I never read forwards in stories. At least, not before I read the book. If I really enjoyed the book, yes, I will go back an pour over every little detail (including the forward).
But today I finished reading Our Town by Thorton Wilder. The Harperperennial Modern Classics Edition. The play itself is 109 pages. Three acts. The forward and afterword are 83 pages. I did the math and was like, WHOA, that's like, 45 percent of the book. (I lied, I didn't do the math. But that's a relatively reasonable guess).
It's hard to recap the plot of this play, since there really isn't one. This play is about a small town (and as far as small towns go these days, I'm talking, like, ten times smaller than what you're probably imagining right now). The town is Grovers Corners, in New Hampshire, and it starts on May 7, 1901. The first act is "Daily Life". The second act is "Love and Marriage." The third act is "Death and Eternity." The main characters are the Webbs (Mrs. Webb, Mr. Webb, and Emily Webb), and the Gibbs (George Gibbs, Mrs. Gibbs, and Doctor Gibbs). And then there is the Stage Manger, who guides us through the town, makes observations, and talks to the audience (breaking the fourth wall).
I really did like this play. My favorite- personally, was the third act. It hit closest to home for me. Not just because my drama monologue was in it, but because it was so simply played out, but it was so affecting.
*NOTE: There are some spoiler alerts, but honestly this is a classic play and pretty much everyone knows how it ends, and it's not a paticurally suspenseful ending, and the way it's written and performed is much more affecting than the plot line itself. So at this point, if I were you, I wouldn't care about the ending being spoiled. But, none the less, SPOILER ALERT.*
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that this play, this rather simply written, plot less, characters-with-hardly-any-personality play, is an allegory for life. I mean, it's printed on the back cover, for gods sakes. ("This Pulitzer Prize winning drama of life in the small village of Grover's Corners, an allegorical representation of all life, has become a classic".) Kind of puts the words into your mouth, huh? Anywho, yes. It broke down so many walls in theatre. (Not literally).
This play makes me think that perhaps keeping the plot and characters simple, but with scenes and moments that much of the audience will identify with their own life or feelings, will attach them more emotionally than anything else. Even if you live in a gigantic city, where you hardly know anybody (quite the opposite of Grovers Corners), you may be able to identify with some of the feelings towards love in act 2. Or perhaps you've wondered about life and death in some ways in act 3.
No one shall ever try to attempt Our Town.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
"Stop Condenscending to Teenagers!" -John Green
I read "Looking for Alaska" by John Green back in September, but I loved it so much I decided to go back to it and buy it at the bookstore and read it again. I love this book. It's so incredibly written, tear jerking, funny, and overall life changing for me. Looking for Alaska is about 16 year old Miles (nicknamed Pudge), and his transition to a boarding school in Alabama. There, he meets some new friends, who "his parents would normally describe as the bad kids, but they seemed too smart to be." He meets Chip (nicknamed the Colonel), Takumi, Lara, and Alaska. They drink, smoke, and pull pranks. But, as I said, they are extremely intelligent. He develops a huge crush on Alaska, who is spontaneous, clever, mysterious, and utterly fascinating.
After immersing myself into this book I had read before, I googled the book, hoping to find some quotes or something, and I found out that the author, John Green, has a Youtube channel. He and his brother vlog eachother back and forth. A couple of videos came up about Looking for Alaska and this one popped up, and it really got me thinking.
If, for whatever reason, you can't watch this, let me break it down for you:
John Green, the author of Looking for Alaska, made this video, expressing his excitement about having an 11th grade English class read his book. Since there are some scenes in Looking for Alaska that are a bit controversial, the school sent home a permission slip making sure parents approved of their kids reading the book. There was an uproar throughout the school board about the book. They thought "The book was pornographic and that it will cause immoral thoughts and actions in children." He goes on to explain the purpose of the scene that was "pornographic," raising some very good points.
Basically, there are two very brief, frank sexual scenes in the book. The first is very awkward and disasterous. It's very emotionally empty. The second scene is much, much less sexual than the last and although there is a lot less physical closeness, there is an intense emotional connection. He wanted to draw a contrast between these two scenes.
Apparently the school board, even after they heard this argument, said that kids don't have the critical sophistication to understand that. And to that, he says "Stop Condenscending to Teenagers!" (Hence my title).
That part really made me think. Why do people try to shield us from things that do happen in the real world? If we don't learn about them, how will we ever be able to think critically? There are many controversial things in Looking for Alaska that I can think critically about. I think that Green chose to make the people Pudge hang out with drink and smoke because it makes them seem more taboo and mysterious. Considering that at first Pudge, the kid who had no friends in his hometown, was going to stay away from "the bad kids" as his parents said, would make friends with them really breaks down barriers. I think it's also more believable if cliques, such as in this book, are defying stereotypes, which Pudge's friends do by being very intelligent.
