Dreaming, in the scientific sense of the word, is an unconscious brain activity most of the human and animal population take part in while sleeping. Dreams are the images we see while we are in the REM (rapid eye movement) stage of sleep. Over time, humans have attempted to interpret these dreams in different ways, the most famous being those of Sigmund Freud, and Carl Jung. In the book "The Thief and the Dogs" by Naguib Mahfouz, there is a very important dream sequence that includes different images such as the main characters daughter (Sana) whipping his old best friend (Rauf), a Sheikh, Qur'an recitations, a car chase, Rauf coming out of the dashboard, money, a gun, and an ID car, which when looked at through the eyes of Freud and Jung, begin to make more sense. Also, through the analysis of the dream sequence it is easy to understand how Said, the main character, was created by Mahfouz in order to represent the majority of the Egyptian population.
According to Sigmund Freud, dreams are the reflections of our unconscious desires; these are separated into two parts: manifest and latent. Manifest content being the part of dreams that is very superficial, while latent content being our subconscious wishes. Manifest often veils the latent content. According to Freud, most of our desires, whether conscious or unconscious are driven by sexual desire, which puts a spin on Saids dream that is quite interesting. The opening scene, which describes Said being whipped in prison and showing no restraint, can be described as Saids repressed want for sexual intercourse while in prison because pointed things are considered penises, and rythmic movements intercourse. Said then drinks milk, which can be said to be the symbol of his need for motherly love, either from Nabawiyya or Nur or even his own mother. The next image is that of Sana, his daughter, whipping Rauf, his old best friend who he now considers a traitor; this represents Sana and Rauf having sex, which shows us Saids deepest fear being that his daughter will become one with Rauf, that she to will turn her back on him. The Qu'ranic recitations he then hears before finding himself in a car chase also represent copulation because it is a rhythmic activity, again representing the his suppressed sexual desires while in prison. He then finds himself in a car chase without any breaks so he ends up shooting all around him, meaning he does not know where he is going in life because of the lack of breaks, and that he is again sexually frustrated because of the gun which means penises because their bullets penetrate the body. Then Rauf comes out of the dashboard, signifying birth, meaning Said has noticed that Rauf has become a new person. When Said says that it was not Sana who whipped Rauf, but instead Nabawiyya, he wishes to imply that his daughter is not the traitor, but that Nabawiyya is, but he is lying, showing that he does not want to accept the truth. Said then tries to join a group of Sufi chanters, which symbolize an orgy because they are all participating in the rhythmic action of singing, but he is turned away by the Sheikh, illuminating the fact that Said does not feel accepted, which is reinforced when the Sheikh demands an ID card. He wants to become one with society just as he was before but the government and Rauf do not allow it because in the dream Rauf is the head of all Shiekhs, showing how much he feels like he is being controlled. By offering his help, Said proves that all he really wants it to be excepted.
Carl Jung, who was a student of Freud, had a different point of view on the topic of dream analysis. He also believed that dreams reflected one's unconscious, but that these were more spiritual than sexual. Jung did not believe that dreams shielded true desires from the brain using symbols, but that instead the images that are seen while dreaming are messages that the sleeper must pay attention to in order to understand their problems. Freud interprets dreams on the object level, meaning he looks at the relationships between the dreamer and the persons in his dream in real life, while Jung introduced the subject level, which sees the images in dreams as different features of the dreamers psychological life. According to Jung, Saids dream represents how much he misses his daughter, does not know how to control his life and wishes to be accepted back into Egypt in order to continue living like he used to. It also shows how he sees Rauf as traitor and disliked the government because he feels that they are controling his whole life, what he can do and can't etc... By paying attention to these signs, Said could understand that killing Illish and Nabawiyya will not calm his soul, but that being understood and accepted will.
