Never eat raspberries.

Otay, my adaptation is for "A Rose for Emily."

Just so you know.

Point of View

I'm changing the point of view to Homer's because I don't like this communal townspeople point of view business that Faulkner tries to pull off. Also, I like the idea of getting into Homer's head. We know that Emily has a thing for him, but what does he think of her? We would also get to see Emily from an objective point of view, but one that still allows for indirect characterization. This would become Homer's story, not Emily's. Also, I want it to be omniscient, so there's no bias in Homer's perspective, but I the camera should primarily follow him around. Since he ends up dead, this would also make the story into a horror movie. Watch out.

Setting

Remember how I said "A Rose for Emily" reminded me a lot of the story of Annie Palmer? She lived in Jamaica, and I think it adds to the spookiness if the movie takes place in a country foreign to where it's released. The time period would be contemporary, which I think makes it more personal, and thus scarier. I think Emily would have to be on the rich side of things; in Jamaica, there's an enormous gap between the rich and the poor. Maybe Homer is on the poor side, and that could be a small part of his motivation for friendship, as well as her father's disapproval. This would be a source of gossip in the town, I suspect, which could be a backdrop to the plot, but not a major dynamic like it is in the short story.

Characterization

I've got the major cast members aaaaaaall figured out:

Homer will be played by Usain Bolt. He seems like quite the catch. Ahahahahaaaaa it's a pun. Sort of.

Also, I decided that Emily is the Jamaican-born daughter of her British father. She's played by British-Jamaican actress Noemie Harris.

Her British father's played by Michael Caine.

That's much better than my original mental image:

But in terms of AP Lit characterization, they'll all be a whole lot more Jamaican. The cultural twist will probably leak into every element of the story. They'll speak with Jamaican accents. They'll eat "patties" a lot, probably. Erm... bright colors might be prevalent in their wardrobe. I feel like I'm stereotyping.

Plot

Emily's still gonna keep her dad's dead body and then kill Homer and keep him around and whatnot as well. I'm not into the whole Minority Report change-everything-except-the-lead-character's-name thing. Howeverrrr, I'm going to leave out that bit about Emily needing to pay taxes. I think the Homer/Emily/dad story is more intriguing without the distraction of the town. Also, I want an actual rose in the story. I'll work that in by having a rose arrive at Emily's door that's from Homer, who had it sent there as a surprise. Emily's never going to fiiind it, though, because she'll never leave her house again after she kills Homer. It'll just sit there on her front doorstep, and she'll die like Bartleby, never knowing it's there. It's one of those everybody-dies-in-the-end movies that I hate.

Theme

The theme, of course, will be considerably different at this point. In Faulkner's story, the theme is something like, "Love makes us do crazy things." In my version, that will still be there. Howeeeever, it's a horror story, so the new theme is "Watch your back." (Not literally.) I want more thrill, the same amount of creepy, and slightly less sentimentality. There's plenty of room for that in chick flicks. I want the viewers to leave with the thought, "I sure hope I never have a crazy significant other who kills me and hoards dead bodies."

Christmas is canceled.

How is it that no one warned me that Bicentennial Man is the saddest movie known to mankind? I mean... I should have figured it out for myself, given that the short story was pretty sad, and the lead actor was Robin Williams, but... I underestimated the extent. Lesson learned.

Everyone knows that movie posters are better auf Deutsch.

All right, so Plot.

Let's start with the obvious, shall we? In the short story, Andrew does not go gallivanting across the country in search of a companion. And also he does not get married, to a human, no less. That completely changes the theme, the way I see it, but I'll get into that later. The addition of Little Miss's wedding adds depth to the relationship between Andrew and Sir, as well. It shows that Sir's greatest fear is of everyone leaving him, and it justifies his later irrational anger at Andrew's desire for freedom. And in general, there is a bit more detail to the plot, because less time has to be spent on setting in a movie than in a short story, as the audience can clearly see the setting, whereas in the short story, one must rely on words. Another example of this is Andrew's creepy hovering at the dinner table when he first arrives at the family, and his getting pushed out the window, as well as his shattering of Little Miss's crystal horse; it adds dimension to the rocky start that the reader only suspects Andrew probably had.

As to point of view...

