Mimicking Style

    It’s customary for him to buy flowers on his way home. He was a widowed merchant, and his three daughters were the suns in the sky. There was nothing special about that day. He took his routine route home. Though he was running late that day. In his hurry home, he forgot to purchase flowers for his daughters. It was then that he saw a wild rose bush. Its petals were uninhibited in their growth, and the resulting blossoms were rich in both fragrance and color. On impulse, he strode over and plucked one.

   A hissing in the background that had grown increasingly louder as the merchant plucked it finally climaxed as he reached to pick another. It was then, the merchant found himself in a bind. Only after he promised to give one daughter in exchange for the one rose was he released. He returned home safely, later than before and with a sullen face. For days he would not eat, repenting for his greed.

    His daughters were worried. They begged him to eat, but he would not. Eventually, they concluded that one of them must have displeased him and approached him one by one. The eldest and second daughter both went and returned, father’s predicament escalating with each rejection. It was then the youngest child’s turn.

    Approaching her father, her head knelt solemnly.

   “Father, have I displeased you?” She asked.

   “Do you love your father? Then hear me out, child. Upon my return from the long merchant trip, I picked a rose from the serpent’s garden to give to you. The serpent then asked for repayment after I told him of you all, and then insisted a ransom of a hand in marriage. But your sisters’ have already rejected this invitation and you are the only one left—“

   “If you eat your meals, and care for your health, then I will become the serpent’s bride.”

    Thus after, he ate. On the fifth day after his return home, servants of the serpent bothered for the bride. They bothered the family everyday until her family could not bear it and left to go to her groom. The wasps led her through the forest and brought her to a castle built for her reception. Spacious rooms were already furnished and filled with silk clothes and jewelry.

    Then I approached her and saw her shrink. This wound has rendered me undesirable, but I am accustomed to it. We sat at dinner that night and she told me she was grateful and would perform the duties of the house. The many next days, I made sure she was in comfort. If her joints were sore, rose water baths. If her head hurt, jasmine tea. Fondness developed in her gaze for me, and I knew she loved me.

   But she left. She could not stay. Where has she gone? I’m thirsty. Where is she? If only I wasn’t wounded.

(She late returned with water for our empty well. She found me lying, dying on the ground and ran to me crying out. My wounding curse was lifted and finally I am human with my beautiful wife once more.)

What is this feeling, so sudden and new?

note: I had to rewrite it..

I didn’t understand it before, and I don’t understand it still.

Every one belongs to every one else. The Savage has nothing to lose, so why is he so opposed to it? Is there something about me that’s so unappealing? Bernard rejected me at first as well, but finally relented after taking soma. Four pills, but nonetheless. And I thought for sure he was attracted to me before that as well, otherwise why would he invite me to the Reservation? Maybe it’s not something on my face, but rather my body..? Maybe I just have horrible taste in zippicamiknicks..

But more than that, why am I so stuck on John? Fanny mentioned it before, and I myself hadn’t been aware of it until she pointed it out. I don’t know why I can’t move past him. Although, …he is incredibly attractive has such a beautiful body on top of that. I can’t help but want him. I crave him. It’s a desire I cannot suppress even after his cruel reactions.

Every time he rejects me, strange unsettled feeling lingers in me. There’s a cold sweat in my palms when he walks away, and a pressure in my lungs. But it was never so serious that some soma couldn’t fix. Eventually it became a pattern. He would reject me or ignore me, and I would just take soma to wash it off. I tried again and again, over and over, to the point where Fanny told me to just rape him. I tried that too, and now he doesn’t even want to see me.

And it’s completely beyond me at this point! I have absolutely no idea what he needs in order for us to have sex! He told me he loved me, that I was beautiful. I blushed at this, he told me he really meant it too. But then he started uttering something smutty like dating and then marriage!

Marriage! A promise to live together for always? My Fordship, what an awful idea! Everyone one belongs to everyone else, first of all, and secondly, I enjoy sex with others. I could never reject sex with Henry, and imagine having to deny the Arch-Community-Songster! Having sex with the Director is standard as well.. In fact, Everyone one belongs to everyone else. That is that. Marriage? Preposterous. Smutty. It seems just like the barbarians on the Reservation.

