There is a multitude of settings in The Canterbury Tales, from the Nun Priest’s humble barnyard to the Knight’s grand arena. While one might be hard-pressed to find much commonality among such a wide variety of places, I have found that there does seem to be one unifying motif that spans the entire Canterbury Tales, not only the tales themselves but also the narrative backdrop of the pilgrims’ journey. In simplest terms, tales whose setting is urban have more of a focus on interpersonal interactions and commentary on socialization. The presence of more people in an urban setting allow for greater chances for other characters to be used as comparative devices for the main characters in any given tale. Meanwhile, in tales which take place in more pastoral areas – usually forests, which is no surprise given the prevalence of wooded areas in England – the focus is on introspection or growth from within, that is, the character of each person being revealed without the need for other characters to act as foils.
	We’ll begin not with the Knight’s tale but instead by looking at the setting that wraps around all tales – the journey from London to Canterbury as undertaken by the pilgrims. There sits our narrator in the Southwerk tavern, with “ful devout corage” ready to undertake his journey. No doubt our author’s self-insert was aware of the perils of pilgrimage, yet it seems he was still ready and willing to go it alone. Fortunately for him, into the Tabard bursts the company of other pilgrims, and he joins up with them instead – an early example of the many interpersonal interactions that go on among the members of our merry band. Each pilgrim is introduced and described, and then the company of pilgrims stands at the edge of town, ready to depart. Here they leave the urban, interpersonal setting and decide on the telling of tales as a way to pass the journey. Yet while still within the gates of Southwerk they undergo the most interactive interaction that we see for the whole of the pilgrims’ narrative – the laying down of the rules that will dictate their tale-telling game followed by the drawing of straws to see who tells their tale first.  Thereafter, the pilgrims make their way from the social environs of Southwerk and the Tabard and set off to tell tales on the road, a more individual-focused paradigm. And as they continue on the long roads between cities – and venture into the introspective, rural setting – each story offers chances for its listeners to reflect on it and think about how it might apply to their lives. Granted, given that it is a company of pilgrims defined as much by their interactions among each other between tales as they are by the tales themselves, I still hold to my position that those pilgrims that aren’t squabbling, interrupting each other, or otherwise carrying on are considering the tales as they’re being told. Additionally, while some pilgrims have a ready arsenal of stories to tell (such as the Pardoner with his repertoire of sermons), others may have to spend part of the journey weaving a story together that demonstrates the message that they want to share with the other pilgrims with whom they share the journey, which would naturally require reflective thought not only on what they want to say by telling their tale, but how best to couch that message and weave it into a story that stands up on its own. Some of the pilgrims, of course, don’t have much of a blatant or straightforward message, such as the Miller, and the Squire is such a hopeless storyteller that his tale never gets off the ground.
	The Knight’s Tale begins with Theseus, our evenhanded and just protagonist. He rides to Athens with his company, moving from a rural to an urban setting, and before he even reaches the gates is he beset by four women who, rather than letting him have his homecoming feast, inspire him to undertake a quest to Thebes to secure the bodies of their husbands for proper burial. Even before getting into the “meat” of the tale with our heroes Arcite and Palamon, we can see the commentary on interpersonal relations and the chivalric code; few indeed are those who would pass up a celebration in their honor after coming home from battle in order to undertake a new fight. And just when it seems all is well, another social stumbling block appears in Thesus’ path.
	Arcite and Palamon are healed and imprisoned by Theseus, which leaves them with little recourse but to interact with each other. As we watch them, their relationship goes from friendly cellmates to blood-sworn brothers. When Arcite is banished and Palamon left to languor in the cells, the story pauses. There is, after all, no more to be said about the development of the relationship between the two while they are apart.
	And as Arcite spends his time outside of the city and away from any hope of seeing his love, he has time to dwell on his lovesickness—to privately lament his broken heart. And where else would he do this but in a secluded forest? Rural settings are where self-reflection takes place, after all!
	The notion of interaction as the focus comes to the fore after Theseus sets the stage for the epic battle between the two for Emelye’s heart. Here the interaction isn’t between people and other people, but between people and the gods. And what significant action it is – these exchanges between postulant and divine are a key part of the Tale. More volatile interactions soon follow, of course, between Arcite and Palamon’s armies and themselves. And as Arcite lies dying, he is surrounded by people, and his interaction with them in the form of his lament interestingly blends the two ideas of self-reflection while outside the city and social interaction while within. As he reflects on his life and the suffering that he has endured, he asks to be alone in his last moments – an interesting request, given the argument that reflection is the focus of these Tales when one is alone. Yet his company departs not from his deathbed, and so he comments further on the ideals of chivalry and justice, which are much more relevant to the theme of interpersonal interplay and interaction. Indeed, his last words are for mercy from another, rather than a continuation of his brooding, demonstrating that in urban settings, communication with others trumps self-analysis.
