Thursday, April 29, 2010
The Last Blog
wow, this semester flew by. We had some really good times in literature in my opinion. I wish we could have had a slightly smaller class and more time to discuss a lot of the great literature which we read. In my opinion the knowledge gained from literature is best realized when we are able to articulate and communicate all the ideas formulated via reading articulately. It is like the icing on the cake if you will. That is the only thing i think the class was slightly slacking in this semester. But with a class that large and that much to cover its understandable why we didnt get to discuss things as throughoughyl as i would have liked. I think the second half of the semester was my favotire. I enjoyed the group presentations as well as the individual ones, and the paper was a great reflection of the course. I know Professor Sexton mentioned that he wished more of us had taken the challenge of writing about the Brothers Karamazov, but i highly enjoyed writing the final paper, it allowed me to organize my thoughts on the class and i felt as though it was an opportunity to discuss a few epiphanies i have had over the course of the semester. Anyways, i enjoyed this class a lot i have learned things which i know i will carry into the future with me and i obtained knowledge i will be able to use in classes coming up within the next four years...thanks Professor, good work!
Found Poem
I found this poem on my one a day women's vitamin....
More of what matters to women
Formulated to support
More of what matters to women
Along with a healthy lifestyle
Bonestregnth
Breast health
Heart Health
IMMUNITY
More of what matters to women
More of what matters to women
Formulated to support
More of what matters to women
Along with a healthy lifestyle
Bonestregnth
Breast health
Heart Health
IMMUNITY
More of what matters to women
embrace life in all of its contradictions
"Embrace life in all of its contradictions"
This is a quote that definately will stick with me after the semester is done. It touches upon one of the main themes in the Brothers Karamazov as well; People are complex. In order to enjoy life on this planet we must embrace that which we cannot understand, that which makes no sense and that which contradicts itself. It is always better to live life than to spend time analyzing it. When you are analyzing soemthing as mysterious and unknown as the world we live in and the impulses which we cling to it is inevitable that one will run into many, many condradictions. Thats life, embrace it.
This is a quote that definately will stick with me after the semester is done. It touches upon one of the main themes in the Brothers Karamazov as well; People are complex. In order to enjoy life on this planet we must embrace that which we cannot understand, that which makes no sense and that which contradicts itself. It is always better to live life than to spend time analyzing it. When you are analyzing soemthing as mysterious and unknown as the world we live in and the impulses which we cling to it is inevitable that one will run into many, many condradictions. Thats life, embrace it.
To all the people who think they arent ignorant...
Some people would argue that our class is not full of ignorant teenagers, and that our attention spans are longer than ten seconds, etc etc. I would say they are wrong. For the most part, myself included i would say we are all totally ignorant. People who say they are not are typically the ones who are most ignorant in fact. In many ways i wish i had never been introduced to TV or movies or all of that jazz. I feel like over the years i have become more and more distracted from real reality due to things such as tv and clothing and stuff along those lines. However, i dont think this is limited to teenagers, yes our generation is worse but it is as a result of the previous generation as well, and the generation before us, etc etc. People are becoming less and less useful. We rely entirely on technology. Im willing to bet that the majority of our class couldnt even run three miles...which is really really sad. If you add to that the fact that most people dont read, that makes it even more pathetic. What is the most annoying though is the people who do read and think they are something special because of it. I mean good for you you are literate, but shouldnt we all be?????? Thats just our generation for those who would argue, you are wrong and you are probably the worst of the bunch, go work out, pick up a book because you actually enjoy reading not because you want to brag about some book that is slightly impressive that you finished or shut the hell up and get off your high horse. I am not impressed and those who are are fools.
The Brothers Karamazov Overall
There is no doubt that Dostoyevsky is an amazing author, Crime and Punishment, The Brothers Karamazov etc, however i find it so difficult to get through his books! They are not boring in topic at all, in fact they have many great themes and present ideas which could be discussed and debated for hours. However, they are the type of books which i need encouragement to read. Blogging is not exactly my thing, there are so many themes in the book that i wish we could have had time to go over in class, some of my favorites were:
In Book II when Zossimov briefly discusses his opinions on love
in Book II when Zossimov returns from talking to Madam H and Ivan is discussing the seperation of church and state with the monks
In book III-- the contradictory impulses within each character are presented throughout the entire novel but i think they are more blatant within Madonna Sodom and all that, that fascinates me because as complex and contradictory as a character can be, real people can be so much more so
In Book III-- when Smerdakov is discussing his religious views
Within the novel there are many points i like to talk about within the realm of reality. I like to speculate and look at things philisophically so looking at them solely within the plot of the novel is dificult for me....The Brothers Karamazov is a good book, but i definately dont think I would read it again. I still have a good hundred pages left and I plan to finish it over the weekend, but its not something im joyously looking forward to. I respect the book more than revel in its literary eloquence
In Book II when Zossimov briefly discusses his opinions on love
in Book II when Zossimov returns from talking to Madam H and Ivan is discussing the seperation of church and state with the monks
In book III-- the contradictory impulses within each character are presented throughout the entire novel but i think they are more blatant within Madonna Sodom and all that, that fascinates me because as complex and contradictory as a character can be, real people can be so much more so
In Book III-- when Smerdakov is discussing his religious views
Within the novel there are many points i like to talk about within the realm of reality. I like to speculate and look at things philisophically so looking at them solely within the plot of the novel is dificult for me....The Brothers Karamazov is a good book, but i definately dont think I would read it again. I still have a good hundred pages left and I plan to finish it over the weekend, but its not something im joyously looking forward to. I respect the book more than revel in its literary eloquence
Individual Presentations
I am so glad to have my individual presentation over with. Initially i was very nervous about it but it turned out to be a pretty laid back endeavour. everyone has had a lot of interesting things to say about this class. I personally think i took a lot away from it considering what a short course it was and how much material we had to cover. Someone mentioned that they would have liked to have been able to delve deeper into the topics and such. I feel like that would be very dificult when we have such a large course load to cover and such a large class. In college i feel as though a lot of the time it is more dificult to generate organized discussions because so much of that is up to us and everyone in the class is on different levels and has different interests. It was nice getting to hear a little bit from everyone though, i just wish the presentations could have been a little bit longer buttt it is what it is, we did well with the time we were given i think!
Alyosha
My favorite character in the Brothers Karamazov is Alyosha I think. Alyosha is potrayed in a way that makes him look like somewhat of a pushover and somewhat of a generally good guy. He seems to have the ability to read people (somewhat) and counsel them in their times of need. A great example of this is when he talks to Koyla in a manner that is neither condescending nor lofty. In all of the scenarios throughout the novel in which Alyosha is providing counseling he appears to be genuine in his concern, however in some ways I feel as though he almost gets taken advantage of.
Back to Job...
This is just a paper i wrote that i think deals with some of the stuff we have talked about in class. Especially after yesterday discussing Jesus and such....
Throughout history God has been viewed by human beings as benevolent, omnipotent, and immanent. However, the perceptions of God in the Old Testament, and the perceptions of God in the New Testament are viewed as two separate entities. The God of the Old Testament is a God who possesses qualities similar to man; he is wrathful, vindictive, and even vulnerable. The God of the New Testament is mainly seen through Jesus, an incessant symbol of love and forgiveness. As man begins to grasp and comprehend God he develops into a God less comparable to the human condition. Man attributes human qualities to entities beyond their comprehension in order to bridge the gap between what they can verify, and concepts beyond their range of experience.
The God of the Old Testament was a God of judgment and vindictiveness, both on Israel , as well as all the nations. However, he was a God formed in the human condition. The book of Job is evidence of God’s humanity. Job is the first of five books commonly referred to as "The Books of Poetry" in the Old Testament. In chapter one, Job is described as a man of great probity, virtue, and piety. He has seven sons and three daughters, possesses much livestock and many servants and is respected by society. Job is right in the eyes of God and is a servant of the Lord. God permits Satan to put the virtue of Job to the test. Satan and God place a bet on Job’s faith in God. “And the Lord said unto Satan, Whence comest thou? Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, from going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.” (Job, 1. 7) God essentially puts his creation in Satan’s hand. If God was to lose the wager between them Satan would fundamentally prove that the essence of Gods existence, faith, does not exist. This is the only scripture in the bible where God’s vulnerability, a quality associated only with man, is evident. Satan begins by taking away all of Job's riches, his livestock, his house, his servants, and his children. “Let me alone, that I may take comfort a little, before I go whence I shall not return, even to the land of darkness and the shadow of death.” (Job, 10. 20) Satan strips Job of all of his possessions and loved ones; all that Job has worked for in life is taken from him in a matter of days. However, Job refuses to revoke his faith in God, as well as in his righteousness, and repent for forgiveness. Though Job has been robbed of the physical possessions which set him above other members of society, he still exists in his own flesh and health. Satan recognizes that in order to debilitate Job’s faith he must strip him of his own flesh and physical self. However, even when he was exiled to a dung heap to live out the rest of his days and decay in the flesh he refuses to repent and profess his faith for sins which he did not commit. “I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.” (Job, 19. 25) After Job’s refusal to renounce his faith and curse God, God wins the wager.
The scripture of Job tells certain self evident truths about the human condition in relation to God. Similarly to the scripture of Job, Archibald McLeish's J.B., a modern verse retelling book of Job, pits God and the Devil against one another for the ultimate prize, the faith of a good man. The play opens with Nickles and Mr Zuss, actors who are reduced by time to selling concessions. However, they play the roles of God and Satan- ironically the most recognized and defining dichotomy of all time. As in the book of Job, Satan challenges God to take his most faithful man, strip him of everything he holds dear, including his own flesh, and watch him curse god. J.B., a wealthy banker assumes the role of Job. He describes his prosperity as a reward for his faithfulness and belief of God.
Although antithetical with the message in the book of Job, the tower of Babel is analogous with the scripture of Job in the sense that they both demonstrate man’s attempt to attribute human qualities with God. The scripture of the tower of Babel occurs in the Old Testament. The society of Babel forms a rebellion against God and eventually depicts the overreach of human aspirations. As a united group, the people of Babel initiated an enormous project to build a turret that would reach heaven. They said to each other, "Let us make bricks and bake them thoroughly." So they had bricks for building blocks and tar for mortar. Then they said, "Let us build a city, and a tower with its top in the heavens. Let us make a name for ourselves so we will not be scattered around the earth." (11:1-4) this scripture claims that humanity itself was once a single community, they shared the same language, customs, and society. However, the people of Babel were intent on creating their own city and culture. “God came down to see the city and the tower which the men had built. God said, "If as one people with one language this is the beginning of what they can do, then nothing they plan will be impossible for them. Let us go down and confuse their language there so no one can understand the other's language." (11:5-7) God confounded their ability to communicate with one another, essentially making it impossible to build a tower that reached the heavens. God was not threatened by the building of the tower itself, however he was threatened by their attempt to disobey his commands and show a lack of faith in him.
