It was a sunny day out and I couldn't believe that the desert was so hot. Why he would want to move here, I couldn't say. Fifth grade was not going to be fun. My neck burned slightly from sunburn. I had forgotten to wear sunscreen, probably one of the dumbest things I could have done in Hawaii, and my scalp burned, the bare skin unused to exposure from the sun. I had to turn to one side as a group of freshmen obstinately plodded towards me, unwilling to move out of the way. It was a tight fit in the hallway, and I emerged from the dark, warm comfort of my life into a painfully bright, cold, and strange world. I squeezed my eyes shut against the glare and tried to scream in terror, but I couldn't draw breath. The world spun around, a sharp sensation and suddenly I could breath, and cried out in what I had just learned was pain. I glared at the youngster's
backs as they walked away, rubbing my foot where the fat one had stepped on it. I was crying leaning on my friend. Shut up man, we're almost at Nurse Jewel's office. C'mon, stop crying! It hurt too much. What is it this time? He hurt his foot ma'am. Oh, it's nothing, just a sprain.
"Well, it's definitely broken."
"But the nurse said it was just sprained!"
"Well, she was wrong. And by walking on it for two weeks or so, it's only been made worse. C'mon, let's walk you over to the x-ray."
The nurse grabbed my wrist, rotating into a more satisfying position. Hold it still now! The world blurred as the pain set in. Can't I have a painkiller? "The doctor didn't give me painkillers for about three hours! I lay there the entire time, thinking they had forgotten me."
"How could anyone forget you, mommy? You wouldn't let them." My dad laughed, and she turned her glare to him.
"It is NOT funny, Ben!"
"You're right, I'm sorry. What did the doctor say?"
"If things get worse, I could be paralyzed from the waist down."
Oh my god, it hurts. I can't move my legs. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
"And we all must take God into our hearts, and thank him for all our blessings. Now let us take sacrament." The wine spilled back into my throat, and I recoiled, choking. Which was up? I couldn't see. Water flooded my lungs. Lights flashed in front of my eyes, my head spinning. No air. No nothing. Pain. Arms and legs tangled, green arms clutching at me... then peace.
Peace. For me, peace was not something conventional. Peace is not necessarily silence. It came only when my thoughts and mood were reflected by my music, and I could lose myself in a world unlike my own.
Nooooooo, I want to live!
Humf. You should have thought of that before.
The the man raised his gun, and shot me in the face.
"David! Dinner"
"Damn. It was just getting to the good part." I put the book aside, got up, walked to the door and
and saw nothing. Just black. Hello? Nothing. I stepped into the hall, the floor creaking beneath me. I stood still. Hello? The floor creaked. The clown raised the chainsaw, and bore down upon me. I did nothing. He stopped. He waved the chainsaw in my face. Around me. Whispered in my ear. He never touched me. Man, this place is lame. Why did you bring me here?
How are you not terrified?? I can't stop shaking!
It's obviously not real. There aren't even any spiders here.
"OMYGOD OMYGOD I hate spiders! Ewwwwww!!!" I squished it beneath my foot, cringing at the thought of being that near to such a freaking creepy thing. "Yuck!"
Yuck! I said "This book makes me feel sick. It's like a freaking roller coaster ride. I have no clue what the hell is happening, ever! First I'm here then I'm over here, as a two year old, and then I'm closer to the present but not quite since I'm only fifteen at the moment but I can't tell unless I know the ages of the people around me. Jonny's sixteen, which means it's somewhere between May 5th and May 13th, since he's nine days older than me. But then we lose all progress and go back to the age of five, because thinking about May 14th (my birthday) reminded me of my fifth birthday, and the magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, and then suddenly it's only three hours ago because that reminded me of a little bunny that the dogs cornered behind the shed, and I think of all the fun times I've had with my dogs in an overly long and extended flashback, and then I'm back to the present where I'm writing this blog!" I finished in a rush, out of breath from my long rant.