	The Miller’s Tale fortunately takes place in a completely urban setting, and were it not for the interaction between people that it showcases it would hardly be a tale at all. There is hardly any room for introspection given the close quarters that its characters often find themselves in (indeed, often times the distance between two characters is so low as to necessitate negative numbers to express). While lacking a particularly strong moral message, the ending note in which the carpenter John is shamed completely by the townsfolk for being a cuckold is mentioned specifically. This showcases the fact that this urban Tale focuses on interpersonal relationships, to say nothing of the relationship between Alisoun and Nicholas. The prevalence of the two love triangles forms the heart and soul of this story, with both plots (the Misdirected Kiss and the Second Flood) building strongly on the intimacies of the interactions among the characters. Take away the interplay between individuals, and the Tale is left gutted completely.
	The Reeve’s quitting tale is similar – it, too, takes place in an urban setting, and it, too, deals with the intricacies and pitfalls of interpersonal relations. To use the same pun that Chaucer himself employs, the grinding between people deals more with differences in social class than marital status. The students, as are all the players in the tale, urban folk, though the miller and his family are a bit less so. The justice meted out by Fortune in this tale is perhaps skewed but fair – the cheating Miller finds that his wife has inadvertently become a cheater herself, and the clever students, acting on behalf of the local steward, get to have their grain and eat it too – in full spite of the miller’s snipes at their education.  The social motif is again strong here; as can be expected of an urban Tale, the characters develop and the plot advances primarily as a result of interactions between people. Yet, as with other tales of the type, we don’t have the same character depth in the students, nor the miller nor his family,  that we see in, say, the Knight found in the Wife of Bath’s tale.
	Continuing in the chain of urban tales comes the Reeve’s tale, which in its brevity makes no less of a social commentary. Perkin Reveler’s entire life is based around socializing and interaction, and in fitting with the framework of this paper he lives entirely in a city and makes the most of it, being both a ladies’ man and a friend to all at the pub. Well-adored by the cityfolk and well a bother to his boss, he is eventually cast out of his employment. He takes up employment at a more salacious establishment, and we can reasonably certainly suppose that his continuing propensity for social living draws him further and further into sin. The tale, therefore, exemplifies the notion that the urban tales speak of interaction between people over introspection; there’s hardly any of the latter, and if not for the former there would be no tale at all.
	The Man of Law’s tale is the first that begins to depart from the urban-social setting, for in it there is much time for poor Constance to reflect as she drifts on and on in her rudderless craft. Yet we haven’t yet shaken off from the social aspect – from the Sultan’s command for his subjects to change religion to the slaughter at the wedding feast, the intricacies of socialization are still explored here. The Sultan’s mother’s reaction to being told that she must change her religion for a foreign girl, example, is likely a representation of many mothers’ reactions to the news that their sons are being wedded and that the wife may well change the man (though, thankfully, this sort of murderous rampage in reaction to the news is rare). The idea of one person bringing about great and catastrophic change comes up once more when Constance finds herself in Northumberland, and the idea of violent resistance to change is personified in the knight that strikes down poor Hermengild. After the wayward knight gets his comeuppance, the king Alla marries the foreign girl, just after the pagans are all converted to Christianity. Constance bears the king a beautiful heir, and the converted pagans are all beside themselves in happiness.
	All, except, for the King’s wife, Donegild, who tricks the off-to-war King with letters bemoaning her grandson’s deformities. Donegild’s deception not only in her letters to the king but in his reply send lovely Constance off on her boat once more. Yet like the knight, Donegild is killed as well for acting in opposition to the spread of Christendom. However, her execution is more notable, as she is the mother of the man who orders her execution.
	Constance’s constancy is the most laudable aspect of this story, her enduring devotion to God and law being the key lessons that the tale presents. A setting that goes from city to boat and back again several times over only shows that regardless of the conditions of others around, it is important to remain steadfast in one’s core beliefs and religious faith. Even in the face of amnesia and obscurity, Constance remains true to her namesake, and along comes her estranged husband, and the two of them return to Northumberland, however briefly.  Stay true to your upbringing, says the tale, and others will be impressed, possibly impressed enough to follow your example. Disregard the beliefs of those around you and remain steadfast in your morals, and everything will turn out happily ever after. A more socially-oriented lesson would be difficult to find.
	We come next to the Wife of Bath’s prologue and tale. Her prologue speaks of her urban lifestyle, of how well she knew the ins and outs of social living, and how she was able to turn even the institution of marriage to her advantage. If anyone personifies the idea of advancing in an urban setting through mastery of socialization, it can be none other than Alisoun!
	Yet her tale begins to explore the idea of introspection in the wilderness. After the knight’s rape of the forest maiden, he is sent to the castle, where the women decide his fate. They send him on a journey that requires greater self-reflection and meditation than any characters in tales before him have known.  For most of his prescribed year of penance he tries and tries to find what it is that women desire above all else, whether by reflection or by interview, but alas, each woman he asks has something different to say. When near the end of his year-long timeframe he comes across the old hag who promises him what he desires, he agrees.