Throughout history God has been viewed by human beings as benevolent, omnipotent, and immanent. However, the perceptions of God in the Old Testament, and the perceptions of God in the New Testament are viewed as two separate entities. The God of the Old Testament is a God who possesses qualities similar to man; he is wrathful, vindictive, and even vulnerable. The God of the New Testament is mainly seen through Jesus, an incessant symbol of love and forgiveness. As man begins to grasp and comprehend God he develops into a God less comparable to the human condition. Man attributes human qualities to entities beyond their comprehension in order to bridge the gap between what they can verify, and concepts beyond their range of experience.
The God of the Old Testament was a God of judgment and vindictiveness, both on Israel , as well as all the nations. However, he was a God formed in the human condition. The book of Job is evidence of God’s humanity. Job is the first of five books commonly referred to as "The Books of Poetry" in the Old Testament. In chapter one, Job is described as a man of great probity, virtue, and piety. He has seven sons and three daughters, possesses much livestock and many servants and is respected by society. Job is right in the eyes of God and is a servant of the Lord. God permits Satan to put the virtue of Job to the test. Satan and God place a bet on Job’s faith in God. “And the Lord said unto Satan, Whence comest thou? Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, from going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.” (Job, 1. 7) God essentially puts his creation in Satan’s hand. If God was to lose the wager between them Satan would fundamentally prove that the essence of Gods existence, faith, does not exist. This is the only scripture in the bible where God’s vulnerability, a quality associated only with man, is evident. Satan begins by taking away all of Job's riches, his livestock, his house, his servants, and his children. “Let me alone, that I may take comfort a little, before I go whence I shall not return, even to the land of darkness and the shadow of death.” (Job, 10. 20) Satan strips Job of all of his possessions and loved ones; all that Job has worked for in life is taken from him in a matter of days. However, Job refuses to revoke his faith in God, as well as in his righteousness, and repent for forgiveness. Though Job has been robbed of the physical possessions which set him above other members of society, he still exists in his own flesh and health. Satan recognizes that in order to debilitate Job’s faith he must strip him of his own flesh and physical self. However, even when he was exiled to a dung heap to live out the rest of his days and decay in the flesh he refuses to repent and profess his faith for sins which he did not commit. “I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.” (Job, 19. 25) After Job’s refusal to renounce his faith and curse God, God wins the wager.
The scripture of Job tells certain self evident truths about the human condition in relation to God. Similarly to the scripture of Job, Archibald McLeish's J.B., a modern verse retelling book of Job, pits God and the Devil against one another for the ultimate prize, the faith of a good man. The play opens with Nickles and Mr Zuss, actors who are reduced by time to selling concessions. However, they play the roles of God and Satan- ironically the most recognized and defining dichotomy of all time. As in the book of Job, Satan challenges God to take his most faithful man, strip him of everything he holds dear, including his own flesh, and watch him curse god. J.B., a wealthy banker assumes the role of Job. He describes his prosperity as a reward for his faithfulness and belief of God.
Although antithetical with the message in the book of Job, the tower of Babel is analogous with the scripture of Job in the sense that they both demonstrate man’s attempt to attribute human qualities with God. The scripture of the tower of Babel occurs in the Old Testament. The society of Babel forms a rebellion against God and eventually depicts the overreach of human aspirations. As a united group, the people of Babel initiated an enormous project to build a turret that would reach heaven. They said to each other, "Let us make bricks and bake them thoroughly." So they had bricks for building blocks and tar for mortar. Then they said, "Let us build a city, and a tower with its top in the heavens. Let us make a name for ourselves so we will not be scattered around the earth." (11:1-4) this scripture claims that humanity itself was once a single community, they shared the same language, customs, and society. However, the people of Babel were intent on creating their own city and culture. “God came down to see the city and the tower which the men had built. God said, "If as one people with one language this is the beginning of what they can do, then nothing they plan will be impossible for them. Let us go down and confuse their language there so no one can understand the other's language." (11:5-7) God confounded their ability to communicate with one another, essentially making it impossible to build a tower that reached the heavens. God was not threatened by the building of the tower itself, however he was threatened by their attempt to disobey his commands and show a lack of faith in him.
Group Presentations
I thought the group presentations were great overall. My favorite one was the debate. I thought it was a very creative and interesting format, however i think some of the ideas could have been articulated much better. Each group had valid points but they didnt necessarily follow through with them in an effective manner. I also think at times certain individuals were missing the point. But anywho, i applaud the creativity and it was more interesting than just listening to people talk and talk and talk. I liked how all of the groups essentially were able to incorporate different elements from each of the retellings into their presentations. The presentation which drew comparisons from Pocahontas to Avatar was very interesting because I have been saying that since i saw Avatar in theatres!! I also thought it was interesting how Avatar was brought up because it is a retelling which we see so often. There, unfortunately, are so many times in history in which one culture or society has completely destoryed or exploited another. We have lost so much knowledge as a result of that, its horribly depressing. But yeah, good work everyone.
Antigone
Antigone
What I found most interesting after reading Antigone is the title of the story itself. The actual character of Antigone plays such a small role. She is simply the oldest daughter of Oedipus, she doesn't have many lines and she isn’t a very exciting character. I speculate that it has something to do with the main message Sophocles was trying to send when he wrote the play. In some ways he is attempting to show cost of being callow opposed to moral. I also think it is very apparent that he is using the female archetype to expose Creons weaknesses throughout the play.
What I found most interesting after reading Antigone is the title of the story itself. The actual character of Antigone plays such a small role. She is simply the oldest daughter of Oedipus, she doesn't have many lines and she isn’t a very exciting character. I speculate that it has something to do with the main message Sophocles was trying to send when he wrote the play. In some ways he is attempting to show cost of being callow opposed to moral. I also think it is very apparent that he is using the female archetype to expose Creons weaknesses throughout the play.
Job
We have talked a lot about Job in our class this year, though we have never gone over his story specifically it has come up via comparisons and is applicable to many of the themes and storys.
These are just a few quotes which i thought illustrated certain truths about the human condition.
"Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it; let a cloud dwell upon it;let blood be upon their skins;let the blackness of the day terrify it." The Book Of Job--3:5
I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. Job, 19. 25
Though wickedness be sweet in his mouth, though he hide it under his tongue. Job, 20. 12
just a couple thoughts on those....
The characters of God and Satan are vulnerable in the book of Job in order to apply human rationale to concepts beyond their intellectual hold.
Human beings apply rationale to that which they can not grasp
Man applies human qualities to entities beyond their comprehension in order to bridge the gap between what they can verify and concepts beyond their range of their experience.
These are just a few quotes which i thought illustrated certain truths about the human condition.
"Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it; let a cloud dwell upon it;let blood be upon their skins;let the blackness of the day terrify it." The Book Of Job--3:5
I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. Job, 19. 25
Though wickedness be sweet in his mouth, though he hide it under his tongue. Job, 20. 12
just a couple thoughts on those....
The characters of God and Satan are vulnerable in the book of Job in order to apply human rationale to concepts beyond their intellectual hold.
Human beings apply rationale to that which they can not grasp
Man applies human qualities to entities beyond their comprehension in order to bridge the gap between what they can verify and concepts beyond their range of their experience.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
dropping eaves
Today I was eavesdropping on a group of girls behind me. They were talking about the show Greek. For starters I was amused because i am eavesdropping for a literature class and of course they are talking about TV. Anyways, they talked about how one of the main love interests of Casey is more attractive than the other and were debating which one she was going to end up with on the last season. Though i have partaken in such conversations, listening to one makes it very amusing. They were so intense and passionate about this show and these people who arent even real. I found myself wondering how the show applies to their lives. Why were some of them rooting for one character while others liked the other love interest. Do these characters remind them of their own personal lives, or are they discussing it because they find the show to be more interesting than their personal lives? Then i began to wonder what my motivations were when i had similar conversations about silly TV shows or whatever the case may be. The same can be applied to literature in some ways, why is it that we read books? is it because they remind us of ourselves, is it because we can insert ourselves in the characters shoes for a moment? or is it because our lives are mundane and it serves as a vacation from that? Or is the reasoning for such things relative? hmmmm i wonder....
my poem
Everything i wish to do before i die
Many people would love to see the world
and i am no exception
I want to see tha lands, the seas and most of all,
everyside possible of the complicated people
both love and deception
i wish to walk along the greatest wall, and be swallowed up as i run through jungles, the trees
growing tall
i want to swim with the turtles, the dolphin and the fish
and dont forget food! i want one of every dish
i want to bunny hop accross the face of the moon
but be back in time to soak up some sun in june
i want to rock climb all over- in thailand and spain
and run joyously through a monsoons thick veils of rain
but most of all when im done exploring the globe
there is nowhere i would rather be than home
and there i will join my love one and true
and together we will be until time is through
we will start a family with children and friends
and when were ready we'll go to worlds end
and there we will stand on the edge of it all
and when were ready at last
together we'll fall
Cathedral- Raymond Carver
Cathedral was a very touching story; it has been told and retold many times to say the least. I think it really gets at the message that one cannot truly understand another man’s existence. We can never insert ourselves into someone else’s life or truly understand their emotions, or what inspires them. We can only begin to grasp others thoughts and desires by comparing them to our own. It also highlights the fact that what we do not understand scares us. The husband almost fears the blind man throughout the story; he is somehow threatened by him. Up until the end he does not understand what the world holds for the blind man. I think that often times when we see people who don’t have the things which we do it scares us. That is why our parents tell us not to talk to homeless people on the side of the road, or why addictions and like things are frowned upon. We do not understand them, but deep down we see elements of ourselves in them, we could be so unfortunate as to have the same weaknesses or disadvantages such as lack of sight, this idea cuts down to the core of our mortality. And accepting mortality is somewhat of a taboo in our society. At the end of the story the narrator experiences an epiphany, life is not set in stone, our experiences are our own but they are not any worse or any better than those around us. Everything in life is relative, our pain our suffering, our experiences define us. The narrator gets to glimpse into the experiences of another human being.
The Lottery- Jackson
The Lottery
The Lottery was an interesting and surprising story. In the discussion questions the final one is:
4. Because The Lottery was written shortly after the end of World War II, some readers have seen it as a warning of the danger of simply “following orders.” Whether given by leaders or ones neighbors. Does this seem a legitimate reading of the story? Do the townspeople simply succumb to natural aggressions or to cultural imperatives?
