This is the link to my introduction. I am now done with the summer assignment.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
The Garden Party
What does the story signify?
What I noticed was the cluelessness and indifference of the upper-class family to the pain and hardships of the lower-class families that live just across the road. When they learn of the tragedy that has taken place immediately before the party, they believe that it is of no concern to them. It's not like he was anyone important, right? Once Mrs. Sheridan's "conscience" emerges after the party, she finds it perfectly appropriate to send the scraps of food that weren't worth eating at the party to the family that just lost the father. Of course they'll be grateful for the scraps that the upper-class deems unfit to eat.
How does the story signify it?
The hill that seperates the two families helps to serve the purpose of the story, as the upper-class resides at the top of the hill, far removed from the commoners that live at the base. Aside from the geography, which was the only symbol I got, much of Laura's dialouge and behavior conveyed the message. Laura was the only member of her family, except for maybe her brother, who actually cared for the poor family and sought to respect and honor their loss by calling of the party. But, of course, this will never do. The one detail that stuck with me was the fact that Mrs. Sheridan sent Laura with scraps of food, perhaps thinking that the leftovers that the upper-class didn't want would suffice to ease the pain of loss. This is the one detail that I noticed that proves how far removed this family (along with some real-life rich families) is from the lower classes.
Eh, I've done better. Done a lot worse, too. I'm just glad got the meaning of the story, even if I missed the vast majority of the symbolism. (Good God, Diane. Where did you see all that?) Style analysis was never my strong suit, though I was pleasantly surprised to find that my response was somewhat similar to the examples given.
When I first read the story, I thought to myself, "This guy must be out of his mind if he thinks that this has anything to do with the story of Persephone." And I know my Greek mythology, so I was looking for similarities. Alas, they completely evaded me, and now upon reading his comparison between the two, I feel stupid. But, of course, any allusion to Greek myth gains some appreciation from me, considering how much I love Greek mythology. I'm quite surprised at how much symbolism was crammed into the twenty-page story, and hopefully it will inspire me to look at these works closer in the future.
What I noticed was the cluelessness and indifference of the upper-class family to the pain and hardships of the lower-class families that live just across the road. When they learn of the tragedy that has taken place immediately before the party, they believe that it is of no concern to them. It's not like he was anyone important, right? Once Mrs. Sheridan's "conscience" emerges after the party, she finds it perfectly appropriate to send the scraps of food that weren't worth eating at the party to the family that just lost the father. Of course they'll be grateful for the scraps that the upper-class deems unfit to eat.
How does the story signify it?
The hill that seperates the two families helps to serve the purpose of the story, as the upper-class resides at the top of the hill, far removed from the commoners that live at the base. Aside from the geography, which was the only symbol I got, much of Laura's dialouge and behavior conveyed the message. Laura was the only member of her family, except for maybe her brother, who actually cared for the poor family and sought to respect and honor their loss by calling of the party. But, of course, this will never do. The one detail that stuck with me was the fact that Mrs. Sheridan sent Laura with scraps of food, perhaps thinking that the leftovers that the upper-class didn't want would suffice to ease the pain of loss. This is the one detail that I noticed that proves how far removed this family (along with some real-life rich families) is from the lower classes.
Eh, I've done better. Done a lot worse, too. I'm just glad got the meaning of the story, even if I missed the vast majority of the symbolism. (Good God, Diane. Where did you see all that?) Style analysis was never my strong suit, though I was pleasantly surprised to find that my response was somewhat similar to the examples given.
When I first read the story, I thought to myself, "This guy must be out of his mind if he thinks that this has anything to do with the story of Persephone." And I know my Greek mythology, so I was looking for similarities. Alas, they completely evaded me, and now upon reading his comparison between the two, I feel stupid. But, of course, any allusion to Greek myth gains some appreciation from me, considering how much I love Greek mythology. I'm quite surprised at how much symbolism was crammed into the twenty-page story, and hopefully it will inspire me to look at these works closer in the future.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Tragic Archetypes
Archetypes, the bases of stories that date back to the creation of literature, are absolutely everywhere, whether plainly stated or cleverly hidden. Sometimes they don't even make sense, but they are there, in every story, in every movie, in every song ever.
One of the oldest and most famous of the archetypes in literature is the tragic hero, the character who brings about their own downfall due to a single fatal mistake, caused by a fatal character flaw present in the hero, be it lust, vanity, anger, etc. I regret to say I'm not too familiar with many tragic heroes, but of the few of whom I have read, my favorite has to be Brutus from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. There is much controversy as to whom is the true tragic hero of Shakespeare's play, but my vote rests with Brutus. Brutus' fatal flaw was, if you can believe it, his love of Rome, which compelled him to join Cassius, who sought only power, and murder Caesar. This act was his tragic mistake, and the implications of Caesar's death was the death of all of the conspirators, Brutus included. Staying true to the tragic hero recipe, Brutus, shortly before his suicide, reaches a point of self-realization, regretting the murder of Caesar, and seeing it as his greatest mistake. Upon seeing the folly of his ways, he promptly threw himself upon a sword held by own of his own men. A tragically fitting end.