Did you know what was going on? No? Exactly my point. (859)
Friday, October 26, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
5:48 Be ye therefore perfect
John Cheever’s story all tend to follow a two central themes: guilt and redemption, themes that are generally taken from the bible. In the book of Matthew, 5:48 says, “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your father which is in heaven perfect.” Though this does not necessarily seem to pertain to Cheever’s “Five-Forty-Eight,” it can be used as a contrast to the central character, Blake, and the morals he represents.
The story seems to be set up as trial. There’s the defendant, Blake, the prosecution, Ms. Dent, and the judge or jury, whose positions can be interpreted in many in many different ways. The defendant, Blake, originally captures the readers sympathy as a defendant would attempt to appeal to the judge or jury. The reader feels for this poor man, hunted and stalked by this unrelenting prosecuter. But as soon as the word “guilt” (1) is mentioned, the reader realizes that Blake might not be as innocent as he appears. After that, he experiences a mind set reminiscent of “The Tell-Tale Heart,” his own fear creating meanings and intents in everything, his own guilt revealing his emotions in a way that this normally “normal” man would never normally do, saying the water down his neck, “felt unpleasantly like the cold sweat of fear” (3).
As the story progresses, Blake’s true character and the nature of his guilt are revealed to the reader. The history between Blake and Ms. Dent is told, and Blake’s intentions to use her to satisfy his cravings, show that Blake is not them man the reader thought he was. This becomes utterly clear to the reader when it is said, “The next day, he did what he felt was the only sensible thing. When she was out for lunch, he called personnel and asked them to fire her” (9). The fact that the “sensible” thing, in Blake’s mind, was to go behind her back and ask someone else to fire her, shows a serious character flaw. Suddenly, the prosecution seems to be in the right.
The reader also more sympathy for Blake when his history with his neighbors is shown, especially with Mr. Watkins. He feels contempt for Mr. Watkins just because he rents, or the way he dresses. He says, “Mr. Watkins’ long and dirty hair and his corduroy jacket reassured Blake that he had been in the right” (14), as if one’s clothing was what decided right and wrong in the world. This is further demonstrated in his marriage life. He says of his wife, “The physical charms that had been her only attraction were gone.” Blake has descended to a new level of shallowness, to the point that now he won’t even talk to his wife because he no longer feels attracted to her.
Now that Blake’s guilt is no longer in question, the question of redemption must be addressed. According to the bible, no man os beyond redemption. The second half of the story, with Blake’s encounter with Ms. Dent, has an almost angelic, supernatural feeling to it. Ms. Dent talks of devils, saying, “if there are devils in this world…is it our duty to exterminate them?” (51) Ms. Dent seems to be in dilemma. She at once feels it is her duty to exterminate the “devil” Blake, but at the same time she doesn’t really want to do so. She says “I ought to feel sorry for you” (60) as if he might be worthy of some redemption, and she claims to want to give him redemption, but at the same time believes he is incapable of obtaining it. “I want to help, but when I see your face it sometimes seems to me that I can’t help you” (62). She forces him to humble himself, burying his face in the dirt and mud, dirtying his suit of the “sumptuary laws.” She then says, “Now I can wash my hands of you” (62). This provides a startling contrast between the now-dirty Blake, and the now-clean Ms. Dent, the roles switched from what they were in the beginning. However, after this, Blake is unemotional, and displays no change in his demeanor.
Cheever’s ambiguous ending makes it difficult to see if Blake was redeemed in any way. His manner, dismissive and uncaring, is the same as the very beginning of the story, only now he has the stain of guilt and sin upon his soul. He is a devil, in that he doesn’t even think of what he does as “wrong,” but merely as “sensible” and “natural.” How can a man such as this, a man of such vicious nature, ever hope to achieve redemption? (782)
The story seems to be set up as trial. There’s the defendant, Blake, the prosecution, Ms. Dent, and the judge or jury, whose positions can be interpreted in many in many different ways. The defendant, Blake, originally captures the readers sympathy as a defendant would attempt to appeal to the judge or jury. The reader feels for this poor man, hunted and stalked by this unrelenting prosecuter. But as soon as the word “guilt” (1) is mentioned, the reader realizes that Blake might not be as innocent as he appears. After that, he experiences a mind set reminiscent of “The Tell-Tale Heart,” his own fear creating meanings and intents in everything, his own guilt revealing his emotions in a way that this normally “normal” man would never normally do, saying the water down his neck, “felt unpleasantly like the cold sweat of fear” (3).