Reading this story within the context of this question makes it much more interesting. To what degree are we simply following orders in this life? Since most of us are law abiding citizens how do we know that us following orders isn’t having consequences on our happiness in this lifetime already? Though the consequences are less grave how do we know we aren’t missing out on important elements of life? Do we follow blindly? Do we believe things too easily? Was that the author’s message? It also presents the question is what our society promotes the right thing? How do we know we aren’t just conditioned to the point of not being able to recognize our own free will? This story reminded me a lot of 1984. A lot of being human is allowing perception to guide us, if we perceive something to be right or to be the norm we often times blindly follow others.
The Lottery was an interesting and surprising story. In the discussion questions the final one is:
4. Because The Lottery was written shortly after the end of World War II, some readers have seen it as a warning of the danger of simply “following orders.” Whether given by leaders or ones neighbors. Does this seem a legitimate reading of the story? Do the townspeople simply succumb to natural aggressions or to cultural imperatives?
Reading this story within the context of this question makes it much more interesting. To what degree are we simply following orders in this life? Since most of us are law abiding citizens how do we know that us following orders isn’t having consequences on our happiness in this lifetime already? Though the consequences are less grave how do we know we aren’t missing out on important elements of life? Do we follow blindly? Do we believe things too easily? Was that the author’s message? It also presents the question is what our society promotes the right thing? How do we know we aren’t just conditioned to the point of not being able to recognize our own free will? This story reminded me a lot of 1984. A lot of being human is allowing perception to guide us, if we perceive something to be right or to be the norm we often times blindly follow others.
A Very Old Man with Enourmous Wings- Garcia Marquez
A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings
I enjoyed this story very much, and for some reason it reminded me of the Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka. But anyways, the first discussion question listed after the story is:
1. The central figure of the story apparently really is an angel, despite the villager’s reactions to him and his less than clean appearance. Why it is that everyone in the story, including the priest, finds it so difficult to believe that this is really an angel? Is theirs a failure of imagination? Of faith? Does it tell us something about the modern world? Finally how do the stories style, descriptions and title contribute to our sense that this is or isn’t a real angel?
I think that part of the message of the story is that we don’t want to understand the world around us. We want to rely on this image of a perfect higher power and anything less than perfect would disappoint us, that is part of the human condition. We thrive on the chance that there may be something, glorious and “perfect” which we cannot understand. However, I think that the author is urging us to see that perfection lies within the imperfections around us. Our faith is conditional, we have faith when it suits us, and when we need it, however when we feel secure without it we denounce our faith. I don’t know if the story is as much a message about the modern world as it is about the human condition. Satisfaction does not exist for more than a moment in time. We NEED to set goals which we may not be able to reach, and we NEED to believe in a place which we cannot even imagine. If the things we desire were presented to us we would no longer desire them. The knowledge which we now take for granted was once the foundation for questions which serve as the groundwork for religion, humanity, society etc.
As far as the title, descriptions etc I think that it goes back to us needing something which we cannot understand, the quest for knowledge is what defines us. For all we know we encounter “angels” on a daily basis, many would argue that miracles surround us all the time. Yet we continue to take them for granted.
I enjoyed this story very much, and for some reason it reminded me of the Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka. But anyways, the first discussion question listed after the story is:
1. The central figure of the story apparently really is an angel, despite the villager’s reactions to him and his less than clean appearance. Why it is that everyone in the story, including the priest, finds it so difficult to believe that this is really an angel? Is theirs a failure of imagination? Of faith? Does it tell us something about the modern world? Finally how do the stories style, descriptions and title contribute to our sense that this is or isn’t a real angel?
I think that part of the message of the story is that we don’t want to understand the world around us. We want to rely on this image of a perfect higher power and anything less than perfect would disappoint us, that is part of the human condition. We thrive on the chance that there may be something, glorious and “perfect” which we cannot understand. However, I think that the author is urging us to see that perfection lies within the imperfections around us. Our faith is conditional, we have faith when it suits us, and when we need it, however when we feel secure without it we denounce our faith. I don’t know if the story is as much a message about the modern world as it is about the human condition. Satisfaction does not exist for more than a moment in time. We NEED to set goals which we may not be able to reach, and we NEED to believe in a place which we cannot even imagine. If the things we desire were presented to us we would no longer desire them. The knowledge which we now take for granted was once the foundation for questions which serve as the groundwork for religion, humanity, society etc.
As far as the title, descriptions etc I think that it goes back to us needing something which we cannot understand, the quest for knowledge is what defines us. For all we know we encounter “angels” on a daily basis, many would argue that miracles surround us all the time. Yet we continue to take them for granted.
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening- Shout out to my boy Robert Frost from NH
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Since I am from New Hampshire, I absolutely love Robert Frost. It is amazing to read his poetry and know I have camped, hiked or walked around in the areas which he describes. I have visited his house which is now a museum multiple times since it is on the way to the campground which I visit every year. Robert Frost’s use of imagery has always more than impressed me, I can always envision exactly what he depicts, perhaps because I have seen the landscape which he was likely depicting, or perhaps because he is an amazing poet. Either way this poem reminds me of New England winters. There is something so timeless about the landscape in New England, especially in the winter. It is a calm and quiet winter much more peaceful and mild than those here in Montana. “The woods are lovely, dark and deep.” Is such a great description.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Since I am from New Hampshire, I absolutely love Robert Frost. It is amazing to read his poetry and know I have camped, hiked or walked around in the areas which he describes. I have visited his house which is now a museum multiple times since it is on the way to the campground which I visit every year. Robert Frost’s use of imagery has always more than impressed me, I can always envision exactly what he depicts, perhaps because I have seen the landscape which he was likely depicting, or perhaps because he is an amazing poet. Either way this poem reminds me of New England winters. There is something so timeless about the landscape in New England, especially in the winter. It is a calm and quiet winter much more peaceful and mild than those here in Montana. “The woods are lovely, dark and deep.” Is such a great description.
The Second Coming- William Butler Yeats
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand; A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again but now I know that twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
I remember reading The Second Coming during my junior year of high school. We dissected the poem within the context of the book Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. For some reason I very much enjoy the poem. I remember it was written during the aftermath of WWI.
My favorite line I think is:
The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
^^ I find this to be true in many ways, I know many people who are either ignorantly, yet entirely devoted to one belief, or have no convictions whatsoever.
I think this poem highlights a lot about human nature.
Once we as humans have experienced something extreme or dramatic it haunts us, we become wild in some ways i.e. the falcon cannot hear the falconer: This somewhat reminds me of how often times when soldiers are sent to war when they return they are haunted by the experiences which they had yet they long to return to it. The intensity cannot be matched by everyday life for them, they have had a taste of something which they cannot forget.
Once things are set into motion they cannot be stopped, i.e. the center cannot hold.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand; A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again but now I know that twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
I remember reading The Second Coming during my junior year of high school. We dissected the poem within the context of the book Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. For some reason I very much enjoy the poem. I remember it was written during the aftermath of WWI.
My favorite line I think is:
The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
^^ I find this to be true in many ways, I know many people who are either ignorantly, yet entirely devoted to one belief, or have no convictions whatsoever.
I think this poem highlights a lot about human nature.
Once we as humans have experienced something extreme or dramatic it haunts us, we become wild in some ways i.e. the falcon cannot hear the falconer: This somewhat reminds me of how often times when soldiers are sent to war when they return they are haunted by the experiences which they had yet they long to return to it. The intensity cannot be matched by everyday life for them, they have had a taste of something which they cannot forget.
Once things are set into motion they cannot be stopped, i.e. the center cannot hold.
A Good Man is Hard to Find- Flannery O' Connor
A good man is hard to find has many interesting elements. It also begs many questions; the question which I found to be the most difficult it presents us with is what is a good man? Or person for that matter. Most would argue that good and evil are elements of nature which are mysterious, and lie in the grey area for us, but exist certainly within the world. Is there such a thing as a good human being? It is congenital within human nature to be petty, selfish and vain. We desire attention from others, material things for ourselves and the validation of those around us. What is Flannery O’Connor trying to say about human nature by having the grandmother reach out to someone who most would consider “evil,” someone who is responsible for the death of those she loves? And who is about to brutally murder her point blank for no apparent reason other than his belief that there is no joy in life other than meanness? Are we able to consider his point?
One of the discussion questions at the end of the story is:
4. By calling the murderer a “misfit” the story seems to suggest that he is not a monster…
I find this to be a very, very interesting point/ question. As a society we naturally shun characters like the misfit, for obvious reasons, but were we in their shoes can we say we would be any different? How come we pity people with diseases, but is it fair to say the misfit has a disease of sorts, or a point? Is it possible to separate ourselves from the brutality of his actions and objectively look at some of the points he made.
"She would have been a good woman . . . if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life." The misfit says at one point. Does that mean he believes he would be a good man if someone were to shoot him every moment of his life? What does the misfit think of himself?
One of the discussion questions at the end of the story is:
4. By calling the murderer a “misfit” the story seems to suggest that he is not a monster…
I find this to be a very, very interesting point/ question. As a society we naturally shun characters like the misfit, for obvious reasons, but were we in their shoes can we say we would be any different? How come we pity people with diseases, but is it fair to say the misfit has a disease of sorts, or a point? Is it possible to separate ourselves from the brutality of his actions and objectively look at some of the points he made.
"She would have been a good woman . . . if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life." The misfit says at one point. Does that mean he believes he would be a good man if someone were to shoot him every moment of his life? What does the misfit think of himself?
The lady with the Pet Dog (Chekhov)
After reading The Lady with the Pet Dog the first thing that came to my mind was mid-life crisis. It also reminds me of how many believe that romance, in the true sense of the word, is dead. Many people marry into loveless engagements in the modern world, and many are simply infatuated with people because they see things in them which they do not see in the world. I feel as though Dmitri sees in Anna elements of the world which he has either ignored, or believed did not exist. However at the same time, Chekhov portrays Yalta as this wild chance. Sometimes things all come together at the perfect time, momentary Utopia and peace. Though they are rare and chance happenings they can reorganize someone’s thoughts, provide new clarity in the moment; and when they are gone the memory of them is like a plague, a shadow cast over a life of understanding. I believe there is a moment in time in everyone’s life, where just for a moment everything makes sense. For Dmitri this moment is Anna. Though Dmitri appears to be a completely mundane character hardly worth analysis, the fact that he clings to this memory makes him interesting. Many of us desire things and are too afraid to allow that desire to consume us, Dmitri is not. The average person has this passing with fate and forgets about, or buries it in order to continue their lives they way they think they are supposed to be living them the fact that he does not makes him a very intriguing character to me.
