Perhaps the most poignant dichotomy of the American social condition is the juxtaposition between a close-knit community and the inevitable outcasts on whom it relies to sustain itself in a changing world. Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio, published in 1919, explores this paradox from the bottom up, that is, through the individual tragedies of characters who find themselves estranged from the communities in which they live. Anderson highlights the complexity of estrangement by presenting characters who seem alienated by their own merits: Wing Biddlebaum by his unshakable guilt, Jesse Bentley by his messianic ambition, and Enoch Robinson by his immense selfishness. Ostracism, whether caused by community effort or self-imposed, is the primary contributor to their identity and, further, the cause of a fundamental character flaw that further alienates them from the Winesburg community. Say no to plagiarism. Get a custom essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”?Get the original essay In Ostracism: The Power of Silence, social psychologist Kipling D. Williams argues that the idiosyncrasies of an ostracized person often play a role an important role in the origin of their alienation. “Some people may simply possess certain undesirable characteristics or behave in a way that causes others to ostracize them…Some people attract ostracism because of what they do or say” (58). Anderson's characters certainly adhere to this pattern – but what is more shocking than the ability of personality traits to spur ostracism is the power of ostracism to shape identity over time. In the very first scene of “Hands,” Wing Biddlebaum is described as “pacing nervously up and down” the decrepit porch of his house on the outskirts of Winesburg (8). This little detail is significant, because Wing was not comfortable in his own home. Indeed, Wing was not comfortable with himself. For twenty years he lived reclusively in Winesburg, connecting only with the young journalist George Willard. For twenty years, Wing “did not consider himself in any way part of the life of the city” (9). For twenty years he lived with the guilt of a horrific episode that left him “forever frightened and beset by a ghostly ghost.” band of doubts” (9). It was this horrific episode that led Wing – then Adolph Myers – from a small Pennsylvania community to Winesburg and into obscurity as a man who, at the age of forty, looked sixty-five. The teacher was branded a pedophile and physically exiled after a student's accusations created a "shudder" of hysteria in the town, as "hidden and dark doubts that had been in the men's minds regarding Adolph Myers were galvanized into beliefs” (13). The man took refuge in Winesburg under the guise of a new identity: Wing Biddlebaum, who emerged internalizing the same "dark doubts" of the community he was once passionate and keen about, Wing was overcome by guilt and self-doubt. “Although [Wing] did not understand what had happened, he felt that his hands must be to blame” (14). The story of Wing Biddlebaum is a story of hands. Their agitated activity, similar to the beating of the wings of an imprisoned bird, had given it its name... The hands alarmed their owner. He wanted to hide them and looked with astonishment at the calm and expressionless hands of the other men who worked alongside him in the fields or who passed by leading sleeping teams on the country roads (10). Wing's ostracism by the Pennsylvania community shaped hisidentity so significantly that, even as he reinvented himself in Winesburg, he still marked himself as different and fundamentally “wrong.” Williams discusses such a feature in Ostracism: “Targets who infer the [punitive] motive assume that they are being ostracized as punishment” (54). These targets often become "very self-aware," Williams says — a psychological state that can call attention to their perceived inadequacies. Wing's blatant doubt, manifested by his nervous obsession with hands, perpetual silence, and general social apprehension, caused even greater alienation from his surrounding community. “There's something wrong, but I don't want to know what it is,” George Willard remarks. “His hands have something to do with his fear of me and everyone” (12). Likewise, Wing's hands have a lot to do with why the people of Winesburg did not understand his particular lifestyle and why he was never able to truly "belong" there. Like Wing, Jesse Bentley never had a place in Winesburg. He didn't belong to his time either. “[He] was a fanatic,” the narrator describes. “He was a man born of his time and place and for that he suffered and made others suffer” (49). Anderson addresses Jesse's alienation from the Winesburg community directly after we are introduced to him, implying that his social distance from the town has occupied a dominant role in his life. Over time, his fervent ambition and his ostracism will become fundamentally linked. Destiny pushed Jesse Bentley, “the strange sheep,” to the helm of his family farm, and to do so, he faced constant rumors of doubt and scrutiny from the Winesburg community . The skepticism was not unfounded. At twenty-two, Jesse was "slight," "sensible in appearance," and "feminine in