The whole point of having those scenes in Looking for Alaska is to show that physical intimacy will never stand in for emotional closeness. Many teenagers have the intellect and sophistication they need in order to read critically. People should be more trust in kids when it comes to exposing them to new issues and controversial scenes in their books. I think this whole experience has taught me to really think- What is the purpose of the 'controversial' scenes in my book? Should adults have more trust in teenagers when it comes to analyzing text?
On a final note- his videos are hysterical, especially the ones pertaining to his books. If you are a fan of his novels you should go check it out. "No teenagers should be allowed to read this disgusting work of lexicography!"
And P.S., John Green- Yes. After reading Waiting for Godot, I do think it's cool to sit around all day and do nothing. Although I do that anyway.
After immersing myself into this book I had read before, I googled the book, hoping to find some quotes or something, and I found out that the author, John Green, has a Youtube channel. He and his brother vlog eachother back and forth. A couple of videos came up about Looking for Alaska and this one popped up, and it really got me thinking.
If, for whatever reason, you can't watch this, let me break it down for you:
John Green, the author of Looking for Alaska, made this video, expressing his excitement about having an 11th grade English class read his book. Since there are some scenes in Looking for Alaska that are a bit controversial, the school sent home a permission slip making sure parents approved of their kids reading the book. There was an uproar throughout the school board about the book. They thought "The book was pornographic and that it will cause immoral thoughts and actions in children." He goes on to explain the purpose of the scene that was "pornographic," raising some very good points.
Basically, there are two very brief, frank sexual scenes in the book. The first is very awkward and disasterous. It's very emotionally empty. The second scene is much, much less sexual than the last and although there is a lot less physical closeness, there is an intense emotional connection. He wanted to draw a contrast between these two scenes.
Apparently the school board, even after they heard this argument, said that kids don't have the critical sophistication to understand that. And to that, he says "Stop Condenscending to Teenagers!" (Hence my title).
That part really made me think. Why do people try to shield us from things that do happen in the real world? If we don't learn about them, how will we ever be able to think critically? There are many controversial things in Looking for Alaska that I can think critically about. I think that Green chose to make the people Pudge hang out with drink and smoke because it makes them seem more taboo and mysterious. Considering that at first Pudge, the kid who had no friends in his hometown, was going to stay away from "the bad kids" as his parents said, would make friends with them really breaks down barriers. I think it's also more believable if cliques, such as in this book, are defying stereotypes, which Pudge's friends do by being very intelligent.
The whole point of having those scenes in Looking for Alaska is to show that physical intimacy will never stand in for emotional closeness. Many teenagers have the intellect and sophistication they need in order to read critically. People should be more trust in kids when it comes to exposing them to new issues and controversial scenes in their books. I think this whole experience has taught me to really think- What is the purpose of the 'controversial' scenes in my book? Should adults have more trust in teenagers when it comes to analyzing text?
On a final note- his videos are hysterical, especially the ones pertaining to his books. If you are a fan of his novels you should go check it out. "No teenagers should be allowed to read this disgusting work of lexicography!"
And P.S., John Green- Yes. After reading Waiting for Godot, I do think it's cool to sit around all day and do nothing. Although I do that anyway.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Questions in between pages
How long does it take you to accept how your society works? How quickly must you grow up, depending on your situation? What will you be willing to give up in order to survive? Is there always hope? This are some of the many, many questions that Sold by Patricia McCormick has pressed upon me.
In Sold, 13 year old Lakshmi had been living in the mountains with her mother, baby brother, and step father. They were poor and her father gambled away all her money. Once she gets her first 'blood', she slowly but surely begins learning the true way her society works. How you may never look a man in the eye, or how once you are married you may only eat once your husband has had his fill. Or how if he turns to you in the night, you must give yourself to him in hopes you will bear him a son. Even Lakshmi's stepfather describes the difference between a daughter and a son in this way: "A son is always a son. But a girl is like a goat. Good as long as she gives you milk and butter. But not worth crying over when it's time to make a stew."
After Lakshmi's sudden brisk into the confined world of Nepali womanhood, with her family in debt, her stepfather sells her to become a maid in the city. Or so she believes- after a long week of traveling, she realizes that she has been sold into prostitution.
She cannot leave until she pays off her debt. At first she is overcome by shock, and she tries to escape, but is given drugs and is confined to her room for a room so men can come to her. After she is realeased because they "cannot get a good price for her because she is no longer a virgin," she makes life changing decisions. Must I give up my naive ways in order for men to come to me so I can pay off my debt? Will I face the reality of my situation and find a way out?
I absolutely hate jobs that objectify women (Prostitution, stripping, etc), but what's worse is to watch girls my age so such things. In this book, girls who are fourteen or so are sexualizing themselves for men three times their age. And do they have a choice? Certainly not- they cannot leave until they've paid off their debt, which could take years. There's one chapter where another working girl is explaining to Lakshmi her techniques to make men choose you; Tell the customers that you are twelve. If an old man is at the door, bat your eyes and act your part as a little girl. Flick the ends of your shawl in a come-closer gesture and it will bring the shy men to your bed. Draw your shawl to your chin, bend your neck like a peacock and it will bring the older men to your bed.