Araby
Araby was a very interesting story to me. It highlights many points that we don’t necessarily have the time to reflect on. Araby basically sums up modern day life. As children we are constantly seeing the wonder and beauty in everything. A small story can inspire romance and an impregnation of emotion which becomes harder and harder to find as we grow older. Many would argue that our imagination is lost as we age. However, I believe that it is the mundane details of everyday life that distract us from these emotions and imaginings which are still possible. The story Araby captures and condenses the average life perfectly. We have all of these plans for the future, we see ourselves as astronauts, firefighters or adventurers as children and as time passes reality sets in. we have to work and go to school, get jobs, our daydreams are trumped by obligations and eventually we forget how. This is somewhat of a negative outlook, but I don’t think most people start out their lives intending to work desk jobs or simply get married and settle down. That is not to say there isn’t beauty in every life or in every choice we make, however our dreams rarely come true, just as the case in Araby with the narrator, Mangan’s sister and the Bazaar. Life and forces out of his control get in the way.
just a couple things...
I do not believe that every book is interesting. But most certainly everyone should be interested by books. Our minds are such a deep unattainable place. We have no idea how they work or what goes on inside of them, but I truly believe that books can entirely enhance someone’s life. The four years in which I quite literally, lived, breathed, slept and ate books were some of the best of my life. I look back on them with more than sentimentality. I still get hassled by my friends and called weird but I could care less, I wouldn’t trade them for the world. I was being one hundred percent myself. At the same time however, it is not possible to live that way anymore and be entirely happy. The world is moving at a different pace, people appreciate different things, have different likes and dislikes. I wish that everyone could appreciate a good book, or for that matter even a good conversation. I feel as though I am constantly dumbing myself down even to talk to my best of friends. My interests include philosophy, literature and general speculation about the world around us. However people simply don’t have the attention span for conversations like that. I have not met someone who has satisfied me conversationally in years, if ever. The world is changing and unfortunately it is veering away from deep conversation, nature and literature. It is still possible to live as a purist, loving the earth and the stories generated and regenerated, passed down from culture to culture, person to person, but living that way means living alone, or not being entirely accepted by the world around you. It takes a strong person to do that, and I don’t think there are many out there. Those who are considered crazy or old fashioned. Even the course load for this class involves blogging. I enjoy putting a pen to paper and putting my thoughts on the page, seeing my own hand writing attached to my own thoughts. I know that you would argue that when the pen came out it was a new form of technology, but with every new form of technology we are putting less and less of ourselves into our convictions. When I look at what I just wrote it is only my words, it is not my writing, or the fullest expression of myself. I find it much less rewarding. It is only one element of me instead of multiple. I am a college freshman and I can’t even write the ABC’s in cursive. It surprises me that you promote the use of toys such as the Ipad or the use of blogs instead of journals. Sure, you can look up words you don’t know with one touch. But whatever happened to turning the pages of a donated library book, the smell that only accumulates after years of use, the creak of the pages as the seam weakens. Whatever happened to looking up the words you don’t know in a dictionary, or for that matter asking a friend or mentor what they mean. Instead of having conversations with people about their thoughts on novels, themes or characters we Google the book for generic answers. Literature is becoming less and less intriguing because it is becoming less and less of a social Endeavour. We don’t get together to drink tea and discuss books, or anything for that matter, we go out to a movie or to a bar. The obvious rebuttal would be that we still can get together and drink tea and read books. But that becomes a lifelong quest that requires complete devotion, there are not many people who enjoy those things anymore and doing them alone simply doesn’t cut it. Books have become boring because they are not the same as they used to be, reading a book does not enhance social situations with the general population. In fact in many ways it makes you socially awkward it puts you above the general population; the conversations which we have in class, as interesting or as entertaining as they are, are half of what they could be. Books are addicting, “original” thought is addicting, but in this day and age they won’t take you far I feel like. I would appreciate to hear your thoughts on this because it is something that troubles me on a regular basis. I don’t voice my opinions in class often and I am rather quiet because I feel like people often times don’t have a genuine interest in the conversations and I don’t want to waste my breath. This class has been great and I have learned a lot from it, it also brought me back to one of the best, most free times in my life. However at the end of the day I find it slightly depressing as well. Supposedly fifty percent of the American population is depressed, and there is a fifty percent divorce rate. I believe that that is because we rely on all of these false means of communication and the media and all of these silly gadgets. We allow them to could our judgment and deter from who we really, truly are at the core. I am not saying I am not guilty of this. I own a TV and a laptop and watch stupid TV shows and buy movie tickets and DVD’s instead of books, but I feel as though that is the only way to integrate myself into this society, and once you start all of that it is addicting.
My Final Paper: What I know Now
What I Know Now
I have always looked at the world with an imaginative flair. As a child I could turn the average middle school day into an adventure, recapitulating the mundane into something much more. Historically, literature was the footpath on which I traveled to melodramatic and sensational places.
As a child it was not a stretch to say I was eccentric. I loved the nature, and the sublime feel of the New England Hemlock forests which surrounded my home. I longed to be the beautiful heroine in a saga which involved perilous adventures, dangerous landscapes, wizards and of course a handsome prince.
My first encounter with the fantastical was actually a twist of fate. I specifically remember one day I was waiting for my mother to pick me up afterschool (she was always late) and I found a completely battered, torn, barley readable copy of The Hobbit on the pavement in the parking lot. I had no idea that this would be the start of a four year long infatuation with the fantastical and transcendent. In the fifth grade alone I read The Lord of the Rings three times; that entire year, I would fashion my days around it. I would dress myself in bed sheets and wear necklaces as crowns which I imagined were fashioned by elves, with a technique that could not be created outside of middle earth. I bought a recreation the ring (one ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them). I imagined its weight around my neck, the desire which I would have to resist. How easy it would be to slip it onto my finger and disappear. I bought the entirety of The Lord of the Rings collector edition Barbie dolls and I would play with them for hours on end, interpreting virtually every scene I had memorized.
The next year I read Robin Hood and King Arthur. I pictured myself as Guinevere or the Maid Marian, fair skinned, with long golden hair braided down my back. I would make garlands out of wildflowers and lemongrass from our gardens and weave them into my fine hair. I lived in my play house, pretending that I was Maid Marian, waiting for Robin Hood to come back from one of his adventures and passionately embrace me. I even picked up archery because I read one version of King Arthur in which Guinevere was praised for her use of the bow and arrow. I would spend hours in our forests with mine, using trees as my target but pretending as though I was rebelling against the times as a female and defending Camelot.
The year in which I turned eleven I read Harry Potter for the first time. I remember my friends eleventh birthday was on December 4th, I called her the second I woke up after her birthday to see if she had received a letter of acceptance to the school of Hogwarts, she hadn’t. Secretly, I reveled in the fact that she had not received one; it would only impress her that much more when I relieved mine on July 7th. I waited up well past midnight( the time at which they are supposed to be received) wondering if the owl meant to deliver mine had perhaps been injured, or for that matter intercepted by Voldemort since obviously I would play a part in his demise if I was accepted into the wizarding community. It never came but I continued to listen to all the books on tape every night before I went to bed. I still do to this day.
In seventh grade I read a book called The Song of the Wanderer. It was about a young girl who was unsatisfied with her life in modern times and who was whisked away into a land of fantastical creatures, mainly unicorns. My life from thereon out was to be a unicorn inquisitor. I became obsessed with unicorns. I bought Coffee table books filled with images of beautiful unicorns; I read every book I could get my hands on. I looked up markings they would leave with their horns and hooves online and in reference books and I would trek miles into our acreage looking for unicorn feces, scrapings, mating grounds and marks they would leave on the trees. I devised a theory that when the earth had flooded and the animals were sheparded onto Noah’s Ark the unicorns had simply turned into Narwhals I started a nature club at my school, though I was the only member, sometimes my sister would tag along on my adventures. I had a test for anyone who wanted to join the club in which they had to prick every finger with a thorn and if it didn’t come out in the shape of a crescent, which I believed to be a mystical symbol worn by Morgan Le Fay, a pagan goddess like figure in King Arthur, then they could not join. I also required them to stand in the coldest puddle I could find after a rain storm for ten minutes, and then they would have to duel me in a sword (stick) fighting contest, if they lost they were not worthy. The purpose of my club was to be one with nature, literally. I believed that I could communicate with trees as well as all of the other plants. The two friends that I had would have me help their mothers with the gardening; I would tell them whether or not their plants had maggots which needed to be dealt with. Though they humored me, I think I slightly annoyed even them. In retrospect I am not surprised no one else joined my club.
There was one point in which I became obsessed with Shakespearean literature, particularly, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I read the tale over and over again. I longed to live as a fairy, or at least outwit one. I built a new fairy house out of twigs, moss, pine cones and stone everyday for two months one summer, hoping fairies resided in them at the night; Holding grand balls and mystical parties. I calculated the exact night of “Midsummer” because I believed that the fairies had a grand festival on this night. I was convinced that every midsummer night the fairies would come together in a large field and drink fairy wine and dress in their finest clothes woven out of silk from spider webs and cocoons. On the night which I had calculated to be exactly in the middle of summer I snuck out of my house with a gas burning lantern and walked a mile and a half into my woods with my friend Maureen to a clearing in which I believed they would gather. The day before I had had my mother take me to a fabric store where I bought green and brown fabrics and fashioned myself a whimsical dress/ cloak which I pinned with Celtic symbols since my research had shown me that the fairy population had derived from Ireland, specifically Stonehenge. We danced in the wet grass and frolicked around well past midnight when I believed the festivities would start. Eventually, disappointed but not deterred from my belief of their existence we retreated.
By the time Eighth Grade had rolled around it was safe to say I was an outcast at our small school. I was known as the girl who wore garlands to class, leggings with unicorns and Pegasus’s on them, and capes pinned around my chest with Celtic symbols. I had two friends in my grade who were gradually losing interest in my crazy escapades and beginning to chase boys and paint their nails. I developed a very close relationship with the school librarians. I spent both lunch and recess in the library, researching anything and everything mystical. Though we were not allowed to eat in the library, they made an exception for me. They allowed me to hang posters which I had drawn of unicorns and fairies with messages promoting belief in the cryptic creatures I believed quietly inhabited this earth. One day the library was closed for recess without warning so I was forced to eat outside on the blacktop with all of the other kids. I remember all of the “popular” boys in our grade were playing a game of football on a field to the left of the basketball courts. There was a tree that they were trying to kick down because it kept getting in the way of their game. I went over kicked two of them in the shins and sat in front of the tree for the rest of recess so they could no longer kick it. I thought it deserved a peaceful death. After recess of course I was written up and sent to the principles, but no punishment came out of it, simply I think because he felt so bad for me.
