Nobel-winning poet Seamus Heaney took on a task he described as “trying to bring down a megalith with a toy hammer” --and succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. In his award-winning translation of the oft-maligned Old English epic Beowulf, he skips effortlessly over the many difficulties of text, language, history, and culture to present us with a fact commonly forgotten: Beowulf is a good poem. There is no need to read it only as an historical document, or as a linguistic artifact, and certainly not as a dull high school English assignment to be waded through and forgotten. Because Beowulf, brought to new life in Heaney’s translation, is good. All by itself.
The task of reviving the Beowulf text could not have fallen into more capable hands. In Heaney’s intelligent introduction, he defends his conviction that “what we are dealing with is a work of the greatest imaginative vitality, a masterpiece where the structuring of the tale is as elaborate as the beautiful contrivances of its language.” For many readers new to the text, Heaney’s fluid and beautiful way with words proves that “[the poem’s] narrative elements may belong to a previous age but as a work of art it lives in its own continuous present, equal to our knowledge of reality in present time.”
Beowulf’s continuing vitality as a work of art depends on two different elements of the poem: first, on its very gruesome and gripping depictions of the most primal human emotions; second, on its sensitive and intelligent reflection on the universal problems of loyalty, pride, defeat, and mortality. Heaney manages to fully explore Beowulf the man and Beowulf the super-hero without sacrificing the integrity of the one for the excitement of the other.
Perhaps the easiest way to “dust off” Beowulf for a contemporary, youthful audience is to accentuate its almost comic book aspect of adventure and gore. Heaney sticks close to the original here, and doesn’t shy away from the gruesome aspects of battle. His blood-and-guts approach does more than just jazz up an old text. It takes fantastic, mythical monsters and brings them out of the realm of dreams and into real, visceral, terrifying life. The freshness of the language captures the real, flesh-and-blood evil of Grendel and his mother. Without a sense that these characters are true threats (and not merely cartoon foes) the awesomeness of Beowulf’s courage is lost on the reader.
Still, Heaney never reduces the tale to a series of gory match-ups. Instead, he uses each encounter to capture the Beowulf-poet’s timeless view of duty and courage. Nor does Heaney downplay the equally daunting—and courageous—tasks of assuming the kingship during turbulent times, of forging ties of friendship with a feuding nation, and at last, of facing his own human vulnerability.
Action stories and comic books that depict a man in his struggle with a demon, a dragon, or some other mythical monster are often reductive and one-dimensional. A title character seems to appear out of nowhere to rise to battle and then disappears again, without character or history. No idea could be farther from the truth of Beowulf, which adds a hundred human valences of fear, courage, nobility, and doubt to its hero. Moreover, every other character in the poem—for the poem abounds with characters above and beyond its heroes and its monsters—is given the same sort of full, careful treatment.
Despite its seeming preoccupation with the otherworldly, the poem is imminently human. Perhaps Heaney’s greatest accomplishment is in bringing the human aspects to the forefront, so that a passage like “Father’s Lament” becomes part of a carefully nuanced pattern of translation instead of a sort of lyric interruption:
It was like the misery felt by an old man
who has lived to see his son’s body
swing on the gallows. He begins to keen
and weep for his boy, watching the raven
gloat where he hangs; he can be of no help.
..........
Alone with his longing, he lies down on his bed
and sings a lament; everything seems too large,
the steadings and the fields.
Beowulf’s chief triumph is in the individual—in an individual’s need for perseverance and fortitude to live out his singular fate. But Heaney never emphasizes this to the exclusion of the political, for in Beowulf, as now, the personal and political are intricately tied. The fortunes of Beowulf are quite literally the fortunes of his nation, for he is their leader and the last great man of their race. Therefore, the feuds, the treacheries, and the cowardice in this poem serve as a backdrop to Beowulf’s peacemaking and leadership. In a society tightly bound by ties of personal loyalty, every warrior must carry an immense political weight on his shoulders—and where Beowulf succeeds, many others fail. The funeral that ends the epic brings to a close not only Beowulf’s life, but the preeminence of his entire race:
On a height they kindled the hugest of all
funeral fires; fumes of woodsmoke
billowed darkly up, the blaze roared
and drowned out their weeping, wind died down
and flames wrought havoc in the hot bone-house,
burning it to the core.