One of the oldest and most famous of the archetypes in literature is the tragic hero, the character who brings about their own downfall due to a single fatal mistake, caused by a fatal character flaw present in the hero, be it lust, vanity, anger, etc. I regret to say I'm not too familiar with many tragic heroes, but of the few of whom I have read, my favorite has to be Brutus from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. There is much controversy as to whom is the true tragic hero of Shakespeare's play, but my vote rests with Brutus. Brutus' fatal flaw was, if you can believe it, his love of Rome, which compelled him to join Cassius, who sought only power, and murder Caesar. This act was his tragic mistake, and the implications of Caesar's death was the death of all of the conspirators, Brutus included. Staying true to the tragic hero recipe, Brutus, shortly before his suicide, reaches a point of self-realization, regretting the murder of Caesar, and seeing it as his greatest mistake. Upon seeing the folly of his ways, he promptly threw himself upon a sword held by own of his own men. A tragically fitting end.
He's More Machine Now than Man...
Darth Vader is many things, most of them bad. Physically perfect is certainly not one of them. Vader doesn't just have a scar, or a limp, or a facial deformity that can be easily concealed or ignored. Half of his body has been destroyed and the other half is surviving solely on his life-support suit. His lungs don't work, so his body needs a respirator to breath for him. His vocal cords have been virtually shot, forcing him to speak through the machine. He sees through his mask's optical sensors, not through his own eyes. His mobility is limited to the slow and cumbersome movements of his suit. Truly, Darth Vader is a tragic sight to behold.
Tragic as it is, it is completely appropriate. Vader lost nearly all of the physical features that make one human: arms, legs, eyes, etc. But in the transformation of Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader, more was lost than simple physical characteristics. Vader's loss of his human features is a reflection on the loss of his humanity. As Ben Kenobi told Luke Skywalker of Vader: "He's more machine now than man. Twisted and evil." (Now you know where I got the title.)
In his rebirth as a Sith Lord, Vader lost all of the mental and spiritual features that make one human: love, compassion, forgiveness, etc. (Anyone who knows me well will find the irony in me explaining the virtues of love, compassion, and forgiveness.) Instead, Vader was consumed by anger, hate, and pain, all of which ravaged his humanity until it was nothing more than a distant memory. Only when Vader lay dying and Luke removed the mask, the face of the evil that Darth Vader represented, did he regain his humanity and once again become Anakin Skywalker.
Tragic as it is, it is completely appropriate. Vader lost nearly all of the physical features that make one human: arms, legs, eyes, etc. But in the transformation of Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader, more was lost than simple physical characteristics. Vader's loss of his human features is a reflection on the loss of his humanity. As Ben Kenobi told Luke Skywalker of Vader: "He's more machine now than man. Twisted and evil." (Now you know where I got the title.)
In his rebirth as a Sith Lord, Vader lost all of the mental and spiritual features that make one human: love, compassion, forgiveness, etc. (Anyone who knows me well will find the irony in me explaining the virtues of love, compassion, and forgiveness.) Instead, Vader was consumed by anger, hate, and pain, all of which ravaged his humanity until it was nothing more than a distant memory. Only when Vader lay dying and Luke removed the mask, the face of the evil that Darth Vader represented, did he regain his humanity and once again become Anakin Skywalker.
Baptism by Fire... And Dungeons
In Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo, the protagonist, Edmond Dantes, is betrayed by those he thought he could trust and accused of treason. Dantes is promptly thrown into a political prison called the something-or-other and left to rot for the rest of his natural life. His betrayal and subsequent imprisonment served as Dantes' baptism, though, apart from other symbolic baptisms in literature, it does not change him for the better.
Dantes, who, prior to his betrayal, was a happy-go-lucky man with boyish charms and not a care in the world, was transformed in the fourteen years he spent at the prison. After his escape, everything about him had changed. His mentality was ravaged to the point where his only concern was the terrible revenge he would inflict upon those who betrayed him, a far cry from his happy and charmingly positive outlook, where he considered all, known and unknown to him, a friend. His looks were drastically altered, as his boyish features were completely replaced by those of a man who had seen nothing but misfortune in his life. Dantes was, both mentally and physically, unrecognizable to anyone.
Dantes, who, prior to his betrayal, was a happy-go-lucky man with boyish charms and not a care in the world, was transformed in the fourteen years he spent at the prison. After his escape, everything about him had changed. His mentality was ravaged to the point where his only concern was the terrible revenge he would inflict upon those who betrayed him, a far cry from his happy and charmingly positive outlook, where he considered all, known and unknown to him, a friend. His looks were drastically altered, as his boyish features were completely replaced by those of a man who had seen nothing but misfortune in his life. Dantes was, both mentally and physically, unrecognizable to anyone.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
I Can't Believe I'm Making This Comparison...
In Chapter 14 of Foster's book, he discusses the use of "Christ-figures" in literature, and citing ways to identify said figures. Now, as I said in the title, I can't believe I'm actually trying to make this comparison, but McMurphy from One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest could be interpreted as a Christ firgure. If you've read the book, you'll understand how absurd this comparison sounds, but it does have some validity to it. Upon reaching the ward, McMurphy immediately gathers a following of nearly all the patients on the ward. Disciples, if you will. Once he sees how miserable the nurse keeps the patients, he sets out to end it. Maybe not to redeem the ward, but to give hope, perhaps? When McMurphy attacks the nurse, he essentially sacrificed himself to free the ward, resigning him to be lobotomized. Not crucifixion, but the procedure does leave a pretty nasty scar on one's head. After the lobotomy, McMurphy might not be in any physical agony, but I'm sure the loss of one's basic voluntary brain function can be considered some form of torment. In the end he did become somewhat of a Christ figure, while at the same time upending all the morals that Jesus advocated. Ironic, ain't it?