Every other Friday there was a school dance for the seventh and eighth graders that went until ten. All of the cool girls in my school would talk about it all day long, and the guys would be just as excited. Little known to most of our school, on these weekends there was also the Book Club at the library. The Book Club was for fifth and sixth graders mainly, but I would work as a volunteer every other weekend, hoping to collect followers into my nature club. I never did.
Throughout the four years of middle school I had had a crush on the same guy. He lived on my street, two doors down and we had one class together. In elementary school we had been good friends and played together often, four wheeling and catching frogs at the pond. Though I liked him all throughout middle school I hadn’t had time to pursue him, but I always thought he liked me too. When we saw each other in the halls I thought he always smiled at me. I would stand at the water fountain near his locked and try to look pretty like the high school girls did in movies I was barely allowed to watch. I always imagined him asking me out, or to a dance or trying to kiss me, though I would have respectfully declined. I remember one day I was standing in line waiting to get my lunch and he got in line behind me. I was so excited; I turned around and said “Hello,” “Lindsay! He said, you still go to this school? I thought you moved like four years ago.” I was not only heartbroken, but I was confused. Was I really that much of an outcast that my own neighbor, who lived two doors down from me, who rode the bus with me on occasion, thought I had moved?
The prompt for this paper was “What do I know now, that I did not know then as a result of this class.” After this incident with the boy I liked, I didn’t exactly swear off books, but I relied on them much less. Books were quite literally my life for four years. I read at least four a week, advanced books at that. In the seventh grade I read “A Reflection on the French Revolution” By Edmund Burke, a book that I daresay many college students could not get through now. I don’t think I watched an hour of TV in those four years (with the exception of movies like Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, King Arthur and Robin Hood…the Kevin Costner version obviously) My vocabulary in sixth grade was estimated to be equivocal to that of most college freshman and I had a perfect GPA, though I never did homework I talked my way through every class. However, I had virtually no friends, with the exception of the librarians who I think were more interested in me as an individual than liked me as a person. I spent my days living in a world which did not exist outside of my head. I was literally living in a fantasy world, alone. Though I was happy I did not realize how disconnected from society I was, from the people around me. I swore I would never allow myself to get to that place again. So I essentially stopped reading.
I have never been an individual who is able to live a highly balanced lifestyle. I always completely and passionately throw myself into whatever it is that I perceive to be what I love most. So when high school rolled around I passionately invested myself in the social scene. I found a new group of friends (or a group of friend’s period) for that matter and spent most of my time chasing boys, partying or whatever. I had a great time, wasting a lot of time.
Though I didn’t mention this earlier I also had an obsession with The Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales, I had a few different collector edition collections of their stories, as well as illustrated edition versions and used worn ones (which were my favorite because I liked to imagine what the previous owner had been like.)I sold most of these books my freshman year of high school, and put the rest in storage. I dabbled in literature after that, but spent many more afternoons either out with friends or in front of the TV watching trash shows like the OC. For reasons which had lain dormant for a long, long time, picking up a copy of Retellings and reading the syllabus for this course excited me.
I found that I loved reading the retellings of fairy tales which were strewn across the pages of this anthology. I missed imagining myself as these beautiful and complex characters. I missed inserting my own qualities into their words and descriptions. It felt so good to once again imagine myself in the scenarios presented to me in the pages of the anthology. I missed looking at the world around me and imagining how it would sound on the pages of a worn book.
I also used to love to write, I wrote poetry, short stories, and lengthier stories. I invented characters in which I used myself as the foundation, sewing my weaknesses, fears and strengths into their seams. The knowledge which I have gained from this class is not knowledge in the traditional sense of the word, but knowledge of self. I have found a place in which I can live my life both within the realms of an excellent novel and also in the real world, a place where the two feed off of each other to make life more interesting, and that is what I know that I did not know before.
I have always looked at the world with an imaginative flair. As a child I could turn the average middle school day into an adventure, recapitulating the mundane into something much more. Historically, literature was the footpath on which I traveled to melodramatic and sensational places.
As a child it was not a stretch to say I was eccentric. I loved the nature, and the sublime feel of the New England Hemlock forests which surrounded my home. I longed to be the beautiful heroine in a saga which involved perilous adventures, dangerous landscapes, wizards and of course a handsome prince.
My first encounter with the fantastical was actually a twist of fate. I specifically remember one day I was waiting for my mother to pick me up afterschool (she was always late) and I found a completely battered, torn, barley readable copy of The Hobbit on the pavement in the parking lot. I had no idea that this would be the start of a four year long infatuation with the fantastical and transcendent. In the fifth grade alone I read The Lord of the Rings three times; that entire year, I would fashion my days around it. I would dress myself in bed sheets and wear necklaces as crowns which I imagined were fashioned by elves, with a technique that could not be created outside of middle earth. I bought a recreation the ring (one ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them). I imagined its weight around my neck, the desire which I would have to resist. How easy it would be to slip it onto my finger and disappear. I bought the entirety of The Lord of the Rings collector edition Barbie dolls and I would play with them for hours on end, interpreting virtually every scene I had memorized.
The next year I read Robin Hood and King Arthur. I pictured myself as Guinevere or the Maid Marian, fair skinned, with long golden hair braided down my back. I would make garlands out of wildflowers and lemongrass from our gardens and weave them into my fine hair. I lived in my play house, pretending that I was Maid Marian, waiting for Robin Hood to come back from one of his adventures and passionately embrace me. I even picked up archery because I read one version of King Arthur in which Guinevere was praised for her use of the bow and arrow. I would spend hours in our forests with mine, using trees as my target but pretending as though I was rebelling against the times as a female and defending Camelot.
The year in which I turned eleven I read Harry Potter for the first time. I remember my friends eleventh birthday was on December 4th, I called her the second I woke up after her birthday to see if she had received a letter of acceptance to the school of Hogwarts, she hadn’t. Secretly, I reveled in the fact that she had not received one; it would only impress her that much more when I relieved mine on July 7th. I waited up well past midnight( the time at which they are supposed to be received) wondering if the owl meant to deliver mine had perhaps been injured, or for that matter intercepted by Voldemort since obviously I would play a part in his demise if I was accepted into the wizarding community. It never came but I continued to listen to all the books on tape every night before I went to bed. I still do to this day.
In seventh grade I read a book called The Song of the Wanderer. It was about a young girl who was unsatisfied with her life in modern times and who was whisked away into a land of fantastical creatures, mainly unicorns. My life from thereon out was to be a unicorn inquisitor. I became obsessed with unicorns. I bought Coffee table books filled with images of beautiful unicorns; I read every book I could get my hands on. I looked up markings they would leave with their horns and hooves online and in reference books and I would trek miles into our acreage looking for unicorn feces, scrapings, mating grounds and marks they would leave on the trees. I devised a theory that when the earth had flooded and the animals were sheparded onto Noah’s Ark the unicorns had simply turned into Narwhals I started a nature club at my school, though I was the only member, sometimes my sister would tag along on my adventures. I had a test for anyone who wanted to join the club in which they had to prick every finger with a thorn and if it didn’t come out in the shape of a crescent, which I believed to be a mystical symbol worn by Morgan Le Fay, a pagan goddess like figure in King Arthur, then they could not join. I also required them to stand in the coldest puddle I could find after a rain storm for ten minutes, and then they would have to duel me in a sword (stick) fighting contest, if they lost they were not worthy. The purpose of my club was to be one with nature, literally. I believed that I could communicate with trees as well as all of the other plants. The two friends that I had would have me help their mothers with the gardening; I would tell them whether or not their plants had maggots which needed to be dealt with. Though they humored me, I think I slightly annoyed even them. In retrospect I am not surprised no one else joined my club.
There was one point in which I became obsessed with Shakespearean literature, particularly, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I read the tale over and over again. I longed to live as a fairy, or at least outwit one. I built a new fairy house out of twigs, moss, pine cones and stone everyday for two months one summer, hoping fairies resided in them at the night; Holding grand balls and mystical parties. I calculated the exact night of “Midsummer” because I believed that the fairies had a grand festival on this night. I was convinced that every midsummer night the fairies would come together in a large field and drink fairy wine and dress in their finest clothes woven out of silk from spider webs and cocoons. On the night which I had calculated to be exactly in the middle of summer I snuck out of my house with a gas burning lantern and walked a mile and a half into my woods with my friend Maureen to a clearing in which I believed they would gather. The day before I had had my mother take me to a fabric store where I bought green and brown fabrics and fashioned myself a whimsical dress/ cloak which I pinned with Celtic symbols since my research had shown me that the fairy population had derived from Ireland, specifically Stonehenge. We danced in the wet grass and frolicked around well past midnight when I believed the festivities would start. Eventually, disappointed but not deterred from my belief of their existence we retreated.
By the time Eighth Grade had rolled around it was safe to say I was an outcast at our small school. I was known as the girl who wore garlands to class, leggings with unicorns and Pegasus’s on them, and capes pinned around my chest with Celtic symbols. I had two friends in my grade who were gradually losing interest in my crazy escapades and beginning to chase boys and paint their nails. I developed a very close relationship with the school librarians. I spent both lunch and recess in the library, researching anything and everything mystical. Though we were not allowed to eat in the library, they made an exception for me. They allowed me to hang posters which I had drawn of unicorns and fairies with messages promoting belief in the cryptic creatures I believed quietly inhabited this earth. One day the library was closed for recess without warning so I was forced to eat outside on the blacktop with all of the other kids. I remember all of the “popular” boys in our grade were playing a game of football on a field to the left of the basketball courts. There was a tree that they were trying to kick down because it kept getting in the way of their game. I went over kicked two of them in the shins and sat in front of the tree for the rest of recess so they could no longer kick it. I thought it deserved a peaceful death. After recess of course I was written up and sent to the principles, but no punishment came out of it, simply I think because he felt so bad for me.
Every other Friday there was a school dance for the seventh and eighth graders that went until ten. All of the cool girls in my school would talk about it all day long, and the guys would be just as excited. Little known to most of our school, on these weekends there was also the Book Club at the library. The Book Club was for fifth and sixth graders mainly, but I would work as a volunteer every other weekend, hoping to collect followers into my nature club. I never did.