It's heartbreaking to watch these girls be sexualized and snatched of their innocence. In other parts of the world, these girls would be expected to act as children- to hang out with their friends, to go to school, to learn. Why does their society work this way? Why must women, and in this case girls, be treated as property and entertainment?
Obviously, the calling to the social action in this book are the horrible accounts of sexual slavery in the story. But there is more to it than that- within this huge issue, there are smaller ideas embedded in. How does this affect the girls who are experiencing these heartbreaking struggles? Are they traumatized later in life? How do they cope? How do they find a way out?
In Sold, 13 year old Lakshmi had been living in the mountains with her mother, baby brother, and step father. They were poor and her father gambled away all her money. Once she gets her first 'blood', she slowly but surely begins learning the true way her society works. How you may never look a man in the eye, or how once you are married you may only eat once your husband has had his fill. Or how if he turns to you in the night, you must give yourself to him in hopes you will bear him a son. Even Lakshmi's stepfather describes the difference between a daughter and a son in this way: "A son is always a son. But a girl is like a goat. Good as long as she gives you milk and butter. But not worth crying over when it's time to make a stew."
After Lakshmi's sudden brisk into the confined world of Nepali womanhood, with her family in debt, her stepfather sells her to become a maid in the city. Or so she believes- after a long week of traveling, she realizes that she has been sold into prostitution.
She cannot leave until she pays off her debt. At first she is overcome by shock, and she tries to escape, but is given drugs and is confined to her room for a room so men can come to her. After she is realeased because they "cannot get a good price for her because she is no longer a virgin," she makes life changing decisions. Must I give up my naive ways in order for men to come to me so I can pay off my debt? Will I face the reality of my situation and find a way out?
I absolutely hate jobs that objectify women (Prostitution, stripping, etc), but what's worse is to watch girls my age so such things. In this book, girls who are fourteen or so are sexualizing themselves for men three times their age. And do they have a choice? Certainly not- they cannot leave until they've paid off their debt, which could take years. There's one chapter where another working girl is explaining to Lakshmi her techniques to make men choose you; Tell the customers that you are twelve. If an old man is at the door, bat your eyes and act your part as a little girl. Flick the ends of your shawl in a come-closer gesture and it will bring the shy men to your bed. Draw your shawl to your chin, bend your neck like a peacock and it will bring the older men to your bed.
It's heartbreaking to watch these girls be sexualized and snatched of their innocence. In other parts of the world, these girls would be expected to act as children- to hang out with their friends, to go to school, to learn. Why does their society work this way? Why must women, and in this case girls, be treated as property and entertainment?
Obviously, the calling to the social action in this book are the horrible accounts of sexual slavery in the story. But there is more to it than that- within this huge issue, there are smaller ideas embedded in. How does this affect the girls who are experiencing these heartbreaking struggles? Are they traumatized later in life? How do they cope? How do they find a way out?
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
An odd reading week
I've been bouncing between Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger and Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller. Now, if you've read either of these, you'll understand how completely and utterly fascinating they are, and how sometimes you may have to read a page two or three times to really comprehend the information packed between the lines. I will likely blog about either of these two in the future, but for now, I'm only 30 or so pages into each and I don't feel quite ready or passionate enough to write a post about it yet. But on the other hand, this is my grade, so I need to say something related to my reading this week.
An hour or so ago, out of boredom I picked up The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night-time. I probably read this three times or so last summer, and out of a burst of nostalgia I began reading it again. I read about fifty pages, and I realized something.
This is an absolutely brilliant book.
Well yes, I already knew that. I knew that the first time I read it. I knew that when I was fifteen pages into the book the first time I read it. But one of the contributing factors to the book's absolute brilliance is that we know something the character doesn't.
Too vague? Let me explain. Christopher has Aspergers sydrome or some other form of autism, which isn't directly mentioned in the book, but if you know what the condition is, it's very clear. (Oh look! Another post about a book with a character who has Aspergers. I'm beginning to see a pattern here.) But yes, it's very clear to me and many others who read the book. Christopher lacks serious social skills, including reading body language, motives, and understanding others emotions. He can hardly even get into a conversation with someone.
But as the book goes on, the emotions and shock rise, intensifying the other characters actions (along with Christophers). But what's amazing is that although the other character's emotions are so strong, Christopher cannot understand that they're even having these emotions, or what they are, or why they're acting the way they're acting. Even in the slightest bit. Christopher is blinded, in that sense. But us, having the vague details Christopher (who is narrating) gives us, can come to conclusions about those around him. Mrs. Shears, Mr. Shears, his mother and father. And the fact of the matter is, with Christopher's condition, he can't draw conclusions or read emotions of those around them. But our ability to do so and empathize with the other characters makes the book completely fascinating and beautiful.