But how can I convince John that it’s just his imagination? Our role to the community is more important than bonding between two people. Marriage could only harm our society and us. But he’s so convinced of his own ways! Just like Bernard. They both stick out in that way. Denying sex? Denying soma? Denying civilization? For Ford’s sake, why!

I got Bernard to have sex with me after giving him soma.. Perhaps this would appease John as well. But he refuses it so harshly. And now he’s on some abandoned reservation to live out a barbaric life like those primates from his Reservation. But why? It’s obvious to all of us he is suffering. Why, his movie is a blockbuster! If I didn’t know him, I’d laugh along and call it merry to come watch and have game with him.

But he’s suffering. He’s confused with all those knots and vacuums and “Shakespeare.” For his Ford’s sake, who is that? What does any of that have to do with having sex? He’s always leading the topic astray, and I just want to tell him to shut up! But none of that matters anymore. He’s alone and hurting himself to be…what. Happy? No, it’s clear as day he’s suffering! What does he want, what does he need?

But it’s not just him, I know. Something has changed in me, and I know it. The prolonged period without sex for the sake of courting him into bed. The tightness in my chest, the overhanging that seems to cloud my head when he rejects me. My quickening pulse when I see his face, and the flush of heat that flows into me after.

There’s something new about it. I know. There’s just…a different feeling now that I see him like this. The prickling in my chest is sharper now as I watch him like this, suffering and humiliated. I have to press my hand over it to alleviate the throbbing. It hurts to breathe and my lip is quivering without end. I don’t understand. Warm liquid stings my eyes and drips down my cheeks. What is this?

I don’t know, but--

I don’t want to see John like this. I think I--

Works Cited
Huxley, Aldous. Brave New World. New York: Harper & Bros., 1946. PDF.

MY REACTION POST IS GONE? T_T

I tried to publish the post yesterday, but it wouldn't go through, and then my internet went down for a while, but when I checked my blog it wasn't there this morning! T_T I used bloggr to write the post, but the final draft wasn't saved, only the topic..?? T_T_T__T__TT__TT

wWHYY

Technology pass, please.

The Appeal of Contradictory Conflict

      Mary Shelley's Frankenstein was clearly a Gothic-Romanticist novel--however, elements of Enlightenment are present as well. It's especially interesting noting that the main protagonist, Victor Frankenstein, distinctly belongs to the Enlightenment movement. Victor boasts that as a child "the world was to me a secret which I desired to divine" (Shelley 25). "Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature … are among the earliest sensations I can remember," Victor claims (Shelley 25). By sharp contrast, when the monster initially awoke "a strange multiplicity of sensations seized [him]"  (Shelley 87). While Victor earliest memories are clear in a seemingly fundamental "eager desire to learn," the monster's earliest memories are "confused and indistinct" (Shelley 26, 87). Victor is adamant in distinguishing that he, unlike children, was not interested in "childish pursuits," but rather in "the secrets of heaven and earth" (Shelley 26). As other Enlightenment partisans, Victor is convinced that all secrets of nature can be discovered and revealed.
       On the other hand, the monster, the creation of Victor's Enlightened philosophy, goes against everything he believes concerning beauty and appearance. Such an ugly creation, brought to life, could not possibly be human or alive, but only a monster. However this monster, although not nearly as rational or scientifically interested as Victor, is extremely on humans. Humans with their feelings and language,"[the monster] looked upon them as superior beings" (Shelley 98). The monster is deeply influenced by a novel he read while watching De Lacey's cottage, Paradise Lost by John Milton, and compares himself to both Adam and Satan in a comparison that reveals the deeply emotional nature of the monster. He is both unwanted and unloved, and pure anger can take him by force in a swooping and fatal action as it did when he killed Victor's brother, William.
       Noting that the monster himself is an evident representation of the natural, emotional ideology of Romanticism, the conflict between him and Victor reflects the competition between the rising movement of Romanticism in the early nineteenth century and the older, natural philosophy-focused Enlightenment. Victor's death by the indirect attacks of the monster represents the gradual and slowly dying Enlightenment philosophy. The deaths of Victor's friends and family symbolizing the death of all of the Enlightenment's figureheads; seeing that, in Mary Shelley's reality, they are dead at this point.
       The appeal of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein lies in that she put into words a characteristic of humans we all know, but don't necessarily explicitly recognize--duality. Frankenstein's monster is a spearhead figurine in the recognition of human's dual nature. Compared to both Adam and Satan after reading Paradise Lost by John Milton, the monster reveals of himself the kindness and humane nature of his soul and the social inflexibility and pressure that molds his existence. The good and godly nature of Adam, but the unwanted and sinful nature of Satan coexist in him. This dual nature is something that we, as humans, disregarding our religion and race and all the labels that categorize us, all can relate to. This ubiquitous and indiscriminate acknowledgement of intrinsic human nature is what draws the appeal of human society in all ages in our eternal struggle of overcoming our differences to come together in peace.

Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. New York: Bantam Dell, 2003. PDF.

Hemingway's (not-so-)Secret Inclination

--analysis of writing style
       Ernest Hemingway's writing style can be summed up in three words, much like the writing style itself: concise, economical and editorial. The most noticeable hallmark of Hemingway's style is his basic and austere word choice. In contrast to the rich description and vivid imagery of his predecessors, Hemingway barely uses any adjectives or adverbs in telling the story of The Sun Also Rises, as seen clearly in dialogue where the only context he provides is a mere "I said" or "he said" to progress the story (Hemingway 4). Even when Hemingway adds action, there is little to no description for it such as when "[Cohn] turned with the paper in his hand" (Hemingway 4). Hemingway doesn't add adjectives or adverbs like "thick" or "contentiously;" rather, he lets the story speak for itself in concrete nouns and verbs. He lets the actions of the characters unfold without adding explicit meaning in the text, as most famously characterized by his concluding line, ""Yes," I said. "Isn't it pretty to think so?"" (Hemingway 129). For the future, there are endless possibilities for Brett and Jake, but Hemingway chooses to state nothing at all and let the characters move forward without his intervention or interpretation of meaning for the readers. This emphasis on noun and verb over extravagant adjectives seems to reflect the delicate balance of peace after the war during which Hemingway lived and served, characterizing the time's preference for tangible over theoretical.
        Hemingway is also very economical and frugal with his word choice. If a word isn't necessary, then he removes it. In fact when Hemingway's close friend, F. Scott Fitzgerald, the author of the masterpiece The Great Gatsby, advised Hemingway to trim two thousand and five hundred words from the opening sequence, Heminway cut all thirty pages of the opening sequence from the book altogether (Wagner-Martin 11-12). As a result of his frugality with syntax, the text ends up in told in short thoughts and phrases in short sentences or longer ones comprised of short thoughts. For example, in the longer sentence "I told her about watching the bull, not the horse, when the bulls charged the picadors, and got her to watching the picador place the point of his pic so that she saw what it was all about, so that it became more something that was going on with a definite end, and less of a spectacle with unexplained horrors," Jake describes how he explains bull-fights to Brett, but it is not a single cohesive thought (Hemingway 87). He starts with telling her to watch the bull, not the horse and then moves onto a second thought of telling her to watch the picador place the point and then explains to us that he does this so that Brett could understand what was going on in the sport instead of watching it like some sort of pedestrian spectacle (Hemingway 87). In The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway utilizes short, simple sentences and witty, realistic dialogue to progress the story with practical action over the vivid movement of lush imagery. As a result, the story seems to progress clearly at the rate we read it, rather than in its own realm of time.

Works Cited
Hemingway, Ernest. The Sun Also Rises. New York: Scribner, 2006. PDF. -- note: idk how to cite    my pdf its not published by a group
Wagner-Martin, Linda (1990). "Introduction". in Wagner-Martin, Linda (ed). New Essays on Sun Also Rises. New York: Cambridge UP.

 --micropiece.
         I don't contend that self-confidence is not important. I cannot think to contend it after meeting Robert Cohn. Upon meeting, he had barely a thought of his own nor interest. He merely adopted the trending and the timeless, half-baked. Looking down and around, Cohn was the leader of the library committee in our college days, and his claim to fame was a small medal the head librarian rewarded him for reading however-so-many books. Cohn liked to boast that he was quite well-read. Otherwise, he had not much to him. Although I would argue even with the reading, he had not much to him.
         Cohn is a handful. Since joining the troupe, he's been nothing more than a stagehand, and while the other hands have begun to acquire roles, Cohn has been stuck in black. I'm no more than the stage director, but at least I have progressed. Originally, Cohn sought to be a comedian for whatever reason. It ill-suited him. I suspect it was the introduction of Brett. He was trying to draw her attention. And he certainly did. He was as much a failure as expected. Only out of courtesy did acquaintances spare a chuckle. Brett later told me she found him "dull" and "bland." I didn't tell her that I thought so too.
          He's pitiful, but somehow I can never manage to shake him off. Again, Cohn's already caught sight of me before I can make off.
           "Jake!" Cohn calls, coming over with soft footsteps.
           "Ah, Cohn." I answer. "Found a gig yet?"
           "No, but I've got a very APT tale to tell you from Advanced Placement English Literature back in high school."
        I smile in response.

