With Armageddon approaching, global recession deepening, and natural disasters ripping apart the world in every sense of the word, depression and anxiety have embedded themselves deeply enough in all of us. What the people of today’s society need, over the dispiriting gloom provided in The Glass Menagerie, is the uplifting hilarity present in “For Whom the Southern Belle Tolls”. Durang’s “Belle” turns Tennessee Williams’ play Menagerie inside out, mocking and making light of the melodramatic, pathetic, and overall annoying characters found in the latter.
Part of what makes “Belle” so entertaining is its exaggeration of the feeble characters of its mother play. Take for example Laura, who is unbearably timid, crippled, and immature in her adoration of glass animals even at her post adolescent age. She makes these qualities most present during the last few scenes of the play, in which she is so shy that she cannot even muster the courage to open the front door.
“Laura: Oh, Mother—you answer the door!…Don’t make me do it!…
Amanda: Laura that is your brother and Mr. O’Connor! Will you let them in, darling?
…Laura: Please, please, please, you go!
…Amanda: Why?
Laura: I can’t, I’m sick!” (Williams, 56-57)” more…

When the word “hero” is addressed, the usual image which comes to mind often involves a tall, handsome, muscular figure with an outfit to match his chiseled abdomen, and majestic underpants pulled over his tights. Perhaps he is stopping a missile seconds before its imminent explosion, or rescuing a mangy cat from a tree. It is little expected, however, that in this scenario, the cat itself may be the actual hero. In Charles Bukowski’s unorthodox yet inspiring poem “The History of One Tough Mother—”, it becomes apparent that the greatest heroes are not always the ones who save lives and pummel criminals, but those who are able to save their own lives—survive—against all impossible odds. Such heroes do not need lavish praise and eloquence to raise them to the level of heroism—straightforward, grammatically flawed language is more than enough to inspire all of their incredible resolve.
Everything about the hero of Bukowski’s unconventional poem is unlikely—from his “one tough history” to his feline species. Generally speaking, cats are portrayed as solitary, slinky, and furtive—sometimes villains, but rarely heroes. At first, that is what the pitiful subject appears to be, a typical alley cat, as the narrator’s relation describes: “He came to the door one night wet thin beaten and/ terrorized/… [He] grew to trust me” (1, 2, 5). Here, the pathetic figure is introduced, and his tough façade is interrupted by his uncharacteristic trust. Perhaps the cat has finally found his long-awaited peace—until unexpectedly, fate’s cruelty falls upon him: “a friend drove up the driveway and ran him over” (5, 6). A turn of events occurs for the feeble cat—what may have been a chance at living pleasurably had backfired against him, and peace had been cruelly exchanged with anguish. But the means for his heroism—his incredible resilience and perseverance—are set in this accident. The seeds for inspiration are planted with his re-shattered backbone, wounded legs, and impossible situation. Instead of losing his trust for the narrator, as would be expected, the cat relies on the narrator to aid him through his circumstance. He inspires the narrator when—miraculously—manages to come to his feet one day, and stumble a few steps. And the rest, as Bukowski implies, is history: “You know the rest: now he’s better than ever, cross-eyed/ almost toothless, but the grace is back…” (38-39). The cat had defied all expectations—he had been presumed almost dead, at best immobile, but had recovered nonetheless. His story inspired the alcoholic narrator’s creativity in his writing career, as well as every reader to come across his dazzling story.
Of course, the cat would be little, its fabricated story unheard of, if not for the literary merits of its creator. Its masterful qualities begin at the title—rebellious, mischievous, but extremely inviting. The very presence of a socially unacceptable word is what makes a reader gasp, glance around to ensure solitude, and begin to eagerly devour the piece. Miles apart from the harsh, bitter title, Bukowski also includes poignant visuals to capture the compassion and dedication of the narrator, such as in the premier stage of the cat’s recovery: “he wouldn’t eat, he/ wouldn’t touch the water, I dipped my finger into it/ and wet his mouth…” (16-17). This image of gentle physical contact portrays love beneath the stolid, carefree surface of the narrator, and touches the reader with its endearing literary style. Bukowski also shows use of unique comparisons, as when the cat takes its first shaky steps to his bathroom: “it was like the trumpet of possible victory/blowing into that bathroom and into the city” (28, 29). In this simile, Bukowski comically compares sounds made while defecating to an anthem of success, emphasizing the importance of those few feeble steps.
What adds distinctiveness and uniqueness to the piece are unorthodox language which may be considered errors or flaws in writings not as carefully and masterfully crafted as Bukowski’s. Poetry generally contains a pleasing flow—with meter, rhythm, and occasionally rhymes. However, Bukowski’s poem contains none of this flowery nonsense, as displayed from the first few lines of the piece. “he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and/ terrorized/ a white cross-eyed tailless cat” (1-3). The very first word of the poem breaks a rule driven into use since the first years of literacy—the first word of the sentence is not capitalized. He disregards, as well, all commas, accepting that the reader is educated enough to comprehend the writing without them. The second line of the piece is a single word, adding emphasis to it, and exaggerating the pitiful appearance of the cat, whereas the first line is the opposite in length, increasing the pause between the first and second line, continuing to emphasize the attribute “terrorized”.
Heroes such as the epic cat of Charles Bukowski’s “A History of One Tough Mother—“ do not need lavish praise and eloquence to raise them to the level of heroism. Straightforward, grammatically flawed language is more than enough to inspire all of their incredible resolve. In this literary masterpiece, Bukowski creates the quintessence of miraculous resilience, and a portrait of inspiration.