In some ways, I compare this book to The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. I know it's strange, but hear me out. If you have ever read this book, you will know of Holden Caulfield, who is a fascinating character and narrator. And what makes him so fascinating it this- he's a bit of a jerk. There often thinks he's above everybody, and that everyone else is "phoney" and he's the only and the only person who isn't "phoney." He's very hostile towards other people too. Chances are, if he really existed, no one would want anything to do with him. (Not that he was paticurally liked by the other characters in the book either.) But the story from his perspective, reading his exact thoughts, what causes his actions, and his past- that's what makes the book brilliant.
(P.S.- I don't think Holden is a terrible person or anything. I think he has some very good qualities, but the way he acts towards other people makes him seem extremely jerk-ish to me. But that's unrelated.)
So what we know that he doesn't is that he is arrogant, annoying, and ignorant. But it's hilarious and intriguing to watch Holden act in such a way. In many other books you find yourself always on the narrators/main characters side. In other books it may be easy to assume that the main character thinks in the same way as you do, about the other characters, their life, or in some cases, themselves.
(On a final note, maybe it was a good thing I didn't attempt to write about Franny and Zooey or Death of a Salesman. I like this post a lot.)
P.S.-I just picked up the book and one of the critics on the back mentioned Catcher in the Rye. I kid you not. Damn, now I feel a great deal less observant. So much for ending the post on a high note.
An hour or so ago, out of boredom I picked up The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night-time. I probably read this three times or so last summer, and out of a burst of nostalgia I began reading it again. I read about fifty pages, and I realized something.
This is an absolutely brilliant book.
Well yes, I already knew that. I knew that the first time I read it. I knew that when I was fifteen pages into the book the first time I read it. But one of the contributing factors to the book's absolute brilliance is that we know something the character doesn't.
Too vague? Let me explain. Christopher has Aspergers sydrome or some other form of autism, which isn't directly mentioned in the book, but if you know what the condition is, it's very clear. (Oh look! Another post about a book with a character who has Aspergers. I'm beginning to see a pattern here.) But yes, it's very clear to me and many others who read the book. Christopher lacks serious social skills, including reading body language, motives, and understanding others emotions. He can hardly even get into a conversation with someone.
But as the book goes on, the emotions and shock rise, intensifying the other characters actions (along with Christophers). But what's amazing is that although the other character's emotions are so strong, Christopher cannot understand that they're even having these emotions, or what they are, or why they're acting the way they're acting. Even in the slightest bit. Christopher is blinded, in that sense. But us, having the vague details Christopher (who is narrating) gives us, can come to conclusions about those around him. Mrs. Shears, Mr. Shears, his mother and father. And the fact of the matter is, with Christopher's condition, he can't draw conclusions or read emotions of those around them. But our ability to do so and empathize with the other characters makes the book completely fascinating and beautiful.
In some ways, I compare this book to The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. I know it's strange, but hear me out. If you have ever read this book, you will know of Holden Caulfield, who is a fascinating character and narrator. And what makes him so fascinating it this- he's a bit of a jerk. There often thinks he's above everybody, and that everyone else is "phoney" and he's the only and the only person who isn't "phoney." He's very hostile towards other people too. Chances are, if he really existed, no one would want anything to do with him. (Not that he was paticurally liked by the other characters in the book either.) But the story from his perspective, reading his exact thoughts, what causes his actions, and his past- that's what makes the book brilliant.
(P.S.- I don't think Holden is a terrible person or anything. I think he has some very good qualities, but the way he acts towards other people makes him seem extremely jerk-ish to me. But that's unrelated.)
So what we know that he doesn't is that he is arrogant, annoying, and ignorant. But it's hilarious and intriguing to watch Holden act in such a way. In many other books you find yourself always on the narrators/main characters side. In other books it may be easy to assume that the main character thinks in the same way as you do, about the other characters, their life, or in some cases, themselves.
(On a final note, maybe it was a good thing I didn't attempt to write about Franny and Zooey or Death of a Salesman. I like this post a lot.)
P.S.-I just picked up the book and one of the critics on the back mentioned Catcher in the Rye. I kid you not. Damn, now I feel a great deal less observant. So much for ending the post on a high note.
Freak the Mighty Appreciation
There’s nothing more magical than having a first best friend, and Freak the Mighty by Rodman Philbrick glorifies that, to the point where I was truly pulled into the dynamic companionship of Kevin and Max. They have a thoughtful, funny, and sentimental story about friendship, loss, and as Freak touches up on so many times throughout the book, imagination and knowledge. I plucked Freak the Mighty out of my classroom library in fifth grade. I had never read anything like it, noticing even at ten years old the heavy themes and unique voice.
