Review: The World's Wives By Carol Ann Duffy

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Sang Hyun Lee (David) English 110 Professor Patricia Nadir April, 2015 Beyond Two Dimensions: Discovering round characters in its adaptations This paper critically examines the representation of the monsters in Carol Ann Duffy’s collection of poems, “The World’s Wives”. In this collection of poems, Duffy presents the characters anew for the readers to look at those that were previously presented as two dimensional characters within the bounds of original works. Duffy brings to life her own representation of the characters be it monster or victim providing a new insight. This paper focuses on two poems, “Medusa” and the “Little Red Cap”, to study how Duffy’s representations go beyond two dimensional representations to provide readers …show more content…

In Duffy’s re-telling, Little Red Riding Hood enters the woods knowing exactly what its darkness holds. The Little Red Cap is introduced in a confident voice from line 1; “At childhood’s end…” quickly distinguishes Duffy’s adaptation from the traditional fairytale. Readers understand that this retelling is not by a little girl being cautioned by her mother, but someone who recognizes how the wolf stood at the junction between her innocence and maturity as clearly evident in line 5. The persona’s catalogue belies that she knows exactly where everything is; she can’t be led astray by a wolf dressed in her grandmother’s …show more content…

I crawled in his wake, 15 my stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes but got there, wolf’s lair, better beware. Lesson one that night, breath of the wolf in my ear was the love poem. I clung till dawn to his thrashing fur, 20 for what little girl doesn’t dearly love a wolf? Then I slid from between his heavy matted paws and went in search of a living bird – white dove – which flew, straight, from my hands to his open mouth? One bite, dead. How nice, breakfast in bed, he said, 25 licking his chops. As soon as he slept, I crept to the back of the lair, where a whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books. words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head, warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood. But then I was young – and it took ten years 30 in the woods to tell that a mushroom stoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birds are the uttered thought of trees, that a greying wolf howls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out, season after season, same rhyme, same reason. I took an axe

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