This Only Hurts for a While... Like So Many Things
Violence has been a staple of literature since man first put ink to paper, or whatever passed for paper in prehistory. For thousands of years and literally countless works of literature, violence has been expressed in a myriad of ways, each unique in terms of both manner and circumstance. However, Thomas Foster claims that, despite all the different methods of expressing violence in literature, all violent acts found in writing fall into one of two categories: violence created by the character or violence created by the author.
I believe I have found an example of both in Ken Kessey's masterpiece One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. For those of you unfamiliar with the story, it takes place in a mental institution under the control of an overbearing and iron-fisted nurse. A man named McMurphy, who just so happens to be the only one committed to the hospital by the courts, decides to defy the nurse, and hilarity and hijinks (sometimes not hilarious) ensue. As for the violence, McMurphy and the nurse are constantly at odds, naturally. After a night of debauchery instigated by McMurphy, a patient named Billy, who retains an unhealthy need for his mother's approval, is found by the nurse with one of the women brought by McMurphy. The nurse, so as to assert her power over the ward, tells Billy that she is going to tell his mother of what he's done, and that she will be very dissappointed. This throws Billy into dispair and drives him to suicide. McMurphy loses control and attacks the nurse, attempting to strangle her before the orderlies drag him off. Character-created violence.
This act of violence furthers the plot so that the author-created violence can emerge. McMurphy, after attacking the nurse in revenge for Billy, is deemed dangerous. He is taken away for several days and returned to the ward, lobotomized and robbed of all voluntary brain function. This essentially kills McMurphy, at least as a character. The effect of this act of author-created violence would have been to show the futility of rebellion, had it ended the story. It unexpectedly serves as a catalyst for one final act of violence, perpetrated by the narrator of the story. The narrator smothers McMurphy with a pillow before any of the other patients see him, freeing McMurphy of his lobotomized state and denying the nurse her victory.
I believe I have found an example of both in Ken Kessey's masterpiece One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. For those of you unfamiliar with the story, it takes place in a mental institution under the control of an overbearing and iron-fisted nurse. A man named McMurphy, who just so happens to be the only one committed to the hospital by the courts, decides to defy the nurse, and hilarity and hijinks (sometimes not hilarious) ensue. As for the violence, McMurphy and the nurse are constantly at odds, naturally. After a night of debauchery instigated by McMurphy, a patient named Billy, who retains an unhealthy need for his mother's approval, is found by the nurse with one of the women brought by McMurphy. The nurse, so as to assert her power over the ward, tells Billy that she is going to tell his mother of what he's done, and that she will be very dissappointed. This throws Billy into dispair and drives him to suicide. McMurphy loses control and attacks the nurse, attempting to strangle her before the orderlies drag him off. Character-created violence.
This act of violence furthers the plot so that the author-created violence can emerge. McMurphy, after attacking the nurse in revenge for Billy, is deemed dangerous. He is taken away for several days and returned to the ward, lobotomized and robbed of all voluntary brain function. This essentially kills McMurphy, at least as a character. The effect of this act of author-created violence would have been to show the futility of rebellion, had it ended the story. It unexpectedly serves as a catalyst for one final act of violence, perpetrated by the narrator of the story. The narrator smothers McMurphy with a pillow before any of the other patients see him, freeing McMurphy of his lobotomized state and denying the nurse her victory.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
So Many Books, So Little... Well, Actually, I Have a Lot of Time to Read All These
1. The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas (1844)--When first I glanced upon the 600+ page classic from nearly 170 years ago, I winced. "No way will I make it through that," I said. But, I'm a sucker for revenge stories, so I picked it up at Barnes & Noble for the ride back home from Fayetteville. Three and a half hours and a hundred pages later, I stand corrected. Monte Cristo not only has an ungodly amount of historical references (which, as a history buff, is always a plus) and understandable language, but also a very compelling story, one which I readily await finishing.
2. The Prince, Niccolo Machiavelli (1532)--Regarded by many as the end-all, be-all text on obtaining and utilizing authority and power, political as well as military. Even though it might be nearly 500 years old, it is a classic piece of Renaissance-era literature, therefore making it a natural choice for someone who loves history, and power*, as much as myself.
*said while rubbing palms together in an evil and plotting fashion
3. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams (1979)--Recommended by my father, my former Spanish teacher, and Nic, I began the first book in the series, and only thirty pages into it, I have found that this book is quite hilarious. While I'm still not entirely sure what the main plot is about, I still look forward to reading and finding out. The humor is a nice departure from some of the other novels I often read, and the fact that I can read it without a dictionary on hand also comes as a plus.
4. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain (1885)--I know, I know. I claimed to have finished this book last year. Well, I didn't. Shame on me. But give me a chance to explain myself! I did not abandon Huck because the book failed to compel me or because it offended me with its gratuitous use of the dreaded "n" word. Nor did I abandon him because of the length of the book. No, I abandoned Huck and Jim because I got tired of reading last year. Of the amount I read, it ranks as one of the best novels by an American writer I have ever read. The wording of the novel is incredibly easy to follow, as Twain uses Huck to narrate the book, forsaking all the complex and convoluted sentence structure so many writers of the time pursued.
5. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain (1876)--I know, I know. I've never read Tom Sawyer. Shame on me. While taking on a somewhat more lighthearted plot than its much-celebrated sequal, Huck Finn, from what I've seen and heard, there is virtually no difference between the writing styles, and nearly half the size of its 400+ page successor.. I look forward to finally being able to say I read about Tom tricking that boy into painting the fence.