It wasn't one of those movies with a narrator built in. However, there was the addition of some subtitles saying things like "In the not so distant future...." and "Many years later...." Essentially, though, the point of view was the same. Since it was Andrew's story, we rarely if ever saw a scene without him as the central character. Therefore, the point of view was third-person omniscient. I also think it was slightly less limited than the short story could have been argued to be because it lacked the biased interludes of prose. We see Andrew's reactions, but we get no concrete words to describe them, so they are left open to interpretation, as are the reactions of all the other characters.

A lot of the plot differences contributed to the differences in characterization, as well.

For instance, when Little Miss gives him her stuffed animal named Woofy in return for the wooden horse figurine, it strengthens their bond as characters. It also makes the last moments of Little Miss' life much more *cringe* tender, because she was holding the little old horse figurine in her wrinkled, nearly-dead hands. It also tenderizes (seewhatIdidthere?) the moment when Andrew takes in the stray puppy, and later we find out he's named it Woofy after the stuffed animal Little Miss gave him. These are examples of indirect characterization, but direct characterization isn't something one sees in movies a lot. Speaking of referring to oneself as one, Andrew does that a lot in this film, but he stops when he is freed by Sir. This strengthens the development of both characters because it shows both Andrew's value for freedom and Sir's care-in-spite-of-anger/hurt/bitterness when he notices the change. And I loved how in the movie, Andrew is afraid of heights because of when the mean other Miss makes him jump out the window. Also, when Andrew runs off looking for other robots like him, it makes his character more sympathetic, as the audience begins to see the loneliness of his condition. Also also, it reminded me of this:

As for setting...

They are extremely similar. In both, the story begins in the somewhat foreseeable future--2005 in the movie, which is now the past-- and continues for exactly two hundred years into the future after that--ending in 2205, which is well beyond my estimated longevity. In both, the story takes place in some ambiguous portion of the United States of America. When Andrew goes about trying to find himself a friend, I have no idea where all he looked, and he might well have left the country a time or two, but there's no telling for certain, and it's not really important to the story. I don't believe the short story mentioned the Martins' living near the ocean. That adds to the romantic and sentimental element of the story, I suppose, although it seems annoyingly cliché. It does make sense for Andrew's woodcarving hobby to have begun thusly, however.

And at last... theme.

In the short story, the theme was more about the foolishness of bigotry and the values of freedom. In the movie adaptation, the theme was more about the importance of love and companionship to the human condition, and how time inevitably changes all that and leaves people brokenhearted until they die too, perpetuating the cycle. Ahem. I don't like when movies try to make that seem okay. In analyzing how this happened, I'm going to first point out the addition of the piano scenes with Andrew and Little Miss. It would seem that piano scenes conveying sentimentality are a pop cultural favorite in film adaptations. Check out this blatantly illegal recording someone did of the latest Harry Potter to see what I mean:

Also, Sir starts us on this path early with his "lessons" to teach Andrew what he hasn't been programmed to know, one or two of which included The Birds and the Bees, for sure. Also also, he... you know... marries Portia and dies holding her hand.

HEY. They made it look like he didn't even ever know that he was declared a man! Whaaat's theee deeaaal wiiiith thaaaaaat??? I suppose they were trying to make some kind of point. It doesn't matter what other people think. What matters is what you know in your heart. Blaaaah blaaah blaaaah it STILL would have made Andrew happy. Instead, he just died.

I'm going to assume the girl android with the dancing-->temper-->skin was just incorrect. I know she's a robot and all, but... Andrew knew. Otherwise, Christmas is canceled.

I keep thinking love should be like a tree.

I have a moon mask. There are pictures, but... no.

1. What is the significance of Zoë's many eccentricities--for instance, her keeping all her pocketbook items in Baggies, and her unusual way of interacting with her students. Does her eccentricity make her more or less sympathetic as a character.

I personally got the vibe that those are defense mechanisms, but that's the second time I've used Psychology in AP Lit analysis this semester, and it makes me uncomfortable. (<--four syllables.)