The immensity of grief here is made only more poignant by the stark simplicity of the lines and the indifferent cruelty of the blaze. The poem’s dignity lies in its keen awareness of suffering and its unflinching commitment to endurance. The looming sense of mortality that colors the entire poem is neither self-pitying nor carelessly unaware. Instead, Beowulf prepares to face the vagaries of fate and the certainty of death with wisdom and courage, a man who “held to his high destiny.”
This criticism of Beowulf is accurate. The critic here is examining the strucutural elements of Beowulf. The success of Beowulf depends on two important elements. "Beowulf’s continuing vitality as a work of art depends on two different elements of the poem: first, on its very gruesome and gripping depictions of the most primal human emotions; second, on its sensitive and intelligent reflection on the universal problems of loyalty, pride, defeat, and mortality." The language used in Beowulf also plays a critical role in the success of this epic. "The freshness of the language captures the real, flesh-and-blood evil of Grendel and his mother. Without a sense that these characters are true threats (and not merely cartoon foes) the awesomeness of Beowulf’s courage is lost on the reader." Finally, it is also critical that the battles in which Beowulf participates in are not reduced to "gory match-ups." "Still, Heaney never reduces the tale to a series of gory match-ups. Instead, he uses each encounter to capture the Beowulf-poet’s timeless view of duty and courage." I agree with this criticism of Beowulf.
The most popular part of the Canterbury Tales is the General Prologue, which has long been admired for the lively, individualized portraits it offers. More recent criticism has reacted against this approach, claiming that the portraits are indicative of social types, part of a tradition of social satire, "estates satire", and insisting that they should not be read as individualized character portraits like those in a novel. Yet it is sure that Chaucer's capacity of human sympathy, like Shakespeare's, enabled him to go beyond the conventions of his time and create images of individualized human subjects that have been found not merely credible but endearing in every period from his own until now.
It is the General Prologue that serves to establish firmly the framework for the entire story-collection: the pilgrimage that risks being turned into a tale-telling competition. The title "General Prologue" is a modern invention, although a few manuscripts call it prologus. There are very few major textual differences between the various manuscripts. The structure of the General Prologue is a simple one. After an elaborate introduction in lines 1 - 34, the narrator begins the series of portraits (lines 35 - 719). These are followed by a report of the Host's suggestion of a tale-telling contest and its acceptance (lines 720 - 821). On the following morning the pilgrims assemble and it is decided that the Knight shall tell the first tale (lines 822 - 858).
Nothing indicates when Chaucer began to compose the General Prologue and there are no variations between manuscripts that might suggest that he revised it after making an initial version. It is sometimes felt that the last two portraits, of Pardoner and Summoner, may have been added later but there is no evidence to support this. The portraits do not follow any particular order after the first few pilgrims have been introduced; the Knight who comes first is socially the highest person present (the Host calls him 'my mayster and my lord' in line 837).
The Knight is the picture of a professional soldier, come straight from foreign wars with clothes all stained from his armour. His travels are remarkably vast; he has fought in Prussia, Lithuania, Russia, Spain, North Africa, and Turkey against pagans, Moors, and Saracens, killing many. The variety of lords for whom he has fought suggests that he is some kind of mercenary, but it seems that Chaucer may have known people at the English court with similar records. The narrator insists: "He was a verray, parfit, gentil knight," but some modern readers, ill at ease with idealized warriors, and doubtful about the value of the narrator's enthusiasms, have questioned this evaluation.