As the story progresses, Blake’s true character and the nature of his guilt are revealed to the reader. The history between Blake and Ms. Dent is told, and Blake’s intentions to use her to satisfy his cravings, show that Blake is not them man the reader thought he was. This becomes utterly clear to the reader when it is said, “The next day, he did what he felt was the only sensible thing. When she was out for lunch, he called personnel and asked them to fire her” (9). The fact that the “sensible” thing, in Blake’s mind, was to go behind her back and ask someone else to fire her, shows a serious character flaw. Suddenly, the prosecution seems to be in the right.
The reader also more sympathy for Blake when his history with his neighbors is shown, especially with Mr. Watkins. He feels contempt for Mr. Watkins just because he rents, or the way he dresses. He says, “Mr. Watkins’ long and dirty hair and his corduroy jacket reassured Blake that he had been in the right” (14), as if one’s clothing was what decided right and wrong in the world. This is further demonstrated in his marriage life. He says of his wife, “The physical charms that had been her only attraction were gone.” Blake has descended to a new level of shallowness, to the point that now he won’t even talk to his wife because he no longer feels attracted to her.
Now that Blake’s guilt is no longer in question, the question of redemption must be addressed. According to the bible, no man os beyond redemption. The second half of the story, with Blake’s encounter with Ms. Dent, has an almost angelic, supernatural feeling to it. Ms. Dent talks of devils, saying, “if there are devils in this world…is it our duty to exterminate them?” (51) Ms. Dent seems to be in dilemma. She at once feels it is her duty to exterminate the “devil” Blake, but at the same time she doesn’t really want to do so. She says “I ought to feel sorry for you” (60) as if he might be worthy of some redemption, and she claims to want to give him redemption, but at the same time believes he is incapable of obtaining it. “I want to help, but when I see your face it sometimes seems to me that I can’t help you” (62). She forces him to humble himself, burying his face in the dirt and mud, dirtying his suit of the “sumptuary laws.” She then says, “Now I can wash my hands of you” (62). This provides a startling contrast between the now-dirty Blake, and the now-clean Ms. Dent, the roles switched from what they were in the beginning. However, after this, Blake is unemotional, and displays no change in his demeanor.
Cheever’s ambiguous ending makes it difficult to see if Blake was redeemed in any way. His manner, dismissive and uncaring, is the same as the very beginning of the story, only now he has the stain of guilt and sin upon his soul. He is a devil, in that he doesn’t even think of what he does as “wrong,” but merely as “sensible” and “natural.” How can a man such as this, a man of such vicious nature, ever hope to achieve redemption? (782)
Thursday, October 4, 2007
The Things They Carried
"The Things They Carried," by Tim O'Brien, is, in my mind, the best short story we've read so far. Not only because it was written in a way that grabs my attention and makes me feel every pound added onto the soldiers' body and minds, but also because the genre (for lack of a better word) greatly appeals to me. That doesn't mean war novels in general, but rather those that can fall under the category of realism. The gritty details, mannerisms, and nuances of the individual soldier combined with such detail that "makes you want to dodge the bullets" are some of the qualities that help to make such stories truly great in my mind. Of course, "The Things They Carried" is not strictly fall under the realism category, but also under the category of psychological realism. In fact, this might indeed be a more appropriate classification for this story, as the point of the story is not necessarily the physical weight they carry, rather the weight of the psychological burden they carry.