Max is nearly seven feet tall, slow (mentally and physically), and lonely. Most of his days are spent holed up the ‘down under’ (his grandparents’ basement), until he must retreat back to school where he is made fun of, for his size and his father, “Killer Kane.” Kevin, nicknamed Freak, is nearly three feet tall and diagnosed with Morquio syndrome, a form of dwarfism. Despite these hardships, he is intelligent and imaginative. But like Max, he is also lonely. When Kevin moves in across the street, they form an unlikely friendship. “That’s how it started, really, how we got to be Freak the Mighty, slaying dragons and fools and walking high above the world,” Max remembers.
My best friend and I met when we were two, and we’re still inseparable. I remember how her winding staircase was a colossal mountain, and my backyard was an enchanted forest. We played with beanie babies, dolls, toy horses, and anything else we could get our hands on in order to create our own little world. No matter how old you are, there will always be that one friend who changes you forever, however long they stay.
And that’s what Freak the Mighty is really about. Because looking back on that time we spent together made me realize how much she had to teach me, and what I taught her. This book is about peering back into the past, reliving the moments you spent with that one friend and realizing their significance. And that really is, as Freak would say, “The unvanquished truth.”
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Insomnia
I've been thinking about my monologue.
Yes, I've performed it six times in the past two weeks and I'm enormously tired of it. Yes, I feel incredibly self conscious when I read it. But I adore it.
Above everything else I just said, I'm so scared of losing this monologue. By losing I mean that when I perform it, it doesn't mean anything to me anymore. The sheer emotion I felt when I performed it for the first or second time is slowly being replaced with cold stone words.
The piece itself is relatively short. It's from Our Town by Thorton Wilder. It's when Emily comes back from the dead (her spirit, it's not a zombie play), and she's contemplating her life and her death.
"I can't go on. It goes so fast. We hardly have time to even look at one another. I didn't realize- that all that was going on in life and we never noticed. Take me back. Up the hill... to my grave.
But first: Wait! One more look. Good-bye, Goodbye world. Good-bye to Grovers Corners. Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking. And Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths. And sleeping and waking up. Oh earth, you're to wonderful for anyone to ever realize you.
Do any human beings ever realize life as they live it?- every every minute?"
It's so easy for me to imagine things I have taken for granted and lost in my thirteen years. But sometimes I need to improvise an image in my mind that somewhat matches the thing being said goodbye to- then thinking about how it would feel to lost that.
This monologue makes me realize how quickly and unexpected we could die. I may be typing contently right now, but it's possible that n a few seconds time, a bomb could explode in my building. My ceiling would fall and crush me. The ocean of clothes and crap on my bedroom floor could form a tsunami and swallow me alive- now I'm being ridiculous. But you get my point.
I seriously need to read Our Town. Among other things I need to do, including homework, studying, test prep, cleaning, finishing my play, and most importantly sleeping. And to that I say MIGHTY G'NITE MATES
Yes, I've performed it six times in the past two weeks and I'm enormously tired of it. Yes, I feel incredibly self conscious when I read it. But I adore it.
Above everything else I just said, I'm so scared of losing this monologue. By losing I mean that when I perform it, it doesn't mean anything to me anymore. The sheer emotion I felt when I performed it for the first or second time is slowly being replaced with cold stone words.
The piece itself is relatively short. It's from Our Town by Thorton Wilder. It's when Emily comes back from the dead (her spirit, it's not a zombie play), and she's contemplating her life and her death.
"I can't go on. It goes so fast. We hardly have time to even look at one another. I didn't realize- that all that was going on in life and we never noticed. Take me back. Up the hill... to my grave.
But first: Wait! One more look. Good-bye, Goodbye world. Good-bye to Grovers Corners. Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking. And Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths. And sleeping and waking up. Oh earth, you're to wonderful for anyone to ever realize you.
Do any human beings ever realize life as they live it?- every every minute?"
It's so easy for me to imagine things I have taken for granted and lost in my thirteen years. But sometimes I need to improvise an image in my mind that somewhat matches the thing being said goodbye to- then thinking about how it would feel to lost that.
This monologue makes me realize how quickly and unexpected we could die. I may be typing contently right now, but it's possible that n a few seconds time, a bomb could explode in my building. My ceiling would fall and crush me. The ocean of clothes and crap on my bedroom floor could form a tsunami and swallow me alive- now I'm being ridiculous. But you get my point.
I seriously need to read Our Town. Among other things I need to do, including homework, studying, test prep, cleaning, finishing my play, and most importantly sleeping. And to that I say MIGHTY G'NITE MATES
Sunday, October 17, 2010
It goes on for generations
"You have that book?" I asked my dad, with maybe a tad too much surprise.
"Yep," he said, getting up out of his creaky office chair and peering up at the bookshelves that surround his walls. "It's a Pulitzer Prize winning memoir. I haven't read it in eight years, since it came out, but I remember enjoying it, a lot." He handed me a copy of Angela's Ashes, fringed a bit at the jacket.
"Thanks," I took a short glance at the shelves on his wall that seemed to go on for miles, then veered back into my room.
I think that may have been the first time my dad and I had ever shared a book-ever. Up until that point, James (my six year old brother), my Dad, and I each had our own collection of books, usually stashed in our rooms. (With the exception of some of the Calvin and Hobbes books in the living room.)