His son, the Squire, is by contrast an elegant young man about court, with fashionable clothes and romantic skills of singing and dancing.
Their Yeoman is a skilled servant in charge of the knight's land, his dress is described in detail, but not his character.
The Prioress is one of the most fully described pilgrims, and it is with her that we first notice the narrator's refusal to judge the value of what he sees. Her portrait is more concerned with how she eats than how she prays. She is rather too kind to animals, while there is no mention of her kindness to people. Finally, she has a costly set of beads around her arm, which should be used for prayer, but end in a brooch inscribed ambiguously Amor vincit omnia (Virgil's "Love conquers all"). She has a Nun with her, and "three" priests. This is a problem in counting the total number of pilgrims as twenty-nine: the word 'three' must have been added later on account of the rhyme, while only one Nun's Priest is in fact given a Tale and he is not the subject of a portrait here.
The Monk continues the series of incongruous church- people; in this description the narratorial voice often seems to be echoing the monk's comments in indirect quotation. He has many horses at home; he does not respect his monastic rule, but goes hunting instead of praying. The narrator expresses surprisingly strong support for the Monk's chosen style of living.
The Friar follows, and by now it seems clear that Chaucer has a special interest in church-people who so confidently live in contradiction with what is expected of them; the narrator, though, gives no sign of feeling any problem, as when he reports that the "worthy" Friar avoided the company of lepers and beggars. By this point the alert reader is alert to the narrator's too-ready use of 'worthy' but critics are still unsure of what Chaucer's intended strategy was here.
The Merchant is briefly described, and is followed by the Clerk of Oxenford (Oxford) who is as sincere a student as could be wished: poor, skinny like his horse, and book-loving.
The Sergeant at Law is an expert lawyer, and with him is the Franklin, a gentleman from the country whose main interest is food: "It snowed in his house of meat and drink." Then Chaucer adds a brief list of five tradesmen belonging to the same fraternity, dressed in its uniform: a Haberdasher, a Carpenter, a Weaver, a Dyer and a Tapestry-maker. None of these is described here or given a Tale to tell later. They have brought their Cook with them, he is an expert, his skills are listed, as well as some unexpected personal details. The Shipman who is described next is expert at sailing and at stealing the wine his passengers bring with them; he is also a dangerous character, perhaps a pirate.
The Doctor of Physic is praised by the narrator, "He was a verray parfit praktisour," and there follows a list of the fifteen main masters of medieval medicine; the fact that he, like most doctors in satire, "loved gold in special" is added at the end.
The Wife of Bath is the only woman, beside the Prioress and her companion Nun, on this pilgrimage. Again the narrator is positive: "She was a worthy womman al hir live" and he glides quickly over the five husbands that later figure in such detail in her Prologue, where also we may read how she became deaf. She is a business woman of strong self-importance, and her elaborate dress is a sign of her character as well as her wealth.
From her, we pass to the most clearly idealized portrait in the Prologue, the Parson. While the previous churchmen were all interested in things of this world more than in true christianity, the Parson represents the opposite pole.
He is accompanied by his equally idealized brother, the Plowman, "a true swinker" (hard-working man) "Living in peace and perfect charity." If the Parson is the model churchman, the Plowman is the model lay christian, as in Piers Plowman, one who is always ready to help the poor. It is sometimes suggested that the choice of a Plowman shows that Chaucer had read a version of Piers Plowman.
The series then ends with a mixed group of people of whom most are quite terrible: the Miller is a kind of ugly thug without charm. The Manciple is praised as a skillful steward in a household of lawyers; they are clever men but he is cleverest, since he cheats them all, the narrator cheerfully tells us. The Reeve is the manager of a farm, and he too is lining his own pocket.