Mahfouz illustrates a sexually frustrated, lost and confused man, showing the reader what it was like to be a citizen of Egypt during those turbulent times. When Said got out of prison, he came out into a world that was unlike the one that he had been accustomed to living in before. He and many of his friends, including Rauf, believed that the revolution would bring new found freedom and equality, but when Said was set free he was met with a world where " one feared the walls (1)". According to Saids dream, he has no idea where his life is going, or what to do about it, just like most of the Egyptians of that time must have felt. Most thought that the revolution would bring good, but when it didn't many were not very sure of what they fought for.
Dreams and the subconscious, cannot be controlled, which renders them a very honest aspect. Both Freud and Jung believe that dreams do reflect ones true desires, whether those be sexual or spiritual. The interpretations of Saids dream by Freud and Jung surprisingly come to the same conclusions by following different roots. They both concluded that Said is confused, and lost.Through his dream Said not only illuminate not only his own subconscious, but that of a whole generation.
(1) The Paris Review - Naguib Mahfouz, The Art of Fiction No. 129
http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/2062/the-art-of-fiction-no-129-naguib-mahfouz
24 Mart 2014 Pazartesi
20 Mart 2014 Perşembe
Script
SCRIPT BETWEEN RAUF AND THE SHEIKH
Genco and Nebila
Genco and Nebila
Rauf: “It was idiotic for you to try tricks on me. I know
you. I can read you like an open book.”
Sheikh: “Do not tell lies.”
R: “What do you mean?”
S: “You seek the walls, not the heart.”
R: “Never for that I live by the sweat of my brow.”
S: “Go and wash your face.”
R: “You treat me as an enemy. You’ve forgotten my kindness, my charity.”
S: “Wash yourself now and read.”
R: “You feel nothing but malice and envy. I know your thoughts, as clearly as I know your actions.”
S: “Wash and read.”
R: “You know you’re lying.”
S: “I there anything I could do for you? Do not tell lies, take a copy of the Koran and read.”
R: “What then?”
S: “Wash and read the verses: ‘Say to them: if you love God, then follow me and God will love you’ and ‘I have chosen thee for myself.’ Also repeat the words: ‘Love is acceptance, which means obeying his commands and refraining from what he has prohibited and contentment with what the decrees and ordains.’”
R: “Don’t try to be evasive, out with it.”
S: “Wash and read.”
Sheikh: “Do not tell lies.”
R: “What do you mean?”
S: “You seek the walls, not the heart.”
R: “Never for that I live by the sweat of my brow.”
S: “Go and wash your face.”
R: “You treat me as an enemy. You’ve forgotten my kindness, my charity.”
S: “Wash yourself now and read.”
R: “You feel nothing but malice and envy. I know your thoughts, as clearly as I know your actions.”
S: “Wash and read.”
R: “You know you’re lying.”
S: “I there anything I could do for you? Do not tell lies, take a copy of the Koran and read.”
R: “What then?”
S: “Wash and read the verses: ‘Say to them: if you love God, then follow me and God will love you’ and ‘I have chosen thee for myself.’ Also repeat the words: ‘Love is acceptance, which means obeying his commands and refraining from what he has prohibited and contentment with what the decrees and ordains.’”
R: “Don’t try to be evasive, out with it.”
S: “Wash and read.”
Blogger doesn't allow me to add voice recordings, so the recording of our script is on Genco's blog.
16 Mart 2014 Pazar
A Short (finished) Story
There are some days when you feel like everything is totally out of
your control. You feel as though you were in a theater watching a play,
or in a book waiting for the author to write your next move. It is on
these days that you begin to question what goes on around you. You begin
to wonder whether the lunatic on the bus really is crazy, if it is not
just you who doesn't understand him.
On Saturday June 5th George Allistar woke up not feeling like himself. He felt as though he was watching his life go by through the keyhole of a door: seeing only colors, no details. He saw himself put on his grey wrinkled suit, gaze at his grizzly beard and pocketed eyes in the mirror. It was depressing really, the life he was leading. Every morning he went out to look for a job but would always end up in the same place, sitting on a bench in the park, watching everyone lead their lives. He loved to watch the beautiful newly wed young women walk their dogs and listen to the gossip about their trivial housewiferey. He loved to watch the old men feed the pigeons, and listen to the great stories of their lost youth. Different faces came and went, but they were all the same people.