Throughout the four years of middle school I had had a crush on the same guy. He lived on my street, two doors down and we had one class together. In elementary school we had been good friends and played together often, four wheeling and catching frogs at the pond. Though I liked him all throughout middle school I hadn’t had time to pursue him, but I always thought he liked me too. When we saw each other in the halls I thought he always smiled at me. I would stand at the water fountain near his locked and try to look pretty like the high school girls did in movies I was barely allowed to watch. I always imagined him asking me out, or to a dance or trying to kiss me, though I would have respectfully declined. I remember one day I was standing in line waiting to get my lunch and he got in line behind me. I was so excited; I turned around and said “Hello,” “Lindsay! He said, you still go to this school? I thought you moved like four years ago.” I was not only heartbroken, but I was confused. Was I really that much of an outcast that my own neighbor, who lived two doors down from me, who rode the bus with me on occasion, thought I had moved?
The prompt for this paper was “What do I know now, that I did not know then as a result of this class.” After this incident with the boy I liked, I didn’t exactly swear off books, but I relied on them much less. Books were quite literally my life for four years. I read at least four a week, advanced books at that. In the seventh grade I read “A Reflection on the French Revolution” By Edmund Burke, a book that I daresay many college students could not get through now. I don’t think I watched an hour of TV in those four years (with the exception of movies like Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, King Arthur and Robin Hood…the Kevin Costner version obviously) My vocabulary in sixth grade was estimated to be equivocal to that of most college freshman and I had a perfect GPA, though I never did homework I talked my way through every class. However, I had virtually no friends, with the exception of the librarians who I think were more interested in me as an individual than liked me as a person. I spent my days living in a world which did not exist outside of my head. I was literally living in a fantasy world, alone. Though I was happy I did not realize how disconnected from society I was, from the people around me. I swore I would never allow myself to get to that place again. So I essentially stopped reading.
I have never been an individual who is able to live a highly balanced lifestyle. I always completely and passionately throw myself into whatever it is that I perceive to be what I love most. So when high school rolled around I passionately invested myself in the social scene. I found a new group of friends (or a group of friend’s period) for that matter and spent most of my time chasing boys, partying or whatever. I had a great time, wasting a lot of time.
Though I didn’t mention this earlier I also had an obsession with The Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales, I had a few different collector edition collections of their stories, as well as illustrated edition versions and used worn ones (which were my favorite because I liked to imagine what the previous owner had been like.)I sold most of these books my freshman year of high school, and put the rest in storage. I dabbled in literature after that, but spent many more afternoons either out with friends or in front of the TV watching trash shows like the OC. For reasons which had lain dormant for a long, long time, picking up a copy of Retellings and reading the syllabus for this course excited me.
I found that I loved reading the retellings of fairy tales which were strewn across the pages of this anthology. I missed imagining myself as these beautiful and complex characters. I missed inserting my own qualities into their words and descriptions. It felt so good to once again imagine myself in the scenarios presented to me in the pages of the anthology. I missed looking at the world around me and imagining how it would sound on the pages of a worn book.
I also used to love to write, I wrote poetry, short stories, and lengthier stories. I invented characters in which I used myself as the foundation, sewing my weaknesses, fears and strengths into their seams. The knowledge which I have gained from this class is not knowledge in the traditional sense of the word, but knowledge of self. I have found a place in which I can live my life both within the realms of an excellent novel and also in the real world, a place where the two feed off of each other to make life more interesting, and that is what I know that I did not know before.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
For anyone in my group...
For anyone in my group for projects I have been pretty sick all weekend long, I also dont have the sheet haha- i can be reached at 6037595953 or jessicalchester7@yahoo.com...I'll keep trying to contact you guys. sorry, being sick blows.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Nirvana
The conversation about niravana in class today was very interesting to me. Last semester I took a philosophy class called problems of good and evil in which we spent a large chunk of the time discussing Buddhism and I think it would be helpful to define what nirvana is because some people seemed confused as to the definition. Nirvana, as far as my understanding is, is a realm in which one is simply being, peacefully, but there is no happiness in it or no joy etc, happiness is an emotion which satisfies us only temporarily, so opposed to looking for that which makes us happy aka that which we desire and eventually recieve one is to look for peace and nuetrality. With nuetrality of course comes a lack of suffering
The Tragic Sense of Life
I googled The Tragic Sense of Life and not a whole lot of concrete information came up. I understand that it is a book written by Miguel De Unamuno, however it seems to cover a lot of topics, each of which could provide enough discussion and material for an entire semester of debate.
Here is what Wiki says about his philosophy so i assume it is applicable to the Tragic Sense of Life:
Unamuno's philosophy was not systematic, but rather a negation of all systems and an affirmation of faith "in itself." He developed intellectually under the influence of rationalism and positivsm, but during his youth he wrote articles that clearly show his sympathy for socialism and his great concern for the situation in which he found Spain at the time. The title of Unamuno's most famous work, Del Sentimiento Trágico de la Vida (The Tragic Sense of Life) An important concept for Unamuno was intrahistoria. He thought that history could best be understood by looking at the small histories of anonymous people, rather than by focusing on major events such as wars and political pacts.
Unamuno summarized his personal creed thus: "My religion is to seek for truth in life and for life in truth, even knowing that I shall not find them while I live."
It would seem as though he is making a connection between truth and tragedy to me? am i incorrect in assuming this?
Here is what Wiki says about his philosophy so i assume it is applicable to the Tragic Sense of Life:
Unamuno's philosophy was not systematic, but rather a negation of all systems and an affirmation of faith "in itself." He developed intellectually under the influence of rationalism and positivsm, but during his youth he wrote articles that clearly show his sympathy for socialism and his great concern for the situation in which he found Spain at the time. The title of Unamuno's most famous work, Del Sentimiento Trágico de la Vida (The Tragic Sense of Life) An important concept for Unamuno was intrahistoria. He thought that history could best be understood by looking at the small histories of anonymous people, rather than by focusing on major events such as wars and political pacts.
Unamuno summarized his personal creed thus: "My religion is to seek for truth in life and for life in truth, even knowing that I shall not find them while I live."
It would seem as though he is making a connection between truth and tragedy to me? am i incorrect in assuming this?
boring
"Books arent boring, we are."
It is an interesting quote and I think it is a very valid point. However, if you know what type of books interest you more than others I think you should read those. The further truth to that statement is that people who think there is only one way to do things are boring. books and people need chemistry. Reading is a lot like dating. You need the book to inspire feeling and emotion in you, yeah you could find some level of that with most people, but why would you want to look for it if something doesnt satisfy you or capture you off that bat? and by off the bat in a long novel i mean within the first like two hundred pages. There are just certain authors or plot lines which certain people have better chemistry with. The more you read the more you enjoy books its like an addiction but you have got to start somewhere, and i think that should be somewhere where you are comfortable and somewhere you enjoy. Your not going to learn to enjoy something by repeatedly forcing yourself into it. If i had to read books like the BK all the time i would hate reading. It wouldnt be any form of an enjoyable outlet for me. I know its a great book and it has some really interesting messages but I prefer a book which has one main point instead of many, and one that inspires me to see things the way i would through my eyes than the way i would through my mind. if that makes any sense? I also think sometimes reading books like BK bugs me because the characters and the situations can sometimes get in the way of what the author is trying to say....they dont inspire as much feeling within me personallly. I need to expand on this but im crunched for time so it will have to wait.
It is an interesting quote and I think it is a very valid point. However, if you know what type of books interest you more than others I think you should read those. The further truth to that statement is that people who think there is only one way to do things are boring. books and people need chemistry. Reading is a lot like dating. You need the book to inspire feeling and emotion in you, yeah you could find some level of that with most people, but why would you want to look for it if something doesnt satisfy you or capture you off that bat? and by off the bat in a long novel i mean within the first like two hundred pages. There are just certain authors or plot lines which certain people have better chemistry with. The more you read the more you enjoy books its like an addiction but you have got to start somewhere, and i think that should be somewhere where you are comfortable and somewhere you enjoy. Your not going to learn to enjoy something by repeatedly forcing yourself into it. If i had to read books like the BK all the time i would hate reading. It wouldnt be any form of an enjoyable outlet for me. I know its a great book and it has some really interesting messages but I prefer a book which has one main point instead of many, and one that inspires me to see things the way i would through my eyes than the way i would through my mind. if that makes any sense? I also think sometimes reading books like BK bugs me because the characters and the situations can sometimes get in the way of what the author is trying to say....they dont inspire as much feeling within me personallly. I need to expand on this but im crunched for time so it will have to wait.
Experiment
Another thing which I found interesting about class today was the point Professor made about the civil war book. He said that “the best” civil war book was written not by someone who lived it but by someone who did not. I know I am a literary amateur in comparison to Mr. Sexson, and I have not read either of the books, but I feel as though it is hard to say one work of literature is better than the other. Especially if literature is a person experience. I feel as though different novels or poems or whatever inspires different things in different individuals. The best known or the most highly praised books aren’t worth reading if they don’t give you the best experience? At least that’s my attitude towards it…but anyway I got off topic, back to the civil war book thing, just because the account which most interesting or the most is well known isn’t written by someone who participated in the war doesn’t mean it’s more accurate. I mean imagine the guy who wrote the book who actually participated in the war. Imagine his facial expressions while he writes the memories which probably have the power to bring men to tears. Just because he isn’t as eloquent or articulate doesn’t mean his account couldn’t be more interesting relative to someone else. The popular vote is usually overrated, I feel like famous literature can sometimes be like the New York Times Bestseller list, great books for sure but not necessarily the best or most interesting to everyone.
Not all books are great for all people. Hence genres, yes some books are a work of art but I mean look at Leonardo’s Mona Lisa, if you go to the Louvre there are dozens of people crowded around it taking pictures and getting super excited, and they focus so much on that they miss out on other works of art they might enjoy more. Reading should be like anything else, you can only allow people to tell you what to read and what you should enjoy to a certain point, you have to branch out try new things try new genres, different artists, needle in the haystack type of stuff even.
Not all books are great for all people. Hence genres, yes some books are a work of art but I mean look at Leonardo’s Mona Lisa, if you go to the Louvre there are dozens of people crowded around it taking pictures and getting super excited, and they focus so much on that they miss out on other works of art they might enjoy more. Reading should be like anything else, you can only allow people to tell you what to read and what you should enjoy to a certain point, you have to branch out try new things try new genres, different artists, needle in the haystack type of stuff even.