Last we learn of the Summoner and the Pardoner, two grotesque figures on the edge of the church, living by it without being priests; one administers the church courts, the other sells pardons (indulgences). Children are afraid of the Summoner's face, he is suffering from some kind of skin disease; he is corrupt, as the narrator tells us after naively saying "A better fellow should men not find." But it is the Pardoner who is really odd, and modern critics have enjoyed discussing just what Chaucer meant by saying: "I trowe he were a gelding or a mare". With his collection of pigs' bones in a glass, that he uses as relics of saints to delude simple poor people, he is a monster in every way, and he concludes the list of pilgrims.
The narrator of this Prologue is Chaucer, but this pilgrim Chaucer is not to be too simply identified with the author Chaucer. He explains that in what follows, he is only acting as the faithful reporter of what others have said, without adding or omitting anything; he must not then be blamed for what he reports. Neither must he be blamed if he does not put people in the order of their social rank, "My wit is short, ye may well understand." This persona continues to profess the utter naivety that we have already noted in his uncritical descriptions of the pilgrims.
It is in this way, too, that we should approach the conclusion of the Prologue. Here the Host of the Tabard Inn (Harry Bailey, a historical figure) decides to go with them and ironically it is he, not Chaucer, who proposes the story-telling contest that gives the framework of the Tales. He will also be the ultimate judge of which is the best: "of best sentence and most solas." He is, after all, well prepared by his job to know about the tales people tell! One model for the literary competition would seem to be the meetings of people interested in poetry, known in French as puys, with which Chaucer would have been familiar.
This criticism of the prologue of Canterbury Tales is accurate. The prologue here is used to establish the framework for the tales. As stated, it can be seen that Chaucer has an interest in religious people. It can also be inferred that Chaucer believes in general the English Church is corrupt. This is seen in the numerous corrupt characters. Take the nun for example. Nuns are supposed to be respectable figures in the church. In the prologue, Chaucer portrays the nun as having numerous sexual relations and a fixation with possessions, two things nuns should not display. I agree with this criticism of Canterbury tales.
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Nobel-winning poet Seamus Heaney took on a task he described as “trying to bring down a megalith with a toy hammer” --and succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. In his award-winning translation of the oft-maligned Old English epic Beowulf, he skips effortlessly over the many difficulties of text, language, history, and culture to present us with a fact commonly forgotten: Beowulf is a good poem. There is no need to read it only as an historical document, or as a linguistic artifact, and certainly not as a dull high school English assignment to be waded through and forgotten. Because Beowulf, brought to new life in Heaney’s translation, is good. All by itself.
The task of reviving the Beowulf text could not have fallen into more capable hands. In Heaney’s intelligent introduction, he defends his conviction that “what we are dealing with is a work of the greatest imaginative vitality, a masterpiece where the structuring of the tale is as elaborate as the beautiful contrivances of its language.” For many readers new to the text, Heaney’s fluid and beautiful way with words proves that “[the poem’s] narrative elements may belong to a previous age but as a work of art it lives in its own continuous present, equal to our knowledge of reality in present time.”
Beowulf’s continuing vitality as a work of art depends on two different elements of the poem: first, on its very gruesome and gripping depictions of the most primal human emotions; second, on its sensitive and intelligent reflection on the universal problems of loyalty, pride, defeat, and mortality. Heaney manages to fully explore Beowulf the man and Beowulf the super-hero without sacrificing the integrity of the one for the excitement of the other.
Perhaps the easiest way to “dust off” Beowulf for a contemporary, youthful audience is to accentuate its almost comic book aspect of adventure and gore. Heaney sticks close to the original here, and doesn’t shy away from the gruesome aspects of battle. His blood-and-guts approach does more than just jazz up an old text. It takes fantastic, mythical monsters and brings them out of the realm of dreams and into real, visceral, terrifying life. The freshness of the language captures the real, flesh-and-blood evil of Grendel and his mother. Without a sense that these characters are true threats (and not merely cartoon foes) the awesomeness of Beowulf’s courage is lost on the reader.