Undetectable bias in Wuthering Heights

          In Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë cleverly utilizes the viewpoints of several different narrators to tell the story. Despite the only clear ones being "Nelly" Dean and Lockwood, Brontë intersperses several primary viewpoints as well as the secondary and teritiary viewpoints of Nelly and Lockwood into Wuthering Heights to glimpse into the life of Heathcliff.         
           "Nelly" Dean is clearly the principal narrator of the story itself. She recounts the tale as a secondary party to her audience to hear in a passionate tale of suspense and actuality, using quotes from the involved parties and her own experiences. Overall, her sheer confidence in the reliability of her account overshadows all else and brings us live to the action from the past. However, Nelly has a distinct personality and bias in the plot, which cannot be disregarded. A more obvious bias would be in her initial opinion of Heathcliff that "Hindley hated him, and to say the truth I did the same" (Brontë 34). Having grown up in the community and experienced the crossfire firsthand, Nelly is biased--unconsciously or not--over details in the story. Her shifting loyalties are especially clear in the love triangle between Edgar Linton, Catherine Earnshaw, and Healthcliff and parrot in the relationship between Cathy Linton, Linton Heathcliff and Heathcliff. As displayed shown when Nelly confessed of Cathy's and Linton's relationship, when "Catherine [learns] of my betrayal of her confidence" (Brontë 234). Nelly's allegiance constantly shifts back and forth and inbetween the involved parties, and her intentions are obscure and unclear. As a narrator, these qualities have suspicious consequence on the apparent action of the story. Not the mention, as seen in her advice to young Heathcliff "who knows but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week's income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together?...Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth," (Brontë 52-3) Nelly also seemed to love storytelling as much as she loved reading when she describe that she had "examined [all the books]...in Catherine's library" (Brontë 19) and that "You could not open a book in this library that I have not looked into"(Brontë 57). These personality traits of Nelly must be kept in mind when reading her interpretation of the events.
          Although Nelly is the main viewpoint the content itself comes from, the primary narrator of the novel itself is--peculiarly--the tertiary party: Lockwood. Lockwood narrates Nelly's narration through his own journal diaries, written a length after he initially heard the story from Nelly herself in the advent of 1801's winter. The mere fact that a year has passed between his recording of the story and Nelly's recount of it is alarming. Another clue that he isn't an especially reliable source is evident when he mistakenly identifies the people of the household upon first exposure, revealing himself to be a bit slow and blundering as he himself recognizes for a moment when he realizes that Catherine Linton is not Heathcliff's wife as "perceiving [himself] in a blunder" (Brontë 13). What Lockwood does not realize, however, is that he is probably always making false connections and assumptions much like this. Another hint is his quick assumption of characters by his first impression, as seen when he calls Heathcliff as a "capital fellow" only to change his opinion to an "unmannerly wretch" after he evaluates the situation longer (Brontë 1, 16). as readers we must take the hint from Brontë to note this indiscrepancy in viewpoint and true point. Not to mention the fact that Lockwood consistently sees himself as a potential suitor for Cathy II throughout the course of the story only highlights his own bias in the story--towards himself as he slightly demeans the other characters present to emphasize his own self-worth for his ego.
          The small excerpts of primary information from Catherine Earnshaw's diaries and Isabella's Linton's letters provide slightly more insight into the actual occurrences of the tale, however they are then interpreted and filtered by both Nelly's and Lockwood's unconscious personal evaluations, and he words thereafter the accounts are not reliable. The obstructive nature of truth in the tale of Wuthering Heights contributes to the debatable factor of the book, and add depth and layers to the story itself.

Works Cited

Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights.  New York: Scholastic, 1961. PDF file.