Experiences
Today’s class was very thought provoking; it stirred up many questions and ideas within my mind. Specifically the talks about experiencing something (such as travel which was the common example in class) and reading others accounts. Some argued that experiencing one was better and others argued that “living” the experience for yourself was better. I think that both are extremely ignorant and somewhat funny statements. Reading is a mental stimulation or high if you will, it allows your mind to travel to places no one has seen before. It allows you to picture things in a way so unique and relative to your own reality that it is impossible to be recreated. Traveling, or doing something which requires strenuous physical ability provides you with a PHYSICAL uncontrollable adrenaline rush, one which simply reading could never inspire. BOTH are amazing experiences and life is a balance of the two. To label one experience as better than the other seems bizarre to me. That is like saying that life is only mental or only physical. We, ourselves, are designed to be the embodiment of both.
Today’s class was very thought provoking; it stirred up many questions and ideas within my mind. Specifically the talks about experiencing something (such as travel which was the common example in class) and reading others accounts. Some argued that experiencing one was better and others argued that “living” the experience for yourself was better. I think that both are extremely ignorant and somewhat funny statements. Reading is a mental stimulation or high if you will, it allows your mind to travel to places no one has seen before. It allows you to picture things in a way so unique and relative to your own reality that it is impossible to be recreated. Traveling, or doing something which requires strenuous physical ability provides you with a PHYSICAL uncontrollable adrenaline rush, one which simply reading could never inspire. BOTH are amazing experiences and life is a balance of the two. To label one experience as better than the other seems bizarre to me. That is like saying that life is only mental or only physical. We, ourselves, are designed to be the embodiment of both.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Peterrr Pannn
Today I read Peter Pan, Peter Pan has always been one of my favorite stories. I find that I relate to the characters so much. I have always desired to be eternally youthful more than anything. The concept of living as a boy forever (or a girl in my case) and never growing old is so fascinating. How could anything be more interesting than the idea of eternal fun? I also loved the poem by Carolyn Leigh, “I Won’t Grow Up” it truly captures the stubbornness of a child. When reading Peter Pan I can’t help but wonder if I had the choice to be eternally young, would I take it?
Adam and Eve/ human nature
The concept of curiosity is referenced often in literature. The most famous example is found within The Bible, in the story of Adam and Eve. Adam and Eve were living in a Utopia which God had created for them, God asked of them only one thing, and that was to not to eat the fruit from the tree of good and evil, of course they did. Curiosity seems to be tied closely to human nature; but is human nature defined by sin? Adam and Eve commit the first act of human nature, which is a “sin.” This sin occurs because of the disobedience and curiosity which seems to be innate within us. All the serpent had to do was to stir Eve’s curiosity. I just think its funny how we discussed the fact that we all have done something disobedient in our lifetime due to curiosity, the more we are told to avoid something the more intrigued we are, I suppose it’s just the human condition.
Monday, February 8, 2010
My Earliest Memory
I have so many early memories it is hard to distinguish one as my first. I suppose I will just recollect my most vivid of the bunch:
I was about four years old and we had just moved from Dallas Texas to Amherst New Hampshire (polar opposites). The house we had moved into was absolutely heinous in retrospect; it had a flat roof and was the color of a pumpkin. However, Moving from Dallas I had never really had a private yard to play in. The prospect was obviously quite exciting; I remember as I was exploring the backyard I found a small shed that my parents had neglected to tell me about because they wanted it to be a surprise. It was probably about 8 feet sq and had low ceilings. The outside was the same pumpkin color and the paint was peeling from what I assume was years of New Hampshire weather. If there was once finish on the walls on the inside it had long come off, and leaves were scattered across the floor; in the middle of the shed my parents had set up a tiny little table with chairs for me to have tea parties. The shed was all mine. To this day I can recall countless memories made in that shed even after we moved to the other side of town. it was right across from what would be my recreational soccer field and in the future I would sneak into it after practices, taking advantage of my parents inability to be on time and the fact that there was no lock. Over the years the house has been completely remodeled four or five times due to its blatant unattractiveness and I do not even know if the shed still resides there, someday I hope to go back and check though.
I was about four years old and we had just moved from Dallas Texas to Amherst New Hampshire (polar opposites). The house we had moved into was absolutely heinous in retrospect; it had a flat roof and was the color of a pumpkin. However, Moving from Dallas I had never really had a private yard to play in. The prospect was obviously quite exciting; I remember as I was exploring the backyard I found a small shed that my parents had neglected to tell me about because they wanted it to be a surprise. It was probably about 8 feet sq and had low ceilings. The outside was the same pumpkin color and the paint was peeling from what I assume was years of New Hampshire weather. If there was once finish on the walls on the inside it had long come off, and leaves were scattered across the floor; in the middle of the shed my parents had set up a tiny little table with chairs for me to have tea parties. The shed was all mine. To this day I can recall countless memories made in that shed even after we moved to the other side of town. it was right across from what would be my recreational soccer field and in the future I would sneak into it after practices, taking advantage of my parents inability to be on time and the fact that there was no lock. Over the years the house has been completely remodeled four or five times due to its blatant unattractiveness and I do not even know if the shed still resides there, someday I hope to go back and check though.
What Happened to the Notion of a Prince Charming?
Looking at stories such as Cinderella, Rapunzel and Snow White it is hard to ignore the fact that the concept of Prince Charming has completely refashioned itself, if not entirely depleted. The relationship between males and females has always been a fascinating one, and is obviously a dominant theme throughout literary history. Though every literary character has unique and complex characteristics, most are defined by archetypes which appear through the ages. For instance, in fairy tales Prince Charming serves as the classic example of a good looking, well groomed male with a dramatic passion for the heroine. Prince Charming is obviously well off, he has good manners etc. The heroine in these stories is usually a shy, well mannered, intelligent woman who is in some form of distress and requires the assistance of the Prince Charming. Of course there are exceptions to this seeming rule but in the realm of fairy tales they seem to be few and far between. Why is it that in the current day these stories are not only almost nonexistent but often times frowned on. The archetype of the graceful, somewhat shy and modest female has been replaced by cut throat independent women who not only reject the service of men but often use them; and the ever so helpful, eager and resourceful prince has been substituted for by “the bad boy”. Where women used to desire a man who opened the door for them, and “courted” them formally and romantically they now desire men with poor manners who put no effort into “wooing” a female.
Obviously this is not always the case but it does seem to be a prominent theme in modern day entertainment. Did women simply get bored with the nice guy, the prince charming? Perhaps the collapse of Prince Charming simply has to do with a change in the dynamics of society. Most fairy tales which glorify this perfect, attractive and refined man were written in a place and time when women were for the most part powerless to men. Just some interesting thoughts….
Obviously this is not always the case but it does seem to be a prominent theme in modern day entertainment. Did women simply get bored with the nice guy, the prince charming? Perhaps the collapse of Prince Charming simply has to do with a change in the dynamics of society. Most fairy tales which glorify this perfect, attractive and refined man were written in a place and time when women were for the most part powerless to men. Just some interesting thoughts….
Monday, February 1, 2010
boring?
I suppose for the most part we are all “boring”; there is nothing extraordinary about most of us. Our routines only vary slightly from the other college students around us, and we don’t even seem to mind, which is arguably the part that makes us the most “boring”. We prefer to read, watch, or listen about the fascinating things that other people do opposed to doing them ourselves. Even our entertainment is designed so that we can check out of our mundane lives for a while and tap into something more interesting, after a long day, most prefer to relax on the couch and watch a fictional character live their life, pathetic?
Some would argue that we are not “boring,” that no matter how mundane our lives would appear to be on paper, they are actually all unique and interesting, this is a lie. Interesting cannot be determined by the every day.
The question is, does it really matter if we are boring? Perhaps boring people are satisfied with being bored, and those who aren’t should do something about it.
Some would argue that we are not “boring,” that no matter how mundane our lives would appear to be on paper, they are actually all unique and interesting, this is a lie. Interesting cannot be determined by the every day.
The question is, does it really matter if we are boring? Perhaps boring people are satisfied with being bored, and those who aren’t should do something about it.
Monday, January 25, 2010
How do I know what I think till I see what I say?
How do I know what I think till I see what I say is a question which I had to ask myself a few times before I even began to formulate an answer. It is an interesting question of self reflection, I feel as though the answer to this question is something which we seek out our entire lives. There are three components to the question, that which we think, that which we see and that which we say. This question can only be tackled with a number of other questions
Do we say what we mean?
Does anyone truly say what they mean; do we even have the ability to say what we mean? Often times I feel as though we are all so conditioned by society that we have no idea who we are, or what we think. It is impossible to separate ourselves from the context of the society which we live in, so how do we know if, as individuals, we mean anything we say or say anything we mean.
What do we think?
who is to say that we think for ourselves, is that just a comforting illusion? Does it just appear as though we are all unique and have the ability to think for ourselves, or do we just see this because we are actually all so similar? None of our minds work particularly differently from anyone else’s we all observe the same patterns and thought processes, for the most part we experience the same sensations in life; and when someone’s mind does work even slightly differently from our own we are quick to isolate those people. For instance we medicate individuals with schizophrenia, depression and bipolar disorder, are those not all different ways of thinking? We hospitalize people whom we classify as crazy or insane; does the fact that we are so eager to equalize almost all thought processes say anything about how much or how little we think? Or how unique our thoughts are? Our entire life we are classified by the way we think, it determines our grades, our friends, the school we go to, the career we choose, what does this say about individual thought? Is there even room for individual thought in today’s world when so much emphasis is placed on where we are going, not where we are?
If our thoughts translate to our view of the world, which translates to what we say, then words are priceless...
However, if our view of the world changes with society opposed to the individual and that is what translates into the words which we speak, then our words are not really our own and therefore they are worth nothing.
However, if our view of the world changes with society opposed to the individual and that is what translates into the words which we speak, then our words are not really our own and therefore they are worth nothing.
(I don’t necessarily agree with everything I say in this blog entry, but it just a record of my thoughts as a reviewed the question)
Little Red Riding Hood- yesterday and today
There are many different angles which one can look at the story of little red riding hood from. With each version, there is a different undertone. In some cultures the story was used to keep children out of the woods, in others, similar stories have arisen to encourage fear and respect of the wolf as an animal and a fellow predator. Yet in other adaptations of Little Red Riding Hood, such as Ronald Blackwell’s Li’l Red Riding Hood the wolf appears to be a metaphor for a much more vicious, much more human, sexual predator:
“I'm gonna keep my sheep suit on
Until I'm sure that you've been shown
That I can be trusted walking with you alone.”