So you could imagine my surprise when I asked my dad about Angela's Ashes and he said he had it. My dad and I had the same taste in movies, but all the books he owned intimidated me. "Grown-Up books," I used to call them. It's funny I was thinking this way even though I was watching complex R-rated movies with my dad by the time I was ten. But with books-it was like entering a new planet.
That was last May. I went into his shelves a couple of times that summer to find a thesaurus, a book of quotes, or to longingly glance at one of his bookshelves that held piles of classic novels. (Steinbeck, Salinger, etc).
Tonight, I truly broke the barrier.
I pulled a step stool up to the shelves covering the wall above his dresser. I was so bored of the tedious teen and young adult novels that I had always read. I wanted to read something emotional, informative, classic. I first looked at the top shelf, the dustiest of them all, finding a bounty of old fringed poetry collections. I took a handful off the shelf, leafing through the orangish-brownish color that old books tend to have. The musky smell of old pages and dust filled my nose. I finally settled on one poetry collection by T.S. Elliot.
Farther to the right of that top shelf were some smaller, thinner books. Unsure, I pulled them out, only to find that those small white books jammed together in the corner were plays, classic plays to be exact, plays I'd heard of. Plays I needed to read because I felt ignorant that I was aspiring to write a three act play and had only read or watched a handful of plays in my life. I decided to take Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman first.
I glanced at the other shelves, the ones that seemed slightly more touched from the others. Some of the books were alphbatized, and I scanned down to the D section only to find a section of books that were lined up, that were all about one thing- death. I wasn't surprised. My dad had experienced a lot of death in his life. I found quite a few of big, fat psychological study books. Then I saw a few about culture and dying, and pulled out of the shelf "The Sacred Art of Dying."
You get the point. Thanks to poking through my dad's bookshelves, I have three new books to read. But as usual, I'm over thinking it. Soon- sooner than I or he thinks- I may read all the books that scatter his shelves. Soon James may be reading the (decent) teen novels on my shelves, before moving on to my dad's books, as I did. As we grow older, all three of us will be able to talk about the same classic stories or ideas that generations before us knew of, the words so perfect and infinite.
"Yep," he said, getting up out of his creaky office chair and peering up at the bookshelves that surround his walls. "It's a Pulitzer Prize winning memoir. I haven't read it in eight years, since it came out, but I remember enjoying it, a lot." He handed me a copy of Angela's Ashes, fringed a bit at the jacket.
"Thanks," I took a short glance at the shelves on his wall that seemed to go on for miles, then veered back into my room.
I think that may have been the first time my dad and I had ever shared a book-ever. Up until that point, James (my six year old brother), my Dad, and I each had our own collection of books, usually stashed in our rooms. (With the exception of some of the Calvin and Hobbes books in the living room.)
So you could imagine my surprise when I asked my dad about Angela's Ashes and he said he had it. My dad and I had the same taste in movies, but all the books he owned intimidated me. "Grown-Up books," I used to call them. It's funny I was thinking this way even though I was watching complex R-rated movies with my dad by the time I was ten. But with books-it was like entering a new planet.
That was last May. I went into his shelves a couple of times that summer to find a thesaurus, a book of quotes, or to longingly glance at one of his bookshelves that held piles of classic novels. (Steinbeck, Salinger, etc).
Tonight, I truly broke the barrier.
I pulled a step stool up to the shelves covering the wall above his dresser. I was so bored of the tedious teen and young adult novels that I had always read. I wanted to read something emotional, informative, classic. I first looked at the top shelf, the dustiest of them all, finding a bounty of old fringed poetry collections. I took a handful off the shelf, leafing through the orangish-brownish color that old books tend to have. The musky smell of old pages and dust filled my nose. I finally settled on one poetry collection by T.S. Elliot.
Farther to the right of that top shelf were some smaller, thinner books. Unsure, I pulled them out, only to find that those small white books jammed together in the corner were plays, classic plays to be exact, plays I'd heard of. Plays I needed to read because I felt ignorant that I was aspiring to write a three act play and had only read or watched a handful of plays in my life. I decided to take Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman first.
I glanced at the other shelves, the ones that seemed slightly more touched from the others. Some of the books were alphbatized, and I scanned down to the D section only to find a section of books that were lined up, that were all about one thing- death. I wasn't surprised. My dad had experienced a lot of death in his life. I found quite a few of big, fat psychological study books. Then I saw a few about culture and dying, and pulled out of the shelf "The Sacred Art of Dying."
You get the point. Thanks to poking through my dad's bookshelves, I have three new books to read. But as usual, I'm over thinking it. Soon- sooner than I or he thinks- I may read all the books that scatter his shelves. Soon James may be reading the (decent) teen novels on my shelves, before moving on to my dad's books, as I did. As we grow older, all three of us will be able to talk about the same classic stories or ideas that generations before us knew of, the words so perfect and infinite.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Endings that leave you hanging, maybe a bit too much. *SPOILER ALERT*
I have always been full of questions, groping for information, especially while I'm reading. In fiction, I don't mind the ending leaving me hanging a tad, with a few questions. But at some times after I finish a book I just feel absolutely frustrated.