6. The Picture of Dorian Grey, Oscar Wilde (1891)--A must-have for anyone who wants to understand the perils of debauchery and decadence, or for anyone who wants to understand the glories of debauchery and decadence. Wilde, in his dry tone, relates the story of Dorian Grey, a handsome young man who becomes the model of painter Basil Hallward. After realizing his beauty will not last forever, he wishes to sell his soul so that he would never age, and that the effect of time and his sins would become apperent on his portrait, rather than on himself. Upon being granted his wish, Dorian embarks on a dark life of self-indulgence and debauchery. Fun stuff.
7. The Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri (1308-1321)--Considered by many to be one of the greatest staples of world literature ever written, Dante painted a vivid picture of the afterlife while being lead through heaven, hell, and purgatory by the Greek poet Virgil. Inferno, arguably the most famous of the collection, formed the world's common view of hell more than any other text, perhaps even more than the Bible. Spanning three volumes of poems (Paradiso, Purgatorio, and Inferno), Dante's scenic tour of life after death should prove an interesting read, and perhaps inspire more than a few trips to the confessional booth.
8. All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque (1929)--I began this novel back in eighth grade, though as you might have gathered by now, I never finished it. Surprise, surprise. Western Front is often cited as one of the greatest war novels of all time, depicting the horrors of World War I from the perspective of a German soldier. The writing style was a little dry, if I remember right, but it didn't stop me from enjoying the very small portion I read from the roughly 200-page novel.
9. Paradise Lost, John Milton (1667)--Another timeless piece of world literature that deals with religion and the afterlife, Milton's blank verse epic tells two tales. The first is the story of Satan's failed rebellion against God and his banishment from heaven. The second is the story of the tragic fall of Adam and Eve and their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Divided into twelve books of poems in 1674, Paradise Lost contains over 10,000 lines of verse. Now I'm no poetry expert, but I think that's a lot. The sheer volume of poetry, coupled with the archaic language of the late 17th century, might make it a challenging read, but a fufilling one nonetheless.
10. The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien (1954-1955)--This is a series I have always wanted to read. I read The Hobbit in seventh grade, though I must say I hardly remember any of it. I know there are some rabid LOTR fans in my class, so I will refrain from saying anything of the plot, lest I get something wrong and incur their wrath. If the movies and the praise I've heard from said fans in class are any indication, this series could rival my love for Star Wars. Rival, but not top.
2. The Prince, Niccolo Machiavelli (1532)--Regarded by many as the end-all, be-all text on obtaining and utilizing authority and power, political as well as military. Even though it might be nearly 500 years old, it is a classic piece of Renaissance-era literature, therefore making it a natural choice for someone who loves history, and power*, as much as myself.
*said while rubbing palms together in an evil and plotting fashion
3. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams (1979)--Recommended by my father, my former Spanish teacher, and Nic, I began the first book in the series, and only thirty pages into it, I have found that this book is quite hilarious. While I'm still not entirely sure what the main plot is about, I still look forward to reading and finding out. The humor is a nice departure from some of the other novels I often read, and the fact that I can read it without a dictionary on hand also comes as a plus.
4. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain (1885)--I know, I know. I claimed to have finished this book last year. Well, I didn't. Shame on me. But give me a chance to explain myself! I did not abandon Huck because the book failed to compel me or because it offended me with its gratuitous use of the dreaded "n" word. Nor did I abandon him because of the length of the book. No, I abandoned Huck and Jim because I got tired of reading last year. Of the amount I read, it ranks as one of the best novels by an American writer I have ever read. The wording of the novel is incredibly easy to follow, as Twain uses Huck to narrate the book, forsaking all the complex and convoluted sentence structure so many writers of the time pursued.
5. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain (1876)--I know, I know. I've never read Tom Sawyer. Shame on me. While taking on a somewhat more lighthearted plot than its much-celebrated sequal, Huck Finn, from what I've seen and heard, there is virtually no difference between the writing styles, and nearly half the size of its 400+ page successor.. I look forward to finally being able to say I read about Tom tricking that boy into painting the fence.
6. The Picture of Dorian Grey, Oscar Wilde (1891)--A must-have for anyone who wants to understand the perils of debauchery and decadence, or for anyone who wants to understand the glories of debauchery and decadence. Wilde, in his dry tone, relates the story of Dorian Grey, a handsome young man who becomes the model of painter Basil Hallward. After realizing his beauty will not last forever, he wishes to sell his soul so that he would never age, and that the effect of time and his sins would become apperent on his portrait, rather than on himself. Upon being granted his wish, Dorian embarks on a dark life of self-indulgence and debauchery. Fun stuff.
7. The Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri (1308-1321)--Considered by many to be one of the greatest staples of world literature ever written, Dante painted a vivid picture of the afterlife while being lead through heaven, hell, and purgatory by the Greek poet Virgil. Inferno, arguably the most famous of the collection, formed the world's common view of hell more than any other text, perhaps even more than the Bible. Spanning three volumes of poems (Paradiso, Purgatorio, and Inferno), Dante's scenic tour of life after death should prove an interesting read, and perhaps inspire more than a few trips to the confessional booth.
8. All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque (1929)--I began this novel back in eighth grade, though as you might have gathered by now, I never finished it. Surprise, surprise. Western Front is often cited as one of the greatest war novels of all time, depicting the horrors of World War I from the perspective of a German soldier. The writing style was a little dry, if I remember right, but it didn't stop me from enjoying the very small portion I read from the roughly 200-page novel.
