I was eighteen. I can hardly remember being that young, but I must have been, once.
Before I begin, it’s important for you to know that beyond being a nurse, a single parent of five, a young widow at thirty-five, and the strongest, most compassionate, smartest, and most giving woman I have ever known, my grandmother also saved an immense amount of things.
She wasn’t a hoarder—no. All of her papers were neat and carefully tucked away. But as I go through the mountain of documents, recipes, and keepsakes in an effort to tidy up and downsize, I’ve discovered many treasures. My grandmother’s handwriting. Her notes and letters. And this undeveloped essay I wrote for my senior English class.
I made a B- on it, with the note that it was “not fully developed,” with which I would have to agree. Still, I find it charming to hear the voice of my younger self, just beginning to explore literature in a meaningful way.
So below, unfettered and untampered with, are my thoughts on two classic works.
A Comparison & Contrast of “My Last Duchess” and “Ulysses”
Robert Browning’s “My Last Duchess” and Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s “Ulysses” are alike in many ways. Both poems deal with the restlessness of the human spirit and the yearning of the soul.
When these two poems are pitted against each other, the similarities between the main characters of “Ulysses” and “My Last Duchess” are evident. Both characters are the victims of their own actions; Ulysses being his ambition, the Duchess being her lack of ambition.
While there are similarities between “Ulysses” and “My Last Duchess,” there are also differences. While Ulysses is the daring adventurer, the Duchess is the withdrawn ornament of the household. While the Duchess seems mainly materialistic, Ulysses is a rugged, down-to-earth warrior.
My personal favorite is “Ulysses,” because of the rustic feel and nostalgic treatment of an age-old story.
I realize that my tastes have changed. If I were writing this today, I would probably choose “My Last Duchess” as my favorite.
But none of that really matters.
I was young, but the seedling of my literary voice was already there. And this essay clearly meant something to my grandmother, since she kept it all these years.
Perhaps that is what is most meaningful of all—that she loved me enough to save my handwriting…my words…for so long.
She has been gone now for seven years. But her notes remain. Her words linger.
And the love she gave me continues to shape and influence my life.