House Rules by Jodi Picoult is a story of Jacob, an 18 year old with Aspergers Syndrome being accused of murder. It is a truly gripping story that raises questions about how our legal system treats those whom have special needs. I've read four Jodi Picoult novels, and I either preferred the emotion over the plot, vice versa, or I am tied into both. In this case, I was gripped by the intriguing plot. I kept on reading to watch the process Jacob had to go through during the investigation, his brief time in jail, and the trial. One of the reasons why I was so interested in the story is because I'm writing a play about someone with a form of Aspergers syndrome, so I was interested in looking for some of that mentality in the story.
I don't want to get into a whole retell of the entire story, but basically, this is how it all went down. The original case against Jacob was this: Jacob Hunt, 18, went into a fit of rage after getting into an argument with his social skills tutor, Jess Oglivy. He supposedly choked her, causing her to hit her head on the floor and causing a concussion. He realized what he did, tampered with the crime scene to direct the evidence towards her boyfriend, and dragged her into the woods about 100 yards away from the crime scene.
Jacob's 15 year old brother named Theo has a habit of breaking into houses and taking things such as ipods, video games, etc. Jess Oglivy was house-sitting for a home Theo often broke into. He came in and saw Jess getting out of the shower. Jess saw him too, so surprised she fell and hit her head on the sink. Theo bolted out. Jacob came over for his regular appointment with Jess. He saw Theo's footprints and knew what had happened. In order to protect his brother, Jacob tampered with the crime scene to direct the evidence away from Theo.
A main theme in the story is that Jacob, because of his condition, believes the world revolves around him. He does not feel empathy, notice emotions in other people, nor knows how to express his own. In the last chapter, his lawyer and his mother unexpectedly find out what really happened and drive them back to the courthouse, where the jury has been trying to reach a verdict for a week. The last scene is Theo and Jacob sitting together in the car, listening to an ipod, at peace. Supposedly, the thought that Jacob was trying to protect his brother was some sort of a consolation, bringing comfort to their broken family.
This ending drove me absolutely crazy. The charges for tampering with a crime scene, especially as severely as Jacob did, could put him in prison for many, many years. And throughout the book, there have been examples of Jacob's mother believing that he was "looking out for" or "empathizing with" the people he loves, but she was always mistaken. I can very, very easily believe that this is one of those times. Maybe he didn't want his brother in prison because he knew his mother would be upset, and wouldn't stick to the routine he is so used to. And I don't understand why in the car they were so at peace. They were likely about to undergo a retrial after spending a week or so of deafening, intense, life altering time on the one that they did last week. You know, the one that the jury is about to reach the verdict to?
I've had issues with Jodi Picoult's endings before. I detested the ending to My Sisters Keeper. It was such an intriguing, emotion filled, almost perfect book, but the ending was a rushed, "I-am-so-tired-of-writing-this-story-and-this-is-the-quickest-way-to-end-it"ending. Drove me nuts.
I thought House Rules was alright. It had a very interesting plot and I enjoyed reading about the characters experiences. But yes, the ending was, to put it mildly, unsatisfying.
Monday, October 4, 2010
A line of dialogue can change everything
*SPOILER ALERT*- (Except for the fact that probably no one watches this show because it's been off the air for fifteen years and was never very popular but still... spoiler alert.)Sometimes, just one line of dialogue can change everything, whether it's your perspective on a character, on the show itself, etc.
In My So-Called life, a television show aired in 1994, Angela Chase, a fifteen year old, is beginning to have trouble with her mother. "Sometimes, I think that if my mother wasn't so good at pretending to be happy, she would be," Angela contemplates, watching her mother greet party guests for her grandparents anniversary party.
Patty Chase, (Angela's mother) drives me crazy sometimes, but the show shapes her as a real person, instead of the average one dimensional parent on television. I know that all she's trying to do is make a good life for her husband and two daughters, although some of her choices may make her seem uptight.
Angela's two new friends, Rayanne and Ricky, have made a couple of impressions on her mother. Patty never seemed to like Rayanne, who is a 'wild child', a compulsive liar, and, although Patty doesn't know it quite yet- a drinker. Ricky makes Patty uncomfortable because of his style of clothes and the fact that he wears eyeliner.
Angela goes to Rayanne's house, meeting her girlish mother Amber, who does tarot cards and treats Rayanne's friends like her own. Angela feels more at home in Amber's positive energy, making Patty a tad jealous and insecure.
Meanwhile, Patty's is trying to plan a 45th anniversary party for her parents, much to her annoyance, so she is already stressed enough. Rayanne decides to throw a party on her own, inviting practically everyone in the school. Both parties are on the same night, and during Angela's grandparents party, Angela tries to convince her mother to let her go to Rayanne's.