body"—a far cry from the muscles and brute strength of his older brothers who had brought success to the Bentley farm over the years. previous years. “By the standards of his time, Jesse did not look like a man at all” (48). Therefore, “the neighbors were amused when they saw him” (49). When he returned home to take charge of the farm, which at that time consisted of more than six hundred acres, everyone on the farms in the surrounding area and in the neighboring town of Winesburg smiled at the thought that he was trying to manage the work that had been done by his four strong brothers (48). Riddled by the doubts of his Winesburg neighbors, young Jesse yearned to usher in an era of industrialization that would create a great change "in the lives, habits, and thoughts of [the] people of Middle America." Thus began “Jesse’s absorption in himself and his own destiny” (51). Motivated largely by the cynics of the Winesburg community, he sought to become a new man, an “extraordinary man.” Within this new identity, Jesse "desperately wanted to make his life something of great importance, and as he looked at his fellow men and saw how they lived like clods of earth, it seemed to him that he could not can't bear to become such a lump of earth too. » (51). The corner has been driven in. Jesse began to see himself as fundamentally different from the other men of Winesburg, declaring himself "a new type of man" who would serve as the leader of an emerging "new breed of men" (52). Entrenched in his vision, Jesse withdrew from society and “everyone withdrew into the background” (49). When he was called back to Winesburg by his father, "he went away from all his people and began to make plans...It was the indefinable hunger that made his eyes flicker and kept himalways becoming more and more silent in front of people” (50). With his mind “fixed on what he read in newspapers and magazines,” Jesse Bentley cared little about the affairs of the small community of which he was still a part. “Something like an invisible curtain seemed to have stood between man and all the rest of the world” (80). The breakup was mutual. Consistent with Williams' theory, Jesse's individual characteristics appeared to cause increased community segregation. In his model of ostracism, Williams cites “callousness toward others,” “obnoxiousness,” and “perceived dangerousness” as traits that can cause such a break with society. Given the rhetoric of the time, it is likely that Jesse was ostracized in Winesburg because his cosmopolitan mentality posed a threat to their agrarian way of life, although this is not explicitly stated in the text. If Jesse Bentley's curtain was his ambition, Enoch Robinson's bulwark was his selfishness. “He was always a child and this was a handicap to his worldly development,” the narrator explains. “He never grew up and, of course, he couldn't understand people and he couldn't make himself understood” (152). Quite simply, Enoch lacked the most basic abilities of human communication. He was never able to truly connect with people and for this reason, almost all of his thoughts, feelings and emotions were focused on himself. Throughout his time in New York, Enoch's small apartment was filled with "talking artists"—young urbanites who, like Enoch, had a deep appreciation for art. In his Washington Square apartment, artists observed and discussed his paintings, which depicted pastoral scenes from his native Winesburg. In the midst of their banter, Enoch remained silent. Tortured by his own ability to communicate with artists and convinced that no one would ever understand the meaning of his paintings, Enoch “began to doubt his own mind.” In an act of self-ostracism, he “stopped inviting people into his room and took to locking the door” (154). Alone in his room, Enoch invented a social circle to replace the real people he could never talk to. In the midst of his “shadow people,” Enoch was not afraid to speak freely and boldly. For the first time in his life, “he spoke last and best” (155). In the deepest fantasies of his mind, Enoch was an orator and a socialite. Faced with the dark realities of the world, Enoch was alone. When he finally wanted to "touch flesh and blood people with his hands" (155), Enoch married the girl he sat next to at art school and sought to resume his life as an artist. be social. For a time, he was pleased with himself, because he saw himself as a "real part of things" (156). This feeling proved fleeting. During his years of solitude, Enoch was never conditioned to be a social being. Deep down, he remained selfish. One night something happened. It drove me crazy to make him understand and know how important I was in that room. I wanted her to see how important I was. I told him over and over again. When she tried to leave, I ran and locked the door… A look came into her eyes and I knew she understood. I was furious. I couldn't stand it. I wanted her to understand, but you don't see, I couldn't let her understand. I felt that then she would know everything, that I would be submerged, drowned, you see (160-1). Enoch chased the woman out of his apartment and out of his life – and his shadow men “all came out the door after her” (162). Defeated, lost and, 2001.