9. Paradise Lost, John Milton (1667)--Another timeless piece of world literature that deals with religion and the afterlife, Milton's blank verse epic tells two tales. The first is the story of Satan's failed rebellion against God and his banishment from heaven. The second is the story of the tragic fall of Adam and Eve and their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Divided into twelve books of poems in 1674, Paradise Lost contains over 10,000 lines of verse. Now I'm no poetry expert, but I think that's a lot. The sheer volume of poetry, coupled with the archaic language of the late 17th century, might make it a challenging read, but a fufilling one nonetheless.
10. The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien (1954-1955)--This is a series I have always wanted to read. I read The Hobbit in seventh grade, though I must say I hardly remember any of it. I know there are some rabid LOTR fans in my class, so I will refrain from saying anything of the plot, lest I get something wrong and incur their wrath. If the movies and the praise I've heard from said fans in class are any indication, this series could rival my love for Star Wars. Rival, but not top.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
...Like a Thief in the Night
The Masque of Red Death, by the legendary Edgar Allen Poe, is a frightening and chilling short story about the duke of an unnamed province, Prince Prospero. A terrible and extremely deadly plague known as the Red Death has ravaged his dominion, though he pays it no heed, being protected from the disease from within his abbey, which was as fortified as a castle. The prince summoned a thousand of the upper-class citizens who were not dead, dying, or infected into the abbey, as both company and to ensure he didn't lose his entire dominion. From then on, the abbey was in a perpetual masquerade, or a costume party in essence. For about six months the prince and his thousand guests were completely safe from the Red Death, believing that they had cheated certain death.
One night, during the festivities, a man, one that had gone completely unnoticed until now, captured all the guests' attention at this point. This man was not masked as the thousand guests were, which crossed into the areas of the wanton and the bizarre. This man was masked as one plagued with the Red Death, covered in blood and made to look like a corpse. When the prince sees this man and his grotesque and horrible disguise, he orders him arrested and unmasked, so that "we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise." To the prince's anger, no one so much as approaches him, as all were struck with an uncontrollable and unexplainable fear. The prince, in his fury, grabbed a dagger and charged him. When the prince came within four feet of the man, the figure suddenly turned and confronted him, and the prince "fell prostrate in death" to the floor. Immediately, one by one the guests died, each falling with the affliction of the Red Death. "And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night."
Like a thief in the night. I Thessalonians 5:2-3. That one little phrase, composed of six words, just gave the entire story its meaning. The verse warns all of the coming of the day of God, when God shall judge each and every soul, and how it will come, you guessed it, like a thief in the night, when we least expect it. The day of God, or Judgement Day, can also mean death. Our Judgement Day. No one can escape death. Of course, one could have worked that theme without the biblical reference, though the reference to Thessalonians gives the theme, the message of the story so much more weight, more legitimacy. Its no wonder so many writers use the tactic.
One night, during the festivities, a man, one that had gone completely unnoticed until now, captured all the guests' attention at this point. This man was not masked as the thousand guests were, which crossed into the areas of the wanton and the bizarre. This man was masked as one plagued with the Red Death, covered in blood and made to look like a corpse. When the prince sees this man and his grotesque and horrible disguise, he orders him arrested and unmasked, so that "we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise." To the prince's anger, no one so much as approaches him, as all were struck with an uncontrollable and unexplainable fear. The prince, in his fury, grabbed a dagger and charged him. When the prince came within four feet of the man, the figure suddenly turned and confronted him, and the prince "fell prostrate in death" to the floor. Immediately, one by one the guests died, each falling with the affliction of the Red Death. "And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night."
Like a thief in the night. I Thessalonians 5:2-3. That one little phrase, composed of six words, just gave the entire story its meaning. The verse warns all of the coming of the day of God, when God shall judge each and every soul, and how it will come, you guessed it, like a thief in the night, when we least expect it. The day of God, or Judgement Day, can also mean death. Our Judgement Day. No one can escape death. Of course, one could have worked that theme without the biblical reference, though the reference to Thessalonians gives the theme, the message of the story so much more weight, more legitimacy. Its no wonder so many writers use the tactic.
Originality Is a Lie
The concept of intertextuality, or the connection between different works of literature, is probably one of the most used techniques in literature, used to such an extent that Thomas Foster claims that "there is no such thing as a wholly original work of literature." A bold claim, with a lot of validity. According to Foster, every work borrows something--be it a plot, a character, or a theme--from other works to some extent. A very well-read person will notice that this is true, that the vast majority of literature has recurring themes, settings, and characters among works that are otherwise nothing alike. I, being a not-so-well-read person, have not noticed this as often, but even I get lucky and spot one every now and then.
One of the most striking examples I've seen is how many books follow the theme and spirit of Ayn Rand's novel Anthem. This novel was one of the first books to utilize the anti-totalitarian, anti-communist theme that so many books have used since. 1984. Fahrenheit 451. The Giver. Logan's Run. All have taken something, usually an overbearing and all-controlling government, from Anthem. In 1984, the government controls all aspects of an individual's life, even down to their thoughts, in the same fashion as Ayn Rand's government. In Fahrenheit 451, the ruling body forbids any knowledge of bygone generations, a sentiment shared by the government that exiles Prometheus in Anthem. The council that runs the world in the novel The Giver lays out each citizen's destiny, a destiny that is gladly accepted by the mindless sheep that the people have become. You know where I'm taking this.