Life for George seemed like a faint etching on a dirty concrete wall. Jobs passed by, one day he was painting houses, another day he was the reporter for the back page news. Women drifted by, first there was Flaura, then Susan, Laura, Marguerite, Daisy, and last but certainly not the least, Julia. What had caught his attention about her was her resemblance to Joan of Arc (or at least how he imagined her). Julia, like all the rest of them, had found him romantic at first, the mysterious poet they had always fantasized about; but soon, when the gleam of his intellect began to fade, they started to notice that he was really just a vagabond in a suit who could barely keep a job for more than a few days.
He had always felt that only Julia understood him, even if it was only slightly. One day, when she had asked him what he did outside everyday if he wasn't working, he brought her to the park. When she asked him what the point was, what was the differences between sitting in an office and sitting on this bench, he began to tell her their stories. George told her about Mrs. Wilson's problems with her husband, about how they could never decide what to watch on the television or which movie they were going to go to at the cinema, how it was tearing their marriage apart. He told her about Mr. Cambell and how he won the war. How he left everything behind, including his sweetheart Lucille (who was the best girl he'd ever had) to kill Germans. Julia nodded as he told her about the lives he has been living through for so long. When he finished, he looked back at her, searching for understanding in her eyes, but all he got was,
"You're crazy."
That was the last time he saw her, the lone Jean of Arc of his heart. He sent a few halfhearted letter, telling her he would try to find a job, that he'd change. She knew he wouldn't, he knew he wouldn't, because under everything:
he really did not care.
MONDAY.
There is a woman in her mid-twenties, I've never seen her here before. She has black hair that barely grazes the top of her breasts. She is wearing a gray/green sweater through which I can see the faint outline of her white strapless bra. She has been sitting across from me for the past 10 minutes, during which time she has smoked at least two cigarettes. Her skin is a toasted white and her face is long, but just the right length that it's attractive. Her eyes are slightly pulled and she has carefully applied makeup that really makes them stand out. On her lap is a light forest green parka with a brown fur edging.I watch her and wonder what it is that she is so stressed about, what has made her cremate those sticks of tobacco so impatiently and urgently. From the way she is glancing at me I can tell she knows I'm watching her and taking notes about her behavior, but I can't help it. My eyes cannot get enough of her, nor can my hands quit documenting this moment. She is iron and I am a magnet, it is not my fault. Suddenly she stands up, tosses her last torch onto the ground, allowing me to soak in her body in the process: not as good as I had expected, but still a ravishing woman. She confidently strides down the path, out of the park, and goes down into the subway station. I am forced to give my attention to someone else.
From the other direction a woman in white hesitantly sits on the bench in front of me. She has a faint mustache on the top of her lips and her hair is disheveled and black. Her white jacket looks quite expensive but out of place under her dirty face and over her gray dusty sweatpants. On her lap she has a checkered purse that looks as though it hold everything she owns. She's looking around, anxiously puffing on a cigarette like the last woman, as if she were waiting for someone who she must see urgently but is late. This is not the first time I've seen her, she comes here everyday, moving from bench to bench, restlessly waiting for someone who has never come. Most people here shift in their seats whenever her stare even grazes them, and move to another bench whenever she sits next to them, they think her crazy. Sometimes I see her talk to herself, answer phone calls from the palm of her hand and I wonder who she is. She comes to the park everyday in search of something, anything. She hesitantly stands up and shuffles to a young couple that is chatting near by, asking them if they have any cigs. The man,seeing her approach, pulls his girl in closer, as he feels the need to protect her from a nearing predator. They give her what she wants and quickly walk away, whispering to each other words that only lovers understand. I look at the time, 4:55, It's time to go back. Sometimes I wonder if this woman and I are not looking for the same thing, what exactly that is, I do not know. A shiver runs down my spine as I accidentally imagine her naked. I quicken my pace. It's been a long day.