Still, Heaney never reduces the tale to a series of gory match-ups. Instead, he uses each encounter to capture the Beowulf-poet’s timeless view of duty and courage. Nor does Heaney downplay the equally daunting—and courageous—tasks of assuming the kingship during turbulent times, of forging ties of friendship with a feuding nation, and at last, of facing his own human vulnerability.
Action stories and comic books that depict a man in his struggle with a demon, a dragon, or some other mythical monster are often reductive and one-dimensional. A title character seems to appear out of nowhere to rise to battle and then disappears again, without character or history. No idea could be farther from the truth of Beowulf, which adds a hundred human valences of fear, courage, nobility, and doubt to its hero. Moreover, every other character in the poem—for the poem abounds with characters above and beyond its heroes and its monsters—is given the same sort of full, careful treatment.
Despite its seeming preoccupation with the otherworldly, the poem is imminently human. Perhaps Heaney’s greatest accomplishment is in bringing the human aspects to the forefront, so that a passage like “Father’s Lament” becomes part of a carefully nuanced pattern of translation instead of a sort of lyric interruption:
It was like the misery felt by an old man
who has lived to see his son’s body
swing on the gallows. He begins to keen
and weep for his boy, watching the raven
gloat where he hangs; he can be of no help.
..........
Alone with his longing, he lies down on his bed
and sings a lament; everything seems too large,
the steadings and the fields.
Beowulf’s chief triumph is in the individual—in an individual’s need for perseverance and fortitude to live out his singular fate. But Heaney never emphasizes this to the exclusion of the political, for in Beowulf, as now, the personal and political are intricately tied. The fortunes of Beowulf are quite literally the fortunes of his nation, for he is their leader and the last great man of their race. Therefore, the feuds, the treacheries, and the cowardice in this poem serve as a backdrop to Beowulf’s peacemaking and leadership. In a society tightly bound by ties of personal loyalty, every warrior must carry an immense political weight on his shoulders—and where Beowulf succeeds, many others fail. The funeral that ends the epic brings to a close not only Beowulf’s life, but the preeminence of his entire race:
On a height they kindled the hugest of all
funeral fires; fumes of woodsmoke
billowed darkly up, the blaze roared
and drowned out their weeping, wind died down
and flames wrought havoc in the hot bone-house,
burning it to the core.
The immensity of grief here is made only more poignant by the stark simplicity of the lines and the indifferent cruelty of the blaze. The poem’s dignity lies in its keen awareness of suffering and its unflinching commitment to endurance. The looming sense of mortality that colors the entire poem is neither self-pitying nor carelessly unaware. Instead, Beowulf prepares to face the vagaries of fate and the certainty of death with wisdom and courage, a man who “held to his high destiny.”
http://www.summerblock.com/html%20samples/Heaney.htm
This criticism of Beowulf is accurate. The critic here is examining the strucutural elements of Beowulf. The success of Beowulf depends on two important elements. "Beowulf’s continuing vitality as a work of art depends on two different elements of the poem: first, on its very gruesome and gripping depictions of the most primal human emotions; second, on its sensitive and intelligent reflection on the universal problems of loyalty, pride, defeat, and mortality." The language used in Beowulf also plays a critical role in the success of this epic. "The freshness of the language captures the real, flesh-and-blood evil of Grendel and his mother. Without a sense that these characters are true threats (and not merely cartoon foes) the awesomeness of Beowulf’s courage is lost on the reader." Finally, it is also critical that the battles in which Beowulf participates in are not reduced to "gory match-ups." "Still, Heaney never reduces the tale to a series of gory match-ups. Instead, he uses each encounter to capture the Beowulf-poet’s timeless view of duty and courage." I agree with this criticism of Beowulf.