But especially on page. 357, something struck me as sort of self-defense against her own... distress. "Usually the wives would consent to flirt with him. Under the table sometimes there was footsie, and once there was even kneesie." If we consider that the point of view is third-person limited, we know that "kneesie" is Zoë's terminology. It's followed closely after she admits that the third of the three men she's seen since coming to Hilldale-Versailles used to flirt with other women right in front of her. She's trying to lighten the mood. She doesn't want the audience zeroing in on her weaker Heidi points. Thus, she acts like a weirdo. Except I don't know what the Baggies thing is all about. I think she just likes Baggies, and she feels self conscious about it, but not enough so to stop using them.

Therefore, I think her eccentricity makes her more sympathetic as a character. But I still don't like her.

I ffffeeel ffffunnny.

1. What are the sources of humor in this story? Does the humor arise from observation of life or from distortion of life? What elements of the story seem to you funniest?

The sources of humor are mostly ironic. It's funny that Larry is the drunkard in the story. It's funny that Father classifies funerals in varying degrees of excellence based on qualities like the number of priests, when usually, they're just classified as terribly sad. It's funny how Larry walks down the street like a drunken little man, and it's not frightening or disturbing like it is when it's a grown man, but just funny and a little bit cute.

I feel like the question is leading me to say that the humor arises from distortion of life for some reason, but I disagree. I didn't see any distortion of reality. Things were funny because they were unusual, but they weren't untrue. Larry really did drink all of his father's beer while he wasn't looking, and as such, he really is really really drunk when he goes home.

Spazzy McSpazatron

"The Lottery" reminded me of The Hunger Games. I would also like to say that I missed who the antagonist of the story is because I was too excited about Mr. Costello making a Harry Potter reference. And ALSO saying schadenfreude! It was a good day. Oh! Also, I have read The Giver, and we said the settings seemed similar; I didn't like that story at all either. The babies die.

I thought this story was about tradition, and how sometimes it's sort of senselessly carried out. Annnnnd, um... the point of view is significant because the narrator is an objective but omniscient party. And the protagonist, I got, was the town. The title was ironic because the lottery is a frivolous thing people do in meager hopes that something great will come of it, whereas this lottery is a decidedly grave matter of deciding who gets stoned to death.

Maybe not half. Maybe... asymmetrical fractions.

My face when I realized that, indeed, the baby was going to get torn in half.

Aaaand I decided because of foreshadowing! "Then she noticed the baby's picture on the bed and picked it up." "He held onto the baby and pushed [pulled?] with all his weight."

I have decided that there are some metaphors in the story too. "But it was getting darker on this inside too," for instance, is a metaphor. It's not really getting darker inside because daylight doesn't have much of an effect on indoor lighting, usually. The real meaning is that the atmosphere is darkening. Also, since the story itself is actually about divorce, the baby getting torn apart (=[=[=[=[=[=[=[!!!!!!=[) symbolizes the way that divorce can, sometimes, tear a family apart.

The author's distinct lack of quotation marks lends to the tug of war feeling of the story. She tugs and shouts, and he tugs and shouts....

Aaaalso, the title "Popular Mechanics" is probably a reference to the mainstream/status quo and divorce. At first, I thought it had something to do with the mechanics of babies and how they are structured, because to be honest, when I read something, and the baby dies at the end, it becomes a story about a baby dying, no matter WHAT anybody else says. Nyeugh.

Dobby... is... freeeeeee!

Plot

"The Bicentennial Man" had some crazy... not... chronological... business going on. It begins with Andrew requesting that another robot perform a mysterious surgery on him. We don't find out until near the end, however, that the surgery is one that will complete his transformation from robot into man. It's also divided into chapters, which seem to pertain individually to specific phases of Andrew's life. For instance, in chapter two, which begins on page 247, Andrew begins his life with the Martin family, and his focus is primarily playing with Little Miss, for as she put it, she "order[ed him] to play with [them] and [he] must follow orders." Then, in chapter three, the next phase of Andrew's life begins, in which Andrew's goal becomes fulfilling his role as the unique robot with the skills: "Strange. Of course, we're attempting generalized pathways these days.... Really creative, you think?" - p. 250

Point of View

The narrator is third-person omniscient. The story is Andrew's, so the narrator chronicles his life more closely than anyone else's, but the narrator also knows everything about all of the characters. For instance, on page 250, "[Little Miss] never forgot that the very first piece of wood carving he had done had been for her." Little Miss never speaks these words aloud, but the audience learns it from the narrator. Also, it is in third-person because the words "you" and "I" are only used in direct quotes from the characters. Also also, the story isn't told from the perspective of one of the characters involved in the story, but rather from a third party who knows everything about them.