Obviously, the focus of the story lies on First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross's psychological progression concerning his love for and thoughts on Martha. The story is split up into different sections, dealing in turn with the dual meaning of the title: first focusing on the details of the things they carry, as well as the actual events that take place, then on the thoughts and revelations of Jimmy with regard to his love. By doing this, O'Brien lends emphasis to what is said of the physical weight and what is not said about the psychological weight. The juxtaposition of the mental and actual weight allows the reader to get an actual feel of Jimmy's mental stress as if it were an actual weight on their shoulders.
Jimmy's focus is constantly slipping away from his current situation, flying across the ocean to join the woman he loves. He knows, or at least suspects, that she does not love him in return, but he allows himself to indulge in thoughts of her nonetheless. Even when he really should be concentrating on the safety of Lee Strunk in the title, he drops back into his sanctuary that is his reveries. But as soon as Lavender is killed, everything changes.
Lavender's death is not necessarily Jimmy's fault. But in Jimmy's mind, Lavender's death took place when Jimmy wasn't doing his job. Because of this, Jimmy creates a correlation between Lavender's death and his inattention, thereby placing the blame square on his already burdened shoulders. It's as if the added weight is just too much. His once precious love is now tainted by this travesty, and the fact that Martha has no love for Jimmy becomes the main focus of his thoughts. He attacks and digs at the earth, as if to create a crypt in which to bury his love, as dead as if the shot had pierced it along with Lavender.
The psychological weight of war is a very real thing, as any veteran will tell you. Those of us who have not experienced it can only view a shadow of it through the stories those veterans describe, or for the mass public the films that Hollywood produces. Granted, some of these allow the public to experience some form of what soldiers go through (good movie examples include Jarhead and Saving Private Ryan, according to those veterans I know who have watched it), but an account made by a vet has so much more meaning, so much more value, because it is made by someone who has experienced that same weight. Though I shouldn't say "same," that implies that every soldier experiences the same thing in war. Just like the physical weights for each soldier is different, depending on any lucky charms they carry, the equipment, or extra ammunition, so is the weight that each soldier feels bearing down on his psyche. (652)
Obviously, the focus of the story lies on First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross's psychological progression concerning his love for and thoughts on Martha. The story is split up into different sections, dealing in turn with the dual meaning of the title: first focusing on the details of the things they carry, as well as the actual events that take place, then on the thoughts and revelations of Jimmy with regard to his love. By doing this, O'Brien lends emphasis to what is said of the physical weight and what is not said about the psychological weight. The juxtaposition of the mental and actual weight allows the reader to get an actual feel of Jimmy's mental stress as if it were an actual weight on their shoulders.
Jimmy's focus is constantly slipping away from his current situation, flying across the ocean to join the woman he loves. He knows, or at least suspects, that she does not love him in return, but he allows himself to indulge in thoughts of her nonetheless. Even when he really should be concentrating on the safety of Lee Strunk in the title, he drops back into his sanctuary that is his reveries. But as soon as Lavender is killed, everything changes.
Lavender's death is not necessarily Jimmy's fault. But in Jimmy's mind, Lavender's death took place when Jimmy wasn't doing his job. Because of this, Jimmy creates a correlation between Lavender's death and his inattention, thereby placing the blame square on his already burdened shoulders. It's as if the added weight is just too much. His once precious love is now tainted by this travesty, and the fact that Martha has no love for Jimmy becomes the main focus of his thoughts. He attacks and digs at the earth, as if to create a crypt in which to bury his love, as dead as if the shot had pierced it along with Lavender.
The psychological weight of war is a very real thing, as any veteran will tell you. Those of us who have not experienced it can only view a shadow of it through the stories those veterans describe, or for the mass public the films that Hollywood produces. Granted, some of these allow the public to experience some form of what soldiers go through (good movie examples include Jarhead and Saving Private Ryan, according to those veterans I know who have watched it), but an account made by a vet has so much more meaning, so much more value, because it is made by someone who has experienced that same weight. Though I shouldn't say "same," that implies that every soldier experiences the same thing in war. Just like the physical weights for each soldier is different, depending on any lucky charms they carry, the equipment, or extra ammunition, so is the weight that each soldier feels bearing down on his psyche. (652)
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