The most popular part of the Canterbury Tales is the General Prologue, which has long been admired for the lively, individualized portraits it offers. More recent criticism has reacted against this approach, claiming that the portraits are indicative of social types, part of a tradition of social satire, "estates satire", and insisting that they should not be read as individualized character portraits like those in a novel. Yet it is sure that Chaucer's capacity of human sympathy, like Shakespeare's, enabled him to go beyond the conventions of his time and create images of individualized human subjects that have been found not merely credible but endearing in every period from his own until now.
It is the General Prologue that serves to establish firmly the framework for the entire story-collection: the pilgrimage that risks being turned into a tale-telling competition. The title "General Prologue" is a modern invention, although a few manuscripts call it prologus. There are very few major textual differences between the various manuscripts. The structure of the General Prologue is a simple one. After an elaborate introduction in lines 1 - 34, the narrator begins the series of portraits (lines 35 - 719). These are followed by a report of the Host's suggestion of a tale-telling contest and its acceptance (lines 720 - 821). On the following morning the pilgrims assemble and it is decided that the Knight shall tell the first tale (lines 822 - 858).
Nothing indicates when Chaucer began to compose the General Prologue and there are no variations between manuscripts that might suggest that he revised it after making an initial version. It is sometimes felt that the last two portraits, of Pardoner and Summoner, may have been added later but there is no evidence to support this. The portraits do not follow any particular order after the first few pilgrims have been introduced; the Knight who comes first is socially the highest person present (the Host calls him 'my mayster and my lord' in line 837).
The Knight is the picture of a professional soldier, come straight from foreign wars with clothes all stained from his armour. His travels are remarkably vast; he has fought in Prussia, Lithuania, Russia, Spain, North Africa, and Turkey against pagans, Moors, and Saracens, killing many. The variety of lords for whom he has fought suggests that he is some kind of mercenary, but it seems that Chaucer may have known people at the English court with similar records. The narrator insists: "He was a verray, parfit, gentil knight," but some modern readers, ill at ease with idealized warriors, and doubtful about the value of the narrator's enthusiasms, have questioned this evaluation.
His son, the Squire, is by contrast an elegant young man about court, with fashionable clothes and romantic skills of singing and dancing.
Their Yeoman is a skilled servant in charge of the knight's land, his dress is described in detail, but not his character.
The Prioress is one of the most fully described pilgrims, and it is with her that we first notice the narrator's refusal to judge the value of what he sees. Her portrait is more concerned with how she eats than how she prays. She is rather too kind to animals, while there is no mention of her kindness to people. Finally, she has a costly set of beads around her arm, which should be used for prayer, but end in a brooch inscribed ambiguously Amor vincit omnia (Virgil's "Love conquers all"). She has a Nun with her, and "three" priests. This is a problem in counting the total number of pilgrims as twenty-nine: the word 'three' must have been added later on account of the rhyme, while only one Nun's Priest is in fact given a Tale and he is not the subject of a portrait here.
The Monk continues the series of incongruous church- people; in this description the narratorial voice often seems to be echoing the monk's comments in indirect quotation. He has many horses at home; he does not respect his monastic rule, but goes hunting instead of praying. The narrator expresses surprisingly strong support for the Monk's chosen style of living.
The Friar follows, and by now it seems clear that Chaucer has a special interest in church-people who so confidently live in contradiction with what is expected of them; the narrator, though, gives no sign of feeling any problem, as when he reports that the "worthy" Friar avoided the company of lepers and beggars. By this point the alert reader is alert to the narrator's too-ready use of 'worthy' but critics are still unsure of what Chaucer's intended strategy was here.
The Merchant is briefly described, and is followed by the Clerk of Oxenford (Oxford) who is as sincere a student as could be wished: poor, skinny like his horse, and book-loving.