MONDAY
The office is completely silent, save the sound of papers rustling and pens scratching paper. In front of her sits Carl, with his chunky glasses, balding black greasy hair, and soaking armpits. Every few seconds he lets out a faint sigh as he draws and redraws the outlines for a soon to be TV Dinner commercial. Julia finds it strange how stressed he has become, and notes down his behavior; she's never seen him show so much attention to anything. The faint taping of his index finger on the side of the table blends in perfectly with the rhythmic noises of the writing room.The smoke from his cigarette melts in with the great foggy cloud mass of pollution that looms and drifts above every ones head. Julia sits their everyday, watching Carl do his thing; she is not attracted to him in anyway, just interested. She wonders what governs his mind when he erases and redraws the same thing over and over again, continuing the same pattern every single day.
"Julia!"
She turns her head with everyone else and finds Charles is calling her over. He is wearing a bright purple polka-dotted tie over a wrinkled white button up shirt and black pants. He has jelled back curly hair and a look in his eyes that always makes Julia feel uncomfortable, but she reluctantly shuffles over, pulling her skirt lower so that it covers as much of her legs as possible and flinching at the thought of his warm fish breath hitting her face. He starts blabbing about things that she honestly does not care about, the next project and the weather. Julia's eyes trace the room and she sees Gloria is fast asleep, her thin white arms occasionally twitching under he head of blonde curls. Next to her is a bald man who shes never seen before, but who can't stop sneezing. All these things Julia documents in her notebook, nothing escapes her eyes in this 300 foot office.
“She had blue skin,
On Saturday June 5th George Allistar woke up not feeling like himself. He felt as though he was watching his life go by through the keyhole of a door: seeing only colors, no details. He saw himself put on his grey wrinkled suit, gaze at his grizzly beard and pocketed eyes in the mirror. It was depressing really, the life he was leading. Every morning he went out to look for a job but would always end up in the same place, sitting on a bench in the park, watching everyone lead their lives. He loved to watch the beautiful newly wed young women walk their dogs and listen to the gossip about their trivial housewiferey. He loved to watch the old men feed the pigeons, and listen to the great stories of their lost youth. Different faces came and went, but they were all the same people.
Life for George seemed like a faint etching on a dirty concrete wall. Jobs passed by, one day he was painting houses, another day he was the reporter for the back page news. Women drifted by, first there was Flaura, then Susan, Laura, Marguerite, Daisy, and last but certainly not the least, Julia. What had caught his attention about her was her resemblance to Joan of Arc (or at least how he imagined her). Julia, like all the rest of them, had found him romantic at first, the mysterious poet they had always fantasized about; but soon, when the gleam of his intellect began to fade, they started to notice that he was really just a vagabond in a suit who could barely keep a job for more than a few days.
He had always felt that only Julia understood him, even if it was only slightly. One day, when she had asked him what he did outside everyday if he wasn't working, he brought her to the park. When she asked him what the point was, what was the differences between sitting in an office and sitting on this bench, he began to tell her their stories. George told her about Mrs. Wilson's problems with her husband, about how they could never decide what to watch on the television or which movie they were going to go to at the cinema, how it was tearing their marriage apart. He told her about Mr. Cambell and how he won the war. How he left everything behind, including his sweetheart Lucille (who was the best girl he'd ever had) to kill Germans. Julia nodded as he told her about the lives he has been living through for so long. When he finished, he looked back at her, searching for understanding in her eyes, but all he got was,
"You're crazy."
That was the last time he saw her, the lone Jean of Arc of his heart. He sent a few halfhearted letter, telling her he would try to find a job, that he'd change. She knew he wouldn't, he knew he wouldn't, because under everything:
he really did not care.
MONDAY.
