong to fall, no woman too gentle to turn around and spit on the hand that feeds her; for that, even the predominantly negative characters have redeeming traits that endears them to the reader, creating a strain in the reader’s loyalties. Rebreanu does not commit the sin other writers often do—he does not create characters merely to get a point across. Though his novel indeed has substance and important social and political critiques throughout, it is not merely a political statement thinly guised in fiction form. Rather, the story itself is a faithful portrayal of early 20^th century village life, including its breathtaking beauties and its dismaying horrors. All this to say, Ion, by Liviu Rebreanu, is a classic piece of writing that deserves exceedingly more scholarly attention than it has hitherto received.

I guess the Romanians’ saying is right, and may be equally paired with an Americanism: “Once you start, you just can’t stop.” Alas, the day is drawing to a close and so must this post. I am currently working on an essay surveying Romanian history, focusing in particular on the events of early 20^th century Romania. Incidentally, the first four decades of last century were arguably the most formative in Romania’s history. So I definitely have my work cut out for me.

If any of you readers have read Ion (assuming there’s actually someone out there who is reading this, besides the good-nature Mr. Clark), I would love to dialog on some of these topics.

This land is your land.... This land is MY land!

I’m 150 pages into Ion, and enjoying it much more than I had anticipated. I had heard the novel called “an agrarian novel,” but had not understood what exactly that phrase referred to –until now. (Well, perhaps even now I don’t completely understand, but at least I’m starting to grasp the meaning.)

Ion’s relationship with the land is one of master-servant. However, surprisingly, it is the land that masters Ion, not vice-versa. Traditionally, people set out to stake their claim on land, charting unconquered territory, galloping into the Wild West to tame and subdue the wilderness. Well, in this case, the land has long-since been tilled, plotted, and cultivated for generations before Ion, yet, surprisingly, it always outlasts its masters. It may change hands from one person to another (even as the Glanetasu’s have lost their land and Baciu has gained increasingly more), it may submit itself to the whims of the farmer, but eventually, the people die off and the land remains, a silent witness to the ever-changing surroundings. Rebreanu describes the land as much, saying “the whole land, cut up according to the whims or needs of the host of living and dead souls into thousands of small pieces, seemed to be alive and breathing. […] The voice of the earth pierced deep into the young man’s soul, like an irresistible, overwhelming call. He felt little and weak, like a worm that is trodden underfoot, or like a helpless leaf whirled about by the wind to where it pleased. He heaved a deep sigh of humility and awe before the giant” (40). The “giant” is neither a man, nor a man-made institution, nor God Himself (who Ion addresses in his admiration) but rather the land itself. Ion worships the ground he walks on, gazing “at [the fields] with boundless reverence, like a faithful servant before a powerful and pitiless master” (40).

However, it is not an innocent love and admiration for land that has Ion spellbound—it is his own insatiable thirst for security and wealth. In fact, one may even say that land is just a means to an end; Ion wants Vasile Baciu’s land so that George won’t have it (67), but also so that he would prove to the villagers his worth. Perhaps one of the most startling realizations so far—for me, at least—is how very far Ion is willing to sacrifice his principles in order to appease his appetite for land.

In a telling paragraph, Rebreanu recounts “[Ion] had been a prey to this love of land since his early childhood. He had always envied the rich and had even nurtured the same ardent resolution: to own a great deal of land, whatever might happen! Ever since, his love for land had been greater even than the love for a mother” (41). This comparison, the love of land and the love of mother, is significant because of Romanians’ fierce devotion to their mothers. Sure, they may swear at them in anger, they may taunt and belittle them, some may even beat them; however, one’s loyalty inevitably lies with one’s mother, and a son would die to defend her honor. Thus, elevating Ion’s love for land above his lover for mother reveals that Ion is willing to do anything it takes to secure it. I’ve sensed that the love of land had quite a hold on Ion’s heart, but I didn’t quite realize the extent of his obsession until I saw it played out in his actions. The fact that Ion is envious is quite plain—the narrator even says so. However, the land motivates Ion in his every action, and his desire to increase his holdings prods him to commit shocking actions.

Of course, one quickly realizes that Ion courts Ana because of her dowry and not out of sincere devotion. He leads her, without a qualm, into believing that he is fiercely in love with her. However, his most pure emotions are certainly linked to Florica; Ana realizes this, and (I’m sorry to say this) is a fool to see only what she wants. Ion’s love of land blinds him to any reason or propriety, and he courts one girl (Ana) while pledging devotion to another (Florica). Soon, however, it is not just girls’ hearts he toys with; his avarice leads him to a deeper crime—theft. First he simply appraises Vasile Baciu’s land, dreaming and planning how it shall be under his hand (79). Almost immediately, he turns his attention to Simion Lungu’s plot, land which had originally belonged to his parents yet had been sold in an attempt to pay off debts. Ion consequently plows four furrows into his neighbor’s land, “his brow moist with sweat and excitement” (79). This is a significant moment in the plot, because for the first time, Ion’s love for land pushes him to an action completely antithetical to his system of beliefs. Sadly, it is only the first hint of his future demise.

Avarice leads to theft, which then leads to blasphemy. Ion had been an admirable young man, well-educated, hard-working, respected by his peers and village folk alike, content to settle down with a beautiful (albeit poor) woman—all until it occurred to him that he could increase his lands by marrying Ana. After being confronted by Simion, the two broke into a brawl and, in the end, “Ion spat disdainfully, crying out that he didn’t care a damn about anyone and wasn’t afraid of anybody, not even of God Almighty” (81). Granted, the village priest didn’t give Ion a positive picture of Christianity to begin with (more on Christianity in this novel in a future post, hopefully). However, Ion’s greed blinds him to any principle whatsoever, and that includes his reverence (or lack thereof) for God, and transforms him from a decent, honest man into a scoundrel, heralding his descent into immorality.

On a side note, I noticed the Hungarian domination over the Romanians in Transylvania and how this causes unbridled patriotism/nationalism. My Romanian history is a little murky at this point, so I’ll have to consult the history books on this one, but I’m curious to set this novel in its proper historical context.