Characterization

The story was awash with a healthy mix of both direct and indirect characterization, I think. For instance, on p. 249, the narrator, drawing on Andrew's observations, says "[Merton Mansky] had drawn features and a lined forehead and looked as though he might be younger than he looked." The part about the drawn features and lined forehead are merely observations that lead the reader to conclude that he looks kind of old. The second part, however, is a subjective observation on which the reader can have no comment but to accept it; thus, it is direct characterization. Vital to the story is the progression of Andrew's character as he grows slowly more and more human. In the beginning of the story, Andrew's range of facial expression is almost nonexistent. By chapter fourteen, on page 276, we see Andrew exclaim "Paul!" and have it described as "in concern." Then, by page 22, Andrew smiles as he shakes hands with the President, who declares him "a Bicentennial Man."

Setting

Usually, when I think of setting, I think of place first, and then time as an unimportant secondary element. In "The Bicentennial Man," however, the more important thing to note is that the story is science fiction; it takes place in the somewhat foreseeable but still significantly distant future, when robot technology is taking a leap forward. As far as geographical location, I feel like the main point emphasized is that it did indeed take place on Earth. For instance, on page 256, at the end of chapter 7, it says "[The decision] was eventually upheld by the World Court." Also, the bit in chapter 5 when it describes how "Ma'am had joined an art colony somewhere in Europe, and Miss was a poet in New York" as well as the robot Andrew's emphasis on freedom indicate strongly that the story is set in the United States of America, but not in New York. That Little Miss went there and came back indicates to me that probably, the Martins lived somewhere northeast.

Theme

I think the major theme was that freedom is invaluable, and bigotry is a crime. One sentence that jumped out at me was on page 254: "Freedom is without a price, Sir," said Andrew. "Even the chance of freedom is worth the money." The Court doesn't want to give him freedom, though, because they want to maintain human superiority over robots. Then, when Andrew wants to become a human, they don't want to allow that either. This was because, as stated on page 288, "They cannot tolerate an immortal human being, since their own mortality is endurable only so long as it is universal."

Another item that jumped out at me as a possible minor theme was this: "With great power goes great responsibility." - p. 266

That probably only jumped out at me because either Isaac Asimov or Stan Lee is a plagiarist, but... yeah.

Andrew is freeeeee!

Plagiarism?

All the world's a stage.

I think Miss Brill watched a little too much Toy Story. Necklets don't cry. Although I guess this one did have eyes, which is disturbing to me.

I also think she was projecting. Right there at the end, when she's gone home and passed the baker's because she's sad, she thinks she hears something inside the box crying, but it can't be. She is projecting her sadness onto inanimate objects.

This is somewhat ironic because, from all of her Sunday people watching in the park, she seems to be something of an expert at interpreting people's reactions. She's in denial, however, about her own. It's also possible, though, that she's projecting in the other instances as well because she can never know, for sure, how the strangers in the park actually feel about things, as she never interacts with them.

On a side note, "Brille" means "glasses" in German, but I didn't see any other evidence that led me to believe Miss Brill to be German.

Single malt whiskey

6. Analyze the story's final paragraph in detail. How does it help to elucidate the theme?

The theme I gleaned from this story was that suspicion only breeds more reason for suspicion. When the narrator wakes up in the night, her suspicion of ne'er do wells turns out to be rash and unfounded. In fact, since she lives above a mine, it could be argued that waking up and causing a ruckus actually causes more danger for her.

Similarly, each time the dream sequence characters took action to prevent vandalism or other breaches of security, the attempts to invade their property grew more severe. The final paragraph illustrates the severe injury or possibly death--it's sort of ambiguous--of the story's stock adorable little kid. If the family had shown a little more compassion for the intruders, the tragedy could have been avoided.