The Sergeant at Law is an expert lawyer, and with him is the Franklin, a gentleman from the country whose main interest is food: "It snowed in his house of meat and drink." Then Chaucer adds a brief list of five tradesmen belonging to the same fraternity, dressed in its uniform: a Haberdasher, a Carpenter, a Weaver, a Dyer and a Tapestry-maker. None of these is described here or given a Tale to tell later. They have brought their Cook with them, he is an expert, his skills are listed, as well as some unexpected personal details. The Shipman who is described next is expert at sailing and at stealing the wine his passengers bring with them; he is also a dangerous character, perhaps a pirate.
The Doctor of Physic is praised by the narrator, "He was a verray parfit praktisour," and there follows a list of the fifteen main masters of medieval medicine; the fact that he, like most doctors in satire, "loved gold in special" is added at the end.
The Wife of Bath is the only woman, beside the Prioress and her companion Nun, on this pilgrimage. Again the narrator is positive: "She was a worthy womman al hir live" and he glides quickly over the five husbands that later figure in such detail in her Prologue, where also we may read how she became deaf. She is a business woman of strong self-importance, and her elaborate dress is a sign of her character as well as her wealth.
From her, we pass to the most clearly idealized portrait in the Prologue, the Parson. While the previous churchmen were all interested in things of this world more than in true christianity, the Parson represents the opposite pole.
He is accompanied by his equally idealized brother, the Plowman, "a true swinker" (hard-working man) "Living in peace and perfect charity." If the Parson is the model churchman, the Plowman is the model lay christian, as in Piers Plowman, one who is always ready to help the poor. It is sometimes suggested that the choice of a Plowman shows that Chaucer had read a version of Piers Plowman.
The series then ends with a mixed group of people of whom most are quite terrible: the Miller is a kind of ugly thug without charm. The Manciple is praised as a skillful steward in a household of lawyers; they are clever men but he is cleverest, since he cheats them all, the narrator cheerfully tells us. The Reeve is the manager of a farm, and he too is lining his own pocket.
Last we learn of the Summoner and the Pardoner, two grotesque figures on the edge of the church, living by it without being priests; one administers the church courts, the other sells pardons (indulgences). Children are afraid of the Summoner's face, he is suffering from some kind of skin disease; he is corrupt, as the narrator tells us after naively saying "A better fellow should men not find." But it is the Pardoner who is really odd, and modern critics have enjoyed discussing just what Chaucer meant by saying: "I trowe he were a gelding or a mare". With his collection of pigs' bones in a glass, that he uses as relics of saints to delude simple poor people, he is a monster in every way, and he concludes the list of pilgrims.
The narrator of this Prologue is Chaucer, but this pilgrim Chaucer is not to be too simply identified with the author Chaucer. He explains that in what follows, he is only acting as the faithful reporter of what others have said, without adding or omitting anything; he must not then be blamed for what he reports. Neither must he be blamed if he does not put people in the order of their social rank, "My wit is short, ye may well understand." This persona continues to profess the utter naivety that we have already noted in his uncritical descriptions of the pilgrims.
It is in this way, too, that we should approach the conclusion of the Prologue. Here the Host of the Tabard Inn (Harry Bailey, a historical figure) decides to go with them and ironically it is he, not Chaucer, who proposes the story-telling contest that gives the framework of the Tales. He will also be the ultimate judge of which is the best: "of best sentence and most solas." He is, after all, well prepared by his job to know about the tales people tell! One model for the literary competition would seem to be the meetings of people interested in poetry, known in French as puys, with which Chaucer would have been familiar.
http://hompi.sogang.ac.kr/anthony/Chaucer/Genprol.htm
This criticism of the prologue of Canterbury Tales is accurate. The prologue here is used to establish the framework for the tales. As stated, it can be seen that Chaucer has an interest in religious people. It can also be inferred that Chaucer believes in general the English Church is corrupt. This is seen in the numerous corrupt characters. Take the nun for example. Nuns are supposed to be respectable figures in the church. In the prologue, Chaucer portrays the nun as having numerous sexual relations and a fixation with possessions, two things nuns should not display. I agree with this criticism of Canterbury tales.
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