Another example I've found of this so-called intertextuality is the parallel between the Eragon novels and, you guessed it, Star Wars (I'm possibly the biggest Star Wars nerd I know, Ms. Weygandt, so be prepared for a lot of these references). The storyline of the Eragon novels is nearly identical to those of the original Star Wars films, and Eragon is almost a cookie-cutter model of Luke Skywalker. Both are young farmers who live with their uncles under the rule of an evil Empire. Both are destined to reestablish an ancient order of peacekeepers that was destroyed in a great war in which their respective empires were born (the Jedi Order for Luke and the Dragon Riders for Eragon). Both are watched over by a man who happens to be one of the last remnants of said order (Ben Kenobi and Brom). Both lose everything after the empire destroys their homes and kills their families. Both complete their training at the hands of a much wiser mentor after their original mentor dies (Yoda teaches Luke after Ben dies; the ancinet Rider Oromis teaches Eragon after Brom dies). Both learn the shocking truths behind their fathers' identities. And, of course, both are destined to bring down the evil Empire.
One of the most striking examples I've seen is how many books follow the theme and spirit of Ayn Rand's novel Anthem. This novel was one of the first books to utilize the anti-totalitarian, anti-communist theme that so many books have used since. 1984. Fahrenheit 451. The Giver. Logan's Run. All have taken something, usually an overbearing and all-controlling government, from Anthem. In 1984, the government controls all aspects of an individual's life, even down to their thoughts, in the same fashion as Ayn Rand's government. In Fahrenheit 451, the ruling body forbids any knowledge of bygone generations, a sentiment shared by the government that exiles Prometheus in Anthem. The council that runs the world in the novel The Giver lays out each citizen's destiny, a destiny that is gladly accepted by the mindless sheep that the people have become. You know where I'm taking this.
Another example I've found of this so-called intertextuality is the parallel between the Eragon novels and, you guessed it, Star Wars (I'm possibly the biggest Star Wars nerd I know, Ms. Weygandt, so be prepared for a lot of these references). The storyline of the Eragon novels is nearly identical to those of the original Star Wars films, and Eragon is almost a cookie-cutter model of Luke Skywalker. Both are young farmers who live with their uncles under the rule of an evil Empire. Both are destined to reestablish an ancient order of peacekeepers that was destroyed in a great war in which their respective empires were born (the Jedi Order for Luke and the Dragon Riders for Eragon). Both are watched over by a man who happens to be one of the last remnants of said order (Ben Kenobi and Brom). Both lose everything after the empire destroys their homes and kills their families. Both complete their training at the hands of a much wiser mentor after their original mentor dies (Yoda teaches Luke after Ben dies; the ancinet Rider Oromis teaches Eragon after Brom dies). Both learn the shocking truths behind their fathers' identities. And, of course, both are destined to bring down the evil Empire.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
A Long Time Ago in a Galaxy Far, Far Away...
The quest found in Star Wars is without a doubt one of the greatest and most recognizable of quests in both literary and cinematic history. The story--following the initially annoying, but eventually beloved Luke Skywalker--has become a timeless epic, and in every way meets Thomas C. Foster's criteria of what makes a quest. While the whole saga encompasses six films, for the sake of coherency I will only discuss Episode IV, A New Hope, which was the first of the series to be released.
Luke's initial destination is the planet of Alderaan, home of Princess Leia, a key figure in the Rebel Alliance against the evil Galactic Empire. Luke, along with Ben and the others in his group, is to deliver R2 to the princess, so that she can use the stolen blueprints for the Empire's superweapon, the Death Star, to exploit its weakness and help the Rebels destroy it. However, before Luke can reach Alderaan, the planet is destroyed by the Death Star, with Leia locked away within its prison block. After the destruction of Alderaan, Luke's new quest is to rescue Leia from the Empire, and to aid the Rebellion in their attack on the Death Star itself, using the plans locked within R2-D2.
The immediate reason for Luke's quest is to deliver the plans for the Death Star to Princess Leia so that she can give them to the Rebels to destroy it. Destroying the Death Star would deal a massive blow to the Empire, and while it might not cripple them militarily or economically, it would rally the Rebel cause, and prove that the Empire was not as invincible as the Emperor and Darth Vader would have the galaxy believe.
Throughout his journey, Luke must overcome a myriad of increasingly difficult challenges, the first of which being the death of his aunt and uncle and the loss of the only life he's ever known. He soon accepts the tragic loss and joins Ben Kenobi on his mission to Alderaan, leaving Tatooine behind forever. At every turn in the journey, Luke and his companions are attacked by the Imperial forces, often barely escaping with their lives. Luke's greatest challenge, however, would be the realization of who he is and where his destiny will lead him.
The Quester
The Destination
Luke's initial destination is the planet of Alderaan, home of Princess Leia, a key figure in the Rebel Alliance against the evil Galactic Empire. Luke, along with Ben and the others in his group, is to deliver R2 to the princess, so that she can use the stolen blueprints for the Empire's superweapon, the Death Star, to exploit its weakness and help the Rebels destroy it. However, before Luke can reach Alderaan, the planet is destroyed by the Death Star, with Leia locked away within its prison block. After the destruction of Alderaan, Luke's new quest is to rescue Leia from the Empire, and to aid the Rebellion in their attack on the Death Star itself, using the plans locked within R2-D2.
The Stated Reason for the Quest
The immediate reason for Luke's quest is to deliver the plans for the Death Star to Princess Leia so that she can give them to the Rebels to destroy it. Destroying the Death Star would deal a massive blow to the Empire, and while it might not cripple them militarily or economically, it would rally the Rebel cause, and prove that the Empire was not as invincible as the Emperor and Darth Vader would have the galaxy believe.