The family was really sheltered, too, I think. The mom means well--she wants to help the people, but she doesn't know how. Also, she wants to shield her son from even the worry that his cat might be impaled upon their newly purchased spiraling stabby fence adornment of doom. This could be a call to the audience to just really think through actions before they are taken.

Her eyes were blue with age?

2. Apart from the story's major theme, can you isolate minor themes that help give the story richness and depth? List as many as you can.

I CAN, in fact, isolate minor themes. Although I ought to admit that I do not know what the major theme is, so that might slip in there as well.

In paragraph fourteen, Phoenix says "I wasn't as old as I thought," which creates several possible themes:

- One is capable of anything when one puts one's mind to it. One one one.

- Live life to its fullest. (Or if you're Tim McGraw, live like you were dyin'.)

- You're only as old as you feel.

Then, in paragraph fifty-four, I noted a theme of "What do you do when no one is watching?" Also, age is wisdom. Sometimes.

Also, in paragraph sixty-two, it says "In the paved city, it was Christmas time." That implies that it's only Christmas time for those who are well-off, so I thought there might be a theme of the difficulties of the underprivileged.

Then, in paragraphs sixty-five through sixty-seven, there's some sentiment toward the importance of respect for elders.

And when in paragraph seventy-eight, the medical workers assume Phoenix has come for medical attention for herself, the theme "Don't judge a book by its cover" appears.

Also, after that, the actual nurse arrives and informs her that she can have the medicine as long as she comes for it, and then she gives her a nickel. This is sort of a "Be kind to your neighbor" theme, with a sprinkling of Christmas spirit.

Aaaaand finally, in paragraph one-oh-four, Phoenix informs her audience that she's going to also go fetch a little paper windmill. If that's not dedication/love, I don't know what is.

Country music. Oi vey.

The end of song is raving madness.

6. To what extent is Eveline's refusal to board the ship based on her judgment and will? Has she decided not to go?

I'm fairly certain she neglected to make any such decisions. I would characterize her refusal to board the ship as a paralysis brought on by fear of making the wrong decision.

Near the end of the second paragraph, Eveline says "Everything changes," and I think that's a central theme in the story. She's unhappy with the state of her life, but she's too terrified of change to let it transpire, even when the opportunity presents itself.

I related to Eveline a lot because I'm a veritable indecision addict myself. For example, I've been avoiding deciding between IU and Butler next year because I've assumed I would go to IU all my life like the rest of my family, but Butler, as it turns out, would probably be somewhat more tailored to my interests, but it's also way more expensive. The early action application deadline for Butler was on Monday though, and I didn't ever finish my application, not because I didn't have any time, but just because I was sort of avoiding thinking about it. So I guess I'm going to IU. That makes me sound disappointed, but I'm not actually; I know I like Bloomington.

Let it snow...?

I, like others, would like to point out the humor in the South Park parallels to "Hunters in the Snow." I have actually never seen an episode of South Park--crazy, right? But even I have heard enough to appreciate the similarities when I hear about them.

[I was going to post a link to some South Park mash-ups here, but... having now seen more South Park than I ever have previously, I think... maybe not.]

I really do like how they end up obliviously going the wrong way at the end of the story, though. I felt really awkward throughout most of the reading of that story because the characters just kept being so open, and there was the guy freezing and bleeding and talking to himself in the back of the truck, and.... I suppose getting lost didn't help matters at all, but I still liked it better.

Also, our small group wondered why on earth Tub's parents chose to name him Tub. I mean, we know the author was being clever, but why did he rationalize that his parents would name him that? Or maybe it was a nickname? Whooo knows?

I need some kind of media in order to be content. Ummmm....

I really like Christmas. Also, it was cold in the story.

Mildly Cadaverousness

I'm not sure why anybody does anything in "Bartleby the Scrivener," to be honest, so I'm choosing to answer the question that's entirely opinion-based and personal.

14. Trace your emotional reaction to Bartleby as he is revealed in the story.

My initial reaction was that he was a hard worker and a lot less quirkily annoying than Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut. Also, his name was not as weird as theirs, even though it reminded me vaguely of Beedle the Bard and Rufus Scrimgeour combined.

Then when he started saying he would prefer not to do things, I was startled by the backbone this guy who seemed dead to the world was showing. I mean, on page 660 and at the end of paragraph 110, he is actually described as "mildly cadaverous." How is one "mildly cadaverous"? A cadaver is a dead body. Goodness.

