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.
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