“I have always disliked the morning, it is too responsible a time, with the daylight demanding that it be 'faced' and (usually when I wake for I wake late) with the sun already up and in charge of the world, with little hope of anyone usurping or challenging its authority. A shot of light in the face of a poor waking human being and another slave limps wounded into the light-occupied territory.”
In this quote from Janet Frame, the author expresses her dislike for mornings due to the sense of responsibility and authority that comes with the daylight. She conveys a feeling of being oppressed by the sun's power and dominance, likening waking up to entering a territory controlled by light. The imagery of a "slave" being wounded by the sun suggests a sense of struggle and discomfort that Frame associates with mornings. This quote highlights the author's unique perspective on the morning and her feelings of resistance towards the demands of daylight.
In today's fast-paced world, where productivity is often equated with success, Janet Frame's words on her dislike for mornings still hold true for many. The pressure to "face" the day and meet its demands can be overwhelming, especially for those who may struggle with mental health issues or simply find early mornings to be a challenge. The imagery of the sun already being in charge of the world can feel like a heavy weight on one's shoulders, further highlighting the struggle of feeling powerless in the face of external expectations. Ultimately, Frame's reflection on mornings serves as a reminder to prioritize self-care and set boundaries, even in a world that may seem to always be switched on.
In this quote, Janet Frame expresses her dislike for mornings and the responsibility that comes with facing the day. She vividly describes the feeling of being overwhelmed by the sunlight and the sense of being a "wounded slave" entering the day.
In the quote by Janet Frame, she expresses her dislike for mornings and the sense of responsibility that comes with facing the daylight. Reflecting on this, consider the following questions:
“Both formality and dinner forgotten we sat on the floor of the little library, choosing. Sometimes Dr Portman read passages aloud and turned his own memories with their dark side to face the light. And it was late afternoon when, with a headache of happiness, I returned to the ward. And from that day I felt in myself a reserve of warmth from which I could help myself, like coal from the cellar on a winter’s day, if the snow came or if the frost fell in the night to blacken the flowers and wither the new fruit.”
“Listening to her, one experienced a deep uneasiness as of having avoided an urgent responsibility, like someone who, walking at night along the banks of a stream, catches a glimpse in the water of a white face or a moving limb and turns quickly away, refusing to help or to search for help. We all see the faces in the water. We smother our memory of them, even our belief in their reality, and become calm people of the world; or we can neither forget or help them. Sometimes by a trick of circumstances or dream or a hostile neighborhood of light we see our own face.”
“The sun is all love and murder, judgement, the perpetual raid of conscience, paratrooping light which opens like a snow-blossom in the downward drift of death. Wherever I turn - the golden cymbals of judgement, the summoning of the torturers of light.”
“From the first place of liquid darkness, within the second place of air and light, I set down the following record with its mixture of fact and truths and memories of truths and its direction always toward the Third Place, where the starting point is myth.”
“I don't wish to inhabit the world under false pretences. I'm relieved to have discovered my identity after being so confused about it for so many years. Why should people be afraid if I confide in them? Yet people will always be afraid and jealous of those who finally establish their identity; it leads them to consider their own, to seclude it, cosset it, for fear it may be borrowed or interfered with, and when they are in the act of protecting it they suffer the shock of realising that their identity is nothing, it is something they dreamed and never knew; and then begins the painstaking search - what shall they choose - beast? another human being? insect? bird?”
“People dread silence because it is transparent; like clear water, which reveals every obstacle—the used, the dead, the drowned, silence reveals the cast-off words and thoughts dropped in to obscure its clear stream. And when people stare too close to silence they sometimes face their own reflections, their magnified shadows in the depths, and that frightens them. I know; I know.”