Then he got increasingly creepy, and I stopped liking him altogether and started hoping that everybody else would just evacuate the premises or something and forget about him because he was scary scary scary, and he was probably just creepy enough to end up in my nightmares. I'll keep you posted.

Also, just so everyone knows, I read these things aloud to myself in order to ensure that I don't fall asleep while reading them because I always fall asleep when I read things because I am always sleepy, and I sound really grouchy and am sorry, and now I am hoarse because this story is VERY LONG, and I guess I just admitted that I hadn't read it yet in class today, which is embarrassing but I had read a third of it.... I like long sentences. Only writing them, though. Not reading them. Then I get mad.

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn.

4. Does the mother's refusal to let Dee have the quilts indicate a permanent or temporary change of character? Why has she never done anything like it before? Why does she do it now? What details in the story prepare for and foreshadow this refusal?

I got the impression that the refusal was a temporary change. She seems like a loving mother, in general, and I just don't think she could refuse her daughter forgiveness like that. She wouldn't have done anything like it before because Dee had been away from home for a while, and before she left, she wasn't quite so... pretentious. I use that word a lot. I think it's because anything that gets put under the heading "literature" has a tendency toward that, but that is a generalization, and oh well. Anyway, she did it when she did because she wouldn't stand for Dee/W-thing hurting Maggie, who was always well-mannered and never presumptuous like her older sister.

Some details foreshadowing the refusal include all the accounts by the narrator, who is the mother, of Maggie's more sympathy-inducing qualities. She envisions Maggie's awkwardness upon Dee's arrival and mentions Maggie's burns and her feelings of shame about them repeatedly. These accounts show the mother's protective nature, which wouldn't lend itself to allowing anyone to hurt Maggie, even if Maggie said she wouldn't mind.

Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders.

8. The final plot twist comes in the last two sentences of the story. here the narrator speaks directly to the reader, giving us information the characters don't know. How is this an appropriate conclusion to the story? What final statement does Wolff seem to be making here about his characters?

This is an appropriate conclusion to the story because it confirms what the reader probably already suspects. Although Frank and Kenny and Tub may seem to have changed, their respective epiphanies do not make them dynamic characters. Wolff seems to be telling the reader, "Don't worry. They are all still bumbling idiots. They just feel a lot more content about it now."

I really shouldn't say that about them, as I get lost nearly every time I endeavor to find a new place, but I know I'm a bumbling idiot when it comes to that, so it's okay. Not very Hufflepuff-ish at all. Therefore, what I draw from this story is as follows:

• Frank, Kenny and Tub will use their newfound insights into themselves to make an even greater mess of their lives than they have already made.
• If a friend points a gun at you, don't shoot. Just duck or something.
• Frank and Tub are definitely not Hufflepuffs.

Words.

Heeey, diditwork?

I just typed "letter" into YouTube. That is how I found this song. I had never heard it before ever. That is all.

I am sort of baffled by the question of where to go with this now that I've blogged about all three of the short stories, but I keep coming back to how the first two short stories, "How I Met My Husband" and "Interpreter of Maladies" included the element of waiting for a letter that's never sent.

Is there always just that one letter that somebody expects but never gets? Is that universal? I myself am a compulsive letter writer. Consequently, I can think of multiple occasions on which I have waited on one of those stupid letters from seemingly obscure people, but I didn't realize other people worried about such things. I thought I was just exceedingly neurotic.

But it sounds like Edie waited for that letter from Chris for an awfully long time. I don't think we get a specific time period, but my guess is at least a few months. That's a rather long time to be in denial about such things.

Where are your husbands?

A Rose for Emily

In an interview, Faulkner said that "A Rose for Emily" was a kind of "ghost story." Compare it to other ghost stories you have read.

"A Rose for Emily" reminded me quite a bit of the story of Annie Palmer (who, incidentally, haunts our Band room clock and causes various other types of mischief). Annie, too, got away with murdering her lover--three of them, in fact. Both managed it because they were otherwise relatively alone in the world. Also, they both were the subject of local gossip. Legend has it that Annie still haunts the old plantation, now a tourist site that I visited in Jamaica on the band trip a year-and-a-half ago.