I find it interesting how stories adapt given the time period and the environment. As far as I know the most well known versions of Little Red Riding Hood were all European, and evolved over a time period where one’s children were extremely important, due to the fact that they were responsible for carrying on the family name. Though this is still true today, there is not as much emphasis on the importance of “roles” within the family, or a continuation of lineage. The story of Little Red Riding Hood also surfaced at a time where the forest was much more mysterious and taboo than it is today. Therefore there was more weight placed on keeping children out of the woods, safe from potential danger, and able to continue a family’s bloodline.
In opposition, Ronald Blackwell’s Li’l Red Riding Hood was written in 1966, and in America. First of all, many wolf populations had been extirpated from the United States during the 1960’s, so the song refers to a metaphoric wolf. Secondly, children were less in danger from wild animals than they were from sexual predators, kidnappers, and generally strangers. Since this is the case, Ronald Blackwell’s version is an entirely different discourse comparable only metaphorically.
In opposition, Ronald Blackwell’s Li’l Red Riding Hood was written in 1966, and in America. First of all, many wolf populations had been extirpated from the United States during the 1960’s, so the song refers to a metaphoric wolf. Secondly, children were less in danger from wild animals than they were from sexual predators, kidnappers, and generally strangers. Since this is the case, Ronald Blackwell’s version is an entirely different discourse comparable only metaphorically.
What can the retellings of stories teach us....
Today is the first day that I have just scanned through Retellings leisurely. I find the concept of the text book to be extremely interesting. Given the many different mediums of communication which we have today almost ALL stories, myths and fairy tales are retellings of another societies same stories, myths and fairy tales. In this way, the text book is applicable to many fields outside of literature. As it stands, I am majoring in anthropology (no idea which branch yet) and through a historical anthropological standpoint this text book looks as though it has the potential to be fascinating. Different versions of the same stories resonate throughout human history and can still be found within every aspect of our existence.
We are living in a generation where it is very rare indeed if something is unique in and of itself. Everything from the entertainment we indulge in to the food we eat is some form of a “retelling.”
If you go to the movies, chances are the plot of the movie you are seeing is not the first of its kind: alien abduction, romantic comedy, historical piece, mystery
If you read a book, chances are its foundation can be found in other books and documents throughout history
If you listen to a song or buy a new album, chances are it has elements of another artists music, and that artist resembled another before him, so on and so forth ( although music today is undeniably horrible and up until the late nineties I would classify the majority of music as progressive and for the most part, somewhat decent)
When a specific lens is applied to a story we find that it is more than easy to compare to that of another. The only change to be found within many texts revolves around one specific variable, such as a main character, or the final destination of the story. The question remains, did such similar stories arise separately as a necessary form of expression, or were the stolen from one culture and passed on to another?
If so many similar stories, grounded in fear, hope and an assortment of virtues, developed in such a wide array of separate cultures over a long period of time then that is evidence that there is something common within all human beings; something innate within human nature that makes us crave not only examples to live by but something to live for. On the other hand, if these stories were passed on or “stolen” throughout history then it stands to reason that all human beings are very different and our acceptance of such a wide variety of stories and virtues serves as nothing more than an example of the advanced mediums of communication which exist today.
The most interesting part of a “retelling” of a story is that for whatever reason, no matter how many times the story is told it never seems to lose its meaning. For example, in the Christian religion, the story of Jesus Christ’s life is the exact same as the story Horus’s life, an Egyptian God. The story of Horus was being told hundreds of years before the supposed date for the birth of Christ. Horus was born of a virgin mother, with a Shepard as a father, who did not impregnate the mother, spent his life as a prophet, had disciples, died on the cross, and was resurrected 3 days later etc…The same story has been told time and time again throughout history.
Written word and archeological illustrations are two of the most reliable sources of information when looking at the mystery of humanity, and I hope to learn a lot from this text book.
We are living in a generation where it is very rare indeed if something is unique in and of itself. Everything from the entertainment we indulge in to the food we eat is some form of a “retelling.”
If you go to the movies, chances are the plot of the movie you are seeing is not the first of its kind: alien abduction, romantic comedy, historical piece, mystery
If you read a book, chances are its foundation can be found in other books and documents throughout history
If you listen to a song or buy a new album, chances are it has elements of another artists music, and that artist resembled another before him, so on and so forth ( although music today is undeniably horrible and up until the late nineties I would classify the majority of music as progressive and for the most part, somewhat decent)
When a specific lens is applied to a story we find that it is more than easy to compare to that of another. The only change to be found within many texts revolves around one specific variable, such as a main character, or the final destination of the story. The question remains, did such similar stories arise separately as a necessary form of expression, or were the stolen from one culture and passed on to another?
If so many similar stories, grounded in fear, hope and an assortment of virtues, developed in such a wide array of separate cultures over a long period of time then that is evidence that there is something common within all human beings; something innate within human nature that makes us crave not only examples to live by but something to live for. On the other hand, if these stories were passed on or “stolen” throughout history then it stands to reason that all human beings are very different and our acceptance of such a wide variety of stories and virtues serves as nothing more than an example of the advanced mediums of communication which exist today.
The most interesting part of a “retelling” of a story is that for whatever reason, no matter how many times the story is told it never seems to lose its meaning. For example, in the Christian religion, the story of Jesus Christ’s life is the exact same as the story Horus’s life, an Egyptian God. The story of Horus was being told hundreds of years before the supposed date for the birth of Christ. Horus was born of a virgin mother, with a Shepard as a father, who did not impregnate the mother, spent his life as a prophet, had disciples, died on the cross, and was resurrected 3 days later etc…The same story has been told time and time again throughout history.
Written word and archeological illustrations are two of the most reliable sources of information when looking at the mystery of humanity, and I hope to learn a lot from this text book.
ps. check out this link slash movie the first third of it has a lot to do with retellings throughout religious history: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-594683847743189197&ei=kyVeS--QLKH-qAOX9sixAQ&q=zeitgeist&hl=en#
Disillusionment of Ten O’clock
Poetry fascinates me, if you think about the concept of poetry it is one of the most interesting forms of expression. At times, poetry can be so difficult for an outsider to analyze or interpret that it becomes more like an eloquent and articulate diary entry. It is a way for an individual to embody any emotion, desire or thought, no matter how sinister or private, and share it without immediate judgment being passed. Since this is the case, I do not believe that poetry can be categorized as good or bad, it simply holds meaning for the reader, or it does not. Disillusionment of Ten O’clock holds no meaning for me. I read the poem over and over, considering the various factors which contribute to the message of the poem, but I found myself asking, is there even a message?
Where are these houses?
Why are there multiple houses opposed to one?
Why are the colors so specific?
What meaning do they hold with regard to the finished poem?
Baboons and periwinkles- very different creatures why are they grouped together in this line?
Who is this sailor, and if he is a sailor then why are houses referenced opposed to ships?
This poem inspired many questions for me but sparked no primal emotion the way some poetry can...
Poetry is a reflection of the individual, never as a whole, but as various mismatched parts of it. A poem can represent a person’s desires, secrets, sorrows, sins and dreams. I do not believe the best poetry is ever written for someone, but for the person writing it. Therefore, I want to know more about Wallace Stevens, who is he? What element of his personality does this poem represent?
If I were to speculate I would guess this poem is about a dream which Wallace Steven’s had. The poem appears to be so random. I cannot reach any other conclusion that is not extremely farfetched to say the least. There is no conclusive evidence as to what dreams really are; we only know they are the inner workings of our brain. The randomness and seemingly arbitrary details of this poem remind me of dreams, we only remember small portions of them and can never determine whether they have meaning or if they are simply flashes of memories which we try to make sense of.
However, I have no idea, for all I know Wallace Stevens wrote this poem in a passionate frenzy, attempting to express a wide array of emotions, I have absolutely no idea.
** I find these questions to be the lure of poetry, we will never know the meaning of a poem, we will never truly be able to move beyond speculation, all we can be sure to find within a genuine poem is a raw eloquence which intrigues us more than educates us.
***tigers are some of the coolest animals ever...
Fifteen ( Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?
I ended up missing the first two days of class, and although it was only two days I feel as though I missed much more. I have never blogged before, and am slightly hesitant in figuring out what to say/ how to set the entire thing up but here goes…
The first day of class I attended, we talked about Bob Dylan’s song “Its All Over Now, Baby Blue” in relation to the Joyce Carol Oates story, Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? First of all, I would like to say I found the story fascinating. In many ways it is such an accurate depiction of a young high school girl. The stereotype of a girl this age is someone who is just beginning to look for who they are, and who is looking in all the wrongs places.
At the age of fifteen, the main character Connie is absorbed with material things, reputations, trends and growing up more than anything else. This is a trend that seems to be timeless; many young girls are consumed with the idea of growing up. I can remember when I was in kindergarten I wanted homework so I could be more like the girls which seemed so grown up in elementary school. When I finally reached elementary school I wanted to have braces so I could look like the same girls I idolized who were now in middle school. When I finally reached middle school and got the braces I craved so badly, I wanted them off so I could be more like the girls in high school who got attention from the older boys.
In class, the question was raised, “Is Connie stupid or what?” The aspect of Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? that I find to be the most interesting is the fact that Connie so accurately represents a fifteen year old girl. She is not stupid, nor is she smart, she is simply fifteen. The battle that begins within every female when adolescence hits is so honestly displayed in this story. There are so many instances in which young girls get themselves into dangerous situations and we are forced to ask, “What were they thinking??” As an adolescent girl, the pull to grow up is so strong it often times undermines common sense. The fact that Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? was written by Joyce Carol Oates, a female, makes me wonder about her childhood, and her adolescence, what inspired her to write this story in this manner? Were there any incidents in her childhood that make this more appealing to her, or did she simply find the true story which this is based off of to be interesting.
Second of all, I love this Bob Dylan song, my favorite thing about Bob Dylan is the fact that in all honesty he has a pretty horrible voice, but he communicates so strongly through his lyrics and passion that it does not even matter. I would have had no idea what this song was about had it not come up in class, nor would I have taken the time to read the lyrics a few times through which are actually really interesting….
Its All Over Now, Baby Blue- Bob Dylan
You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last
You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun
Crying like a fire in the sunLook out the saints are comin' throughAnd it's all over now, Baby Blue.The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense
Take what you have gathered from coincidence
The empty handed painter from your streets
Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets
This sky, too, is folding under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.
All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home
Your empty handed armies, are all going home
Your lover who just walked out the door
Has taken all his blankets from the floor
The carpet, too, is moving under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.
Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you
The vagabond who's rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore
Strike another match, go start a new
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.
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