The Shadow

We've probably all experienced the sensation: somewhere, somehow, we saw a new possibility open up before us, or felt a strange impulse to follow a desire that we could hardly name. We were wise, or so we thought, to resist the temptation, to stay on the path of our sober-minded, plan-in-advance selves. And then, perhaps years later, we wondered why, and what things might have been like if we hadn't.

Hans Christian Andersen's "The Shadow" takes up this question -- decidedly one that haunts adults rather than children -- in a strange allegory that reads like a fairy tale but burns at the soul like some mad tale of Poe. And like Poe (and Shelley, Gogol, Dostoyevsky, and many others), Andersen hit upon the folk legend of a double, or doppelgänger, as a metaphor for this desire deferred. With roots deep in popular folklore, these tales of someone with an uncanny resemblance to one's self are chilling enough as far as they go -- for it seems that there's only room in the universe for one of them: either the double or the self must die.

In Andersen's tale, the "learned man" (perhaps "scholar" would be a more apt English translation) permits his shadow to do pursue a course of action he himself was too timid to attempt, and initially counts himself fortunate. The lack of a shadow, after all, was but a minor inconvenience -- what of it? The twist here is that this decision precipitates the birth of a separate entity, one that eventually comes to possess all of the boldness and sense of purpose that the student lacked. The student, gradually and inexorably, is fated to become the shadow's shadow, and eventually even less than that.

Many people assume that fairy tales ought to teach some moral lesson. They forget that, in their original forms, most folktales had no such lesson; it was moralizers such as Perrault (who published the most popular versions of "Cinderella" and "Little Red Riding Hood") who attached morals to them, in part to make them safe for family reading, to harness their wild imaginings in the name of civilizing influence.

But although "The Shadow," like many of Andersen's tales, has a sort of moral in it, there's also a strong contravening force: if we are to avoid the fate of the unfortunate scholar, we must in fact act on our desires, must sometimes step outside the moral and personal codes that bind us. And indeed, anyone who creates -- whether a writer of fictions, a visual artist, or a filmmaker -- is already engaged in the shadow business.

So read this story, and let it speak to you freely -- then post your comment below. If you'd like, you can respond to one of the discussion questions I've prepared to help get your thoughts flowing.

Welcome to English 120: Self and Shadow

The moment we walk out the front doors of our homes and apartments, we enter the world of social expectations. Our entire journey to adulthood is filled with their study -- we must first learn language, then how to speak properly to parents, teachers, and playmates; at school, we learn to sit attentively at our desks, and not to make noise in libraries. Later, to get our drivers' licenses, we learn the rules of the road, and in our workplaces we learn to follow the guidelines laid down by our supervisors. Our life is so rule-bound, indeed, that it's no wonder we need release at the end of the day, whether that comes in the form of food, entertainment, or just relaxation. Yet  are those enough? What unfulfilled wishes, what resentments, what cravings are left for our shadows to pursue?

In this class, we'll look at the way a number of different literary writers have represented this world of shadows. We'll begin with one of the first and most potent of these tales, Hans Christian Andersen's "The Shadow." Next, it's Edgar Allan Poe, whose contributions to this tradition include such macabre tales as "Descent into the Maelstrom" and "Manuscript Found in a Bottle." We'll wrap up our first three weeks with Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Ryme of the Ancient Mariner," a tale told by a madman, but signifying a great deal!

After that we'll turn our attention to another early tale, E.T.A. Hoffman's original "Sandman," a far more disturbing figure than either the innocent 1950's version of "Mr. Sandman" or the comic/graphic novel versions of the twentieth century. Then, there comes a ghost -- summoned accidentally, but no matter -- in the M.R. James's classic "Whistle and I'll come to you," along with its brilliant television adaptation by Jonathan Miller. Lastly, we'll take on the work of America's greatest writer of the surreal, Shirley Jackson, particularly the very last stories she completed, many of which touch on this theme of welcome -- or unwelcome -- doubleness. 

Wherever possible, our readings will be made available freely, as will our viewings, though in a few cases you will need to order the book or rent a movie from a streaming service. In addition to the online responses in our discussion, there will be a formal final paper of 4-6 pages in length, on a text or film of your choosing from among those we've read or seen as part of the class.