There are some noteworthy differences as well, however. For instance, there is no literal "ghost" in "A Rose for Emily." The story itself is haunting, yes, but neither Emily nor Homer Barron live on as specters. Also, while Annie allegedly killed her husbands out of sheer boredom, Emily poisoned Homer, I suspect, out of a sort of crazed grief. Despite all her best efforts--the monogrammed toilets, the nice clothing--Homer doesn't want to marry her.

It's Wednesday.

Interpreter of Maladies

How does Mr. Kapasi's job as an "interpreter of maladies" relate to the action in this story? Does he have the occasion to use his diagnostic ability in his interactions with the Das family?

Mrs. Das evidently has had a hard time living with this secret about the origin of Bobby festering inside of her. When she learns that Mr. Kapasi is an interpreter, she begins fantasizing, apparently, about telling him her secret, as is evidenced by the following:

"'Tell us a typical situation.' She settled back in her seat, her head tilted in a patch of sun, and closed her eyes. 'I want to picture what happens.'" - p. 153

Mrs. Das is under the impression that she suffers from some sort of figurative malady of the heart, and she thinks Mr. Kapasi will help her out just for kicks. I sort of think this part is satirizing American culture. Early on in the story, the author mentions the tourist maps and cameras that the Das family has brought along with them. Now, he depicts Mrs. Das as self-centered and a little condescending, I think. Although Mrs. Das compliments Mr. Kapasi, going as far as to call his profession as interpreter "romantic," she just assumes he has nothing better to do--would like nothing more, perhaps--than listen to her troubles.

Mail Time

How I Met My Husband

Discuss the effectiveness of the surprise ending. How does Carmichael differ from Chris Watters? Can it be argued that the surprise ending is also inevitable and appropriate?

The surprise ending was effective to an extent.... The story was structured to lead up to that point because we knew from the title that the girl was going to meet her husband. We were deliberately misled by the author, at first, to believe it was going to be Chris Watters. Then, we're introduced to the mailman, and we think, "Well, the pilot guy is gone, so this must be it." We were inevitably going to meet her husband, and it's appropriate that the story is structured in such a way that the story isn't merely what happens in the title. Instead, it becomes a story about overcoming a loss that is difficult to accept and then eventually finding happiness in someone else.

Carmichael is different from Chris Watters in the obvious--that he is a mailman, and Chris is a pilot. But also Carmichael is more proactive in his pursuit of Edie than is Chris. He calls her at the Peebleses' when she stops coming to fetch the mail. Chris, on the other hand, only ever waits around for Edie to come see him, at which point he takes advantage of her naivete, then makes empty promises.

Jennifer DePaolo's birthday is tomorrow.

Heeey, I would like to contradict my previous whiny rhetorical questions about poetic forms in light of this "Lonely Hearts" poem, which rightly has a pattern to it. The repetition of "Can someone make my simple wish come true?" emphasizes the universality of the problem of loneliness. "Do you live in North London? Is it you?" has a similar logic in being repeated. All of the lonely hearts want somebody to love. They're looking for quite different things, but their general purpose is the same.

I don't know exactly why they're all looking for somebody in North London, really, though. I suppose if it's in the "Personals" ads in a newspaper, they would all be from roughly the same area, and thus we must conclude that they are all from London. Famous poets sure do like London a lot. What's up with that?



PS--I think that author lady cheated on the spelling of her name. She's takin' the easy way out.

Edwards are creepy sometimes. Somebody should warn my grandpa.

So I believe the speaker (Q2) of "Edward" is called Edward, and I believe he may have killed his father, who apparently also in some way resembles a roan steed and a hawk, for that's what he says before he finally stops euphemising. If indeed he is euphemising. (<--That is not a real word.) He seems to be speaking to his mother (Q3) and explaining that he's made some bad choices and will be abandoning everyone to flee to safety. She seems disappointed in him. I must admit to finding the meter and overall pattern of this poem rather irritating and confusing. The irritation was a result of the confusion, most likely. I couldn't hear its rhythm in my mind, which bothers me immensely. I guess I typically don't understand the purpose of poetic forms. Who decided they were necessary or even desirable? Whyyyy do it?