	Of course, her conditions are loathsome indeed, for she demands to be his wife in exchange for the proper answer. After he gives her correct answer to the women’s court and has carried her off to the bridal suite, he laments his fate and confesses his disgust towards the woman beside him. She gives him a dichotomy in return: A lovely and unfaithful wife or a hideous, faithful one. The knight shows his personal growth and development by answering that she may be sovereign in her decision, and the knight therefore gets the best of both worlds in the end.
	The Wife of Bath’s Tale shows more development in its main character than the other tales that came before it – this is shown most prominently when the knight cedes his sovereignty to his new wife. Perhaps the only other character to come close to self-actualizing in the manner that the knight does is in Arcita’s deathbed lamentation. This introduces the idea of personal growth through solitude in the wilder places of the world, as part of the knight’s journey is through the woods, alone with his thoughts and his ruminations on his impending execution. The idea of spending great lengths of time alone and growing as a part of it was introduced in the Man of Law’s tale and brought to life by the Wife of Bath.
	The now-living idea of development from being alone and outside of city walls is animated further by the unflattering Friar’s tale. Here we have a summoner who, at the behest of an archdeacon, makes his way through the woods to extort from the poor, so that their names don’t appear on the local church’s list of evildoers. There is only one other significant character in the story besides the summoner, which is a sure indicator that this tale is more about the introspective side of existence rather than the interactive. Indeed, the summoner’s character is revealed to us both in the descriptions of his activities and in the activities themselves; he immediately ropes his newfound friend into a binding agreement and admonishes him against nitpicking or trying to weasel his way out of it.  He speaks of his own life while introducing himself to the fiend, and as we learn about him through both word and deed it’s difficult to feel much sympathy when the summoner’s machinations are turned against him, and  his fiendish friend banishes him to hell, where “somonours han hir heritage.”
Immediately thereafter in the Summoner’s tale, which falls into the urban-social paradigm, we see once more characters developing off of each other rather than independently. Also characteristic of these urban tales is the fact that the characters aren’t as thoroughly developed as the stories that take place in more rural and introspective settings. Instead, the friar in the tale shows his character based on his contrast to the other people around him. The placating wife acts as a contrast to the lecherous friar, who gropes her almost as soon as he enters the house. The irascible Thomas is a foil to the dour and pathetic friar, which becomes more and more obvious as the latter continues to rely on sermons and wheedling. The intellectual lord to whom the friar complains after the “gift” is delivered, who spends more time wondering how to divide an invisible than actually addressing the problem at hand, highlights that the friar’s main concern is on worldly things, much to the contrary of what his title would dictate. Lastly, the pragmatic squire who suggests how to divide Lord Thomas’ “gift” draws attention to the fact that the friar wasn’t looking for a solution to his problem at all, only for more lucre.
The next tale, that of the Merchant, has elements of both the urban interpersonal and the rural introspective. For the first part of the Tale, where January, Placebo and Justinus debate the merits of January taking a wife, we see development of the main character, January, through the lens of his two friends, the level-headed Justinus and the sycophantic (and aptly-named) Placebo. The wedding feast has traces of the fantastical rural world, with the appearances of elaborate gods and goddesses, and it is during this feast that the transition from urban to rural is felt. The rural setting later appears in January’s garden. In his blindness and age, January refuses to ever so much as let go of his new wife May, and as this presents little further opportunity for any social development, we see the story’s lens turn inward. January, once a proud and haughty womanizer, finally develops into the paranoid, grasping has-been of his waning days. Here does the fantastic again rear its head; Pluto and Proserpina have their brief discussion. From the point where January lost his sight, the world suddenly became more fantastic, less concerned with social interaction and more concerned with the development of individuals – specifically of January. He changes from the boldness of youth (even relative youth, in this case) to the feebleness of age, from the surety of being able-bodied to the dependence of the handicapped. The most striking and salient change is that from the man who was able to have his choice of any woman in the square to the man who was so afraid of losing his wife that he forbade her from breaking contact with him. As the change happens to the character, so too does the setting change; in his later stages January never leaves his castle. While the setting is still technically urban, it becomes akin to the rural archetype for the purposes of the setting’s effect on how the story develops.
The Squire’s tale, while it lasts, shows signs of being as fantastic and reflective as the end of the tale before it. There is the presence of magic and fantasy, and the story begins to weave centered around a single main character whose chance to develop in the eastern  flatlands. However, the Host severs this tale as it continues to weave and wander in what seems to be an aimless pattern.
The Franklin’s Tale is another that combines both aspects of urban social development and rural self-development into its telling, with more of a focus on the latter than the former. Arveragus and his newly-wedded wife, Doringen, bring the social aspect to the fore when they swear to always respect their wedding vows. Yet when Arveragus deploys to England, the narrative distance comes closer to Doringen, and we are treated (or perhaps subjected) to a long lament. The mourning and worry do little to develop Doringen’s character, but they do much to show us her innermost thoughts, angsts and worries. These help us to understand how she develops as the story goes on, both from socializing and from her private conduct.