Patty: Rayanne is not your best friend.
Angela: Mom, she is so my best friend, I'm sorry you hate her.
Patty: Well I'm just sorry that our house cannot measure up to the joy of being at Rayanne's, where your friend Ricky can guzzle beer and that Amber woman can read your tea leaves.
Angela: Stop being so hypocritical, you hated her on sight, just admit it!
Patty: Alright I admit it. I don't like her. I don't think she's the right friend for you!
We watch Rayanne's party take place, which includes her guests making out, dancing promiscuously, and drinking... a lot. Rayanne is doing so herself. We follow her into the bathroom, where she takes two hits of ecstasy. Ricky walks in, shocked. "What? It's a PARTY," laughs Rayanne, before stumbling out.
As the party goes on, Rayanne becomes more and more out of it, the drugs really beginning to take effect. "I've never seen her like this," Ricky says to Angela. And then, Rayanne's mother came home.
"Alright, party's over!" Rayanne's mother screamed, pushing everyone out. She storms into the room finding Rayanne making out with some random guy. "Get the hell off of my daughter! You said you're going to have a few friends over? Look at this place, it's a pig sty! You look like an old drunk." She doesn't even notice that Rayanne has fallen off the bed and is about to barf, or cry, or pass out, or possibly all three. "You pull yourself together Rayanne Marie," she says, storming out. After that, Rayanne looks up, "It's so cold," she moans, trying to breathe. "Why is it so cold?" Ricky hugs her and begins rocking her back and forth, and Angela calls the one person she knows will help- her mother.
Patty comes immediatly after Angela calls. She proceeds to call an ambulance, slap Rayanne and splashes water on her face, ask Ricky what she was taking and other important questions, without even a flinch or a hesitation. Rayanne is rushed to the hospital, and Patty drives Ricky and Angela to their house. She tells Ricky to go on inside and get something to eat, leaving her and her daughter alone in the car.
As the party goes on, Rayanne becomes more and more out of it, the drugs really beginning to take effect. "I've never seen her like this," Ricky says to Angela. And then, Rayanne's mother came home.
"Alright, party's over!" Rayanne's mother screamed, pushing everyone out. She storms into the room finding Rayanne making out with some random guy. "Get the hell off of my daughter! You said you're going to have a few friends over? Look at this place, it's a pig sty! You look like an old drunk." She doesn't even notice that Rayanne has fallen off the bed and is about to barf, or cry, or pass out, or possibly all three. "You pull yourself together Rayanne Marie," she says, storming out. After that, Rayanne looks up, "It's so cold," she moans, trying to breathe. "Why is it so cold?" Ricky hugs her and begins rocking her back and forth, and Angela calls the one person she knows will help- her mother.
Patty comes immediatly after Angela calls. She proceeds to call an ambulance, slap Rayanne and splashes water on her face, ask Ricky what she was taking and other important questions, without even a flinch or a hesitation. Rayanne is rushed to the hospital, and Patty drives Ricky and Angela to their house. She tells Ricky to go on inside and get something to eat, leaving her and her daughter alone in the car.
Angela: So how did you know all that stuff, like what to do?
Patty: I had this room mate in college... who was actually a lot like Rayanne, now that I'm remembering.
Angela: You're kidding. So did you like her?
Patty: A lot.
Angela: Well, what happened?Patty: Well, pretty much what happened tonight. Except she died.
As you may have guessed, this is the line that changed everything. I realized here that Patty was not only trying to prevent her daughter from becoming Rayanne. It was mostly preventing Angela from having to endure what she did- having to constantly worry about what your friend was getting into, worrying if they were okay, and if worst comes to worst, losing them. I think part of how Patty acts as a mother is about preventing her daughter from going through what she went through in her life.
I really do think Patty is a good mother. Amber didn't even check to see if Rayanne was alright during their brief encounter before leaving the house again, but Patty didn't even hesitate to help Angela and her two friends as soon as she called.
Some lines of dialogue, thought, or exchanges are just so natural, but can still reveal so much.
Analyzing craft
In Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri, the best thing for me is how emotion packed it is without being cutesy. The stories are slow, and have a way of discreetly squeezing passion in between margins so you don't realize how hard the story has hit you until the end. The craft of these stories are simplistic in a beautiful way. I've always liked books by Jodi Picoult, where a cheesy (but well written) metaphor is on every other page. This book focuses more on moving the story forward and mapping out the characters than throwing morals and symbols in your face. There are eight stories, and each one had something for everybody. Childhood, parenting, romance, marriage, travel, death. Personally, I felt closest to the story about the girl and her relationship with her mother. As the character aged, she discovered, hated, and forgave her mother. As someone growing up like she was, I could connect and find the story intriguing.
This book was one of the closest to life I've ever read. It throws out the details and characters, but in order to find morals and metaphors you have to really contemplate what you are reading.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)