There is a woman in her mid-twenties, I've never seen her here before. She has black hair that barely grazes the top of her breasts. She is wearing a gray/green sweater through which I can see the faint outline of her white strapless bra. She has been sitting across from me for the past 10 minutes, during which time she has smoked at least two cigarettes. Her skin is a toasted white and her face is long, but just the right length that it's attractive. Her eyes are slightly pulled and she has carefully applied makeup that really makes them stand out. On her lap is a light forest green parka with a brown fur edging.I watch her and wonder what it is that she is so stressed about, what has made her cremate those sticks of tobacco so impatiently and urgently. From the way she is glancing at me I can tell she knows I'm watching her and taking notes about her behavior, but I can't help it. My eyes cannot get enough of her, nor can my hands quit documenting this moment. She is iron and I am a magnet, it is not my fault. Suddenly she stands up, tosses her last torch onto the ground, allowing me to soak in her body in the process: not as good as I had expected, but still a ravishing woman. She confidently strides down the path, out of the park, and goes down into the subway station. I am forced to give my attention to someone else.
From the other direction a woman in white hesitantly sits on the bench in front of me. She has a faint mustache on the top of her lips and her hair is disheveled and black. Her white jacket looks quite expensive but out of place under her dirty face and over her gray dusty sweatpants. On her lap she has a checkered purse that looks as though it hold everything she owns. She's looking around, anxiously puffing on a cigarette like the last woman, as if she were waiting for someone who she must see urgently but is late. This is not the first time I've seen her, she comes here everyday, moving from bench to bench, restlessly waiting for someone who has never come. Most people here shift in their seats whenever her stare even grazes them, and move to another bench whenever she sits next to them, they think her crazy. Sometimes I see her talk to herself, answer phone calls from the palm of her hand and I wonder who she is. She comes to the park everyday in search of something, anything. She hesitantly stands up and shuffles to a young couple that is chatting near by, asking them if they have any cigs. The man,seeing her approach, pulls his girl in closer, as he feels the need to protect her from a nearing predator. They give her what she wants and quickly walk away, whispering to each other words that only lovers understand. I look at the time, 4:55, It's time to go back. Sometimes I wonder if this woman and I are not looking for the same thing, what exactly that is, I do not know. A shiver runs down my spine as I accidentally imagine her naked. I quicken my pace. It's been a long day.
MONDAY
The office is completely silent, save the sound of papers rustling and pens scratching paper. In front of her sits Carl, with his chunky glasses, balding black greasy hair, and soaking armpits. Every few seconds he lets out a faint sigh as he draws and redraws the outlines for a soon to be TV Dinner commercial. Julia finds it strange how stressed he has become, and notes down his behavior; she's never seen him show so much attention to anything. The faint taping of his index finger on the side of the table blends in perfectly with the rhythmic noises of the writing room.The smoke from his cigarette melts in with the great foggy cloud mass of pollution that looms and drifts above every ones head. Julia sits their everyday, watching Carl do his thing; she is not attracted to him in anyway, just interested. She wonders what governs his mind when he erases and redraws the same thing over and over again, continuing the same pattern every single day.
"Julia!"
She turns her head with everyone else and finds Charles is calling her over. He is wearing a bright purple polka-dotted tie over a wrinkled white button up shirt and black pants. He has jelled back curly hair and a look in his eyes that always makes Julia feel uncomfortable, but she reluctantly shuffles over, pulling her skirt lower so that it covers as much of her legs as possible and flinching at the thought of his warm fish breath hitting her face. He starts blabbing about things that she honestly does not care about, the next project and the weather. Julia's eyes trace the room and she sees Gloria is fast asleep, her thin white arms occasionally twitching under he head of blonde curls. Next to her is a bald man who shes never seen before, but who can't stop sneezing. All these things Julia documents in her notebook, nothing escapes her eyes in this 300 foot office.
“She had blue skin,
And so did he.
He kept it hid
And so did she.
They searched for blue
Their whole life through,
Then passed right by-
And never knew.”
-Shel Silverstein.
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