Challenges and Trials
Throughout his journey, Luke must overcome a myriad of increasingly difficult challenges, the first of which being the death of his aunt and uncle and the loss of the only life he's ever known. He soon accepts the tragic loss and joins Ben Kenobi on his mission to Alderaan, leaving Tatooine behind forever. At every turn in the journey, Luke and his companions are attacked by the Imperial forces, often barely escaping with their lives. Luke's greatest challenge, however, would be the realization of who he is and where his destiny will lead him.
Real Reason for the Quest
Upon embarking on this journey with Ben, Luke learns of how his father was a Jedi Knight in the waning days of the Republic and fought in the Clone Wars, the war from which the Empire emerged. He was also informed of how his father was betrayed and murdered by Darth Vader, a student of Ben's who was seduced by the dark side of the Force (you can identify the Star Wars nerds by the large grins on their faces at this point). Luke decides to follow in his father's footsteps by learning the ways of the Force and becoming a Jedi Knight, a decision that sets in motion the events that will affect Luke's destiny, and shape the fate of the galaxy. By accepting this quest and learning the ways of the Jedi, Luke begins the journey of learning who he is and where he fits in the galaxy.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Teachers Aren't Widgets!!! (Psst! What's a Widget?)
I completely agree with Timothy Daly's argument that the widget effect is keeping good teachers from doing their best to give a good education to students--a major reason the status of the teaching profession is in its current condition. The widget effect is the idea that school districts can't distinguish between high- and low-performing teachers, treating them the same and failing to reward good teachers. Many schools rely on the seniority system, directly linking the number of years teaching to a teacher's experience and quality of his or her work. A great teacher who has been teaching at the school for five years will be on the chopping block long before a mediocre teacher who has been teaching for twenty. This kind of thinking is counterproductive to elevating the status of teachers. Why would a teacher even attempt to improve the quality of their work if the only aspect of their career anyone cares about is the number of years they worked? I know from personal experience that seniority does not make good teachers. Basing a teacher's tenure on seniority doesn't encourage them to do well; to the contrary, it gives them an excuse to kick back and not do their job, because they've had the job longer than anyone else. Such indifference to the performance of teachers will not only fail to raise the status of the profession, it will ultimately lower it over time, as people realize that a frightening percentage of the teachers suck. If we are to ever see good teachers raised to the status that they deserve, we must begin to distinguish between their successes and failures, rewarding the good and losing the bad. By doing so, teachers will ultimately gain more respect in the nation, and education itself will get a much-needed shot to the arm. Now if I could just figure out what a widget is...
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Great Gatsby Response
Fitzgerald's saddened, almost hopeless reflection on mankind's push into the future shows his main point of the futility of that very act. He seems to convey the message that despite how hard we as humans try to force our way into the future and the prosperity that it will bring, we will never create as good a world as the one we destroyed in the attempt.
Fitzgerald's final lines in the passage illustrate this point of futility perfectly. He speaks of "the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us" and of our attempts to reach it. He claims that "it eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther." He seems to create an illusion of optimism, believing that the grand future that awaits us is within our grasp. "And one fine morning--" He realizes that the future, the life we so desperately crave will never happen, that we will fight and fight for it, but all in hopeless futility. And so, dreams broken, "we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past," never to see the future of which we dreamed.
His claims that we destroyed the true paradise in the attempt to bring ourselves into our own is brings upon even more hopelessness and desperation. He claims that "the inessential houses began to melt away until I gradually became aware of the old land here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes--a fresh, green breast of the new world." He speaks of "its vanished trees" that had "once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams." He believes, almost regrettably, that "for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent" and that we were "face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder." We destroyed the last thing on earth that could possibly have served as a veritable paradise so that we could fight in vain to create our own.
Fitzgerald has revealed a hopeless and depressing truth about the destructive nature of man, and how futile our attempts to be constructive often are. The very idea that we destroyed what we sought to create for ourselves is chilling, to say the least. Perhaps one day we will evolve beyond our senseless need to destroy, though that day seems frighteningly far away.
Fitzgerald's final lines in the passage illustrate this point of futility perfectly. He speaks of "the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us" and of our attempts to reach it. He claims that "it eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther." He seems to create an illusion of optimism, believing that the grand future that awaits us is within our grasp. "And one fine morning--" He realizes that the future, the life we so desperately crave will never happen, that we will fight and fight for it, but all in hopeless futility. And so, dreams broken, "we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past," never to see the future of which we dreamed.
His claims that we destroyed the true paradise in the attempt to bring ourselves into our own is brings upon even more hopelessness and desperation. He claims that "the inessential houses began to melt away until I gradually became aware of the old land here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes--a fresh, green breast of the new world." He speaks of "its vanished trees" that had "once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams." He believes, almost regrettably, that "for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent" and that we were "face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder." We destroyed the last thing on earth that could possibly have served as a veritable paradise so that we could fight in vain to create our own.
Fitzgerald has revealed a hopeless and depressing truth about the destructive nature of man, and how futile our attempts to be constructive often are. The very idea that we destroyed what we sought to create for ourselves is chilling, to say the least. Perhaps one day we will evolve beyond our senseless need to destroy, though that day seems frighteningly far away.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Ad Technique
Sony has stepped up their advertisement efforts with the Playstation 3. Their new "It Only Does Everything" ads attempt to tell what kind of awesome value one might get by purchasing a PS3 for $300. From what I've heard, the PS3 has some really cool features, such as built-in wi-fi, browser capabilities on the Playstation Network, built-in Blu-Ray players, and more. One might think to themselves, "Wow, that's an amazing value!" And one might be right.
Then Sony really tempts us (myself included) with the promise of even more great features, such as full Internet browsing capabilities, direct links to sites like Facebook, Twitter, and Netflix, printing capabilities, online chat with friends while in gameplay mode, music downloads and playlists to be installed on the system from the Internet, and of course, amazing online gaming experiences. A gamer such as myself who owns a Playstation 3 might have to lift his or her jaw off the floor at this point.
Here's the kicker: all of those aforementioned features are an absolute nightmare to install into the system. Sony neglects to inform consumers of the hassle they have to undergo to receive these features and the constant updates necessary to keep them in prime functioning order. Its bad enough updating the system every time I get a new game, let alone updating it to be compatible with Facebook and Twitter and the printer in my neighbor's house.
It seems that the Playstation 3 does do everything, or nearly everything, but at the cost of lost game time, ibuprofen, and a small portion of one's sanity, does it really need to?
Then Sony really tempts us (myself included) with the promise of even more great features, such as full Internet browsing capabilities, direct links to sites like Facebook, Twitter, and Netflix, printing capabilities, online chat with friends while in gameplay mode, music downloads and playlists to be installed on the system from the Internet, and of course, amazing online gaming experiences. A gamer such as myself who owns a Playstation 3 might have to lift his or her jaw off the floor at this point.
Here's the kicker: all of those aforementioned features are an absolute nightmare to install into the system. Sony neglects to inform consumers of the hassle they have to undergo to receive these features and the constant updates necessary to keep them in prime functioning order. Its bad enough updating the system every time I get a new game, let alone updating it to be compatible with Facebook and Twitter and the printer in my neighbor's house.
It seems that the Playstation 3 does do everything, or nearly everything, but at the cost of lost game time, ibuprofen, and a small portion of one's sanity, does it really need to?
My Wood Response
Forster's argument in My Wood is that owning property leads men to be greedy, selfish, and lusting for more. For some men, this is true. Some are greedy by nature. For these men there is not much one can do to convince them otherwise. However, Forster's claims are far-reaching and sweeping accusations at mankind as a whole, rather than the select group who are the face of ownership of vast properties. While several of his claims, such as the argument that wealth is often pined by those who don't have it and closely guarded by those who do, are accurate, it does not mean that wealth and property brings greed and "weight." A man with much wealth should be expected to guard it against those who would seek to take it from him, and those without it doubtless are going to pine and wish for wealth and property of their own. It doesn't mean that ownership is the gateway to greed and sin, it means that as humans we wish to preserve what we call our own and seek to improve upon our lives.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
3rd Quarter Reading List
I read 2 books, the equivalent of 5 books.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, 450 pages, 2 books
One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, 315 pages, 3 books
Cuckoo's Nest is the story of a group of men incarcerated in a mental institution as told by the Chief, the narrator of the story and also another inmate. The main character is a man named McMurphy, the only man committed to the hospital by a judge. He attempts to bring his idea of fun to the ward, against the wishes of the nurse in charge of the hospital, Nurse Ratchet, who rules the ward with an iron fist. McMurphy does his best to make life easier for the men in the ward and as difficult as possible for Ratchet. His antics are some of the best literary moments I have ever read. The constant theme of insanity is both chilling and humorous, making this one of my favorite classics of all time.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, 450 pages, 2 books
One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, 315 pages, 3 books
Cuckoo's Nest is the story of a group of men incarcerated in a mental institution as told by the Chief, the narrator of the story and also another inmate. The main character is a man named McMurphy, the only man committed to the hospital by a judge. He attempts to bring his idea of fun to the ward, against the wishes of the nurse in charge of the hospital, Nurse Ratchet, who rules the ward with an iron fist. McMurphy does his best to make life easier for the men in the ward and as difficult as possible for Ratchet. His antics are some of the best literary moments I have ever read. The constant theme of insanity is both chilling and humorous, making this one of my favorite classics of all time.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Consumerism Quote
The man who dies rich dies disgraced.
-Andrew Carnegie
Carnegie, in his day, was one of the world's wealthiest men, a steel tycoon with an empire worth nearly half a billion dollars, which, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, would be worth well over ten billion dollars in today's money. Carnegie was also a very charitable man. When he sold his company for roughly $400 million, he began to dispose of it at a rapid rate, funding libraries and other such public buildings to further education, donating and giving away all but about fifty million.
Carnegie believed no one needed that much wealth, and that holding that much wealth was a sin against the fellow man. He believed it was one's human duty to aid those in need when one had that kind of wealth and power with which to do it, and if one held that vast amount of riches by the time of his death he was an evil and disgraced man.
-Andrew Carnegie
Carnegie, in his day, was one of the world's wealthiest men, a steel tycoon with an empire worth nearly half a billion dollars, which, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, would be worth well over ten billion dollars in today's money. Carnegie was also a very charitable man. When he sold his company for roughly $400 million, he began to dispose of it at a rapid rate, funding libraries and other such public buildings to further education, donating and giving away all but about fifty million.
Carnegie believed no one needed that much wealth, and that holding that much wealth was a sin against the fellow man. He believed it was one's human duty to aid those in need when one had that kind of wealth and power with which to do it, and if one held that vast amount of riches by the time of his death he was an evil and disgraced man.
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