"Sweet disorder" is an oxymoron.

I liked this poem, which is neither here nor there, but it's true. I've always found perfection off-putting/intimidating. I like to hear that other people also "delight in disorder."

There were some soft rhymes with which I had some minor qualms.... "There" does not really rhyme well with "stomacher," unless I am mistaken, although I had never even heard the second word before. The diction was pretty sophisticated... more like stereotypical poetry-words than I feel like we've been hearing so far. "Kindles" and "wantonness".... Those are the types of words that Pamela Phillips Oland, author of The Art of Writing Great Lyrics, would call poetry words. If you wouldn't say them in regular conversation, then they're not song lyrics; they're poetry verses.

Do not go gentle into that good night; I dare you to move.

"Villanelle" sounds like... a female villain. Bellatrix Lestrange.

Anyway, that's the pattern at work here--villanelle form. It's five three-line stanzas followed by a sixth four-line stanza, and the last line alternates and repeats, but the last stanza has both of them.

Also, there's some assonance in the second line of the poem, I think, which stuck out to me for some reason. "Old age should burn and rave at close of day." Oh... also, villanelles seem to have rhyming second lines in each stanza, and the first and last lines in the stanzas also rhyme. That's elaborate.

The poem itself is, I think, the speaker imploring a person not to die. "That good night" is a euphemism, then, for death, and "dying of the light" would be the same. The last stanza implies that the speaker is asking his father not to die, which is probably important.

That's quite a bit of figurative language (Q11), really.

Remember that time I was convinced that Dumbledore wasn't dead because he was a phoenix? It's kind of like that.

I'm gonna be honest here. When it said "I have the last unshredded pictures/ of our matching eyes and hair," I wrote "incest?" in my reading journal. I'm still not sure I get it. Why do their eyes and hair match, if they're married?

Wait.... The pieces are falling together, but I don't really want them to fall together like this. My group and another group were both discussing the possibility that perhaps the couple in the poem had to split because they couldn't have children. I don't think this strays from the illustrious Cone Zone, especially if two groups considered the possibility. If they were in an incestuous relationship... children would be something of an unlikelihood, would they not? Perhaps it wasn't a physical impossibility but rather a moral dilemma....

It all seems to fit, but it's a bit odd that Mathis would choose to write a poem about it.

For more information about states' marriage laws... click here.

Timmy Turner is the next Shakespeare. And also John Donne. Both of them.

"The Apparition" is pretty risqué. The speaker addresses a former lover (Q3), and his words are nothing short of threatmantic.

^right episode, wrong excerpt and... voices?

So that's definitely the tone, here. Essentially, the speaker isn't literally dead. Also, he isn't figuratively dead yet. He's trying to threaten this lady into not shunning him because he thinks he will feel dead. Clearly, the logical way to get people to keep you around is to tell them you intend to stand by their bedside and haunt them every night. It also helps if the person to whom you are speaking is convinced that, indeed, their bedmate will be too fatigued to notice your pleas for help and safety.

The ocean is on fire. The sky turned dark again as the boats came in.

The denotative situation of "Crossing the Bar" (Q1) is as follows:

In stanza one, the speaker mentions the sunset and an evening star, which both emerge at the end of a day. I believe this is symbolic of the end of his life. He also hopes to avoid a "moaning of the bar" when he "put[s] out to sea." I think that means he hopes to die a peaceful and brisk death, when the time comes. The "one clear call" for the speaker is perhaps a call to death, or the arrival of "his time."

The second stanza has a similar tone of imminent demise. "But such a tide as moving seems asleep,/ Too full for sound and foam," sounds to me like the notion that the speaker's life is too full. He has used up his life's potential, and he is headed toward the Great Sleep. (heythat'saeuphemism!)

"Twilight and evening bell" in the third stanza have a similar meaning to the "Sunset and evening star" in the first. It means that the onset of death is upon the speaker, and "After that the dark!" which is, again, death. "And may there be no sadness of farewell/ When I embark;" reminded me a lot of the poem "Valediction." They both forbid the audience to feel sad when they "leave," although for entirely different reasons. Personally, that would make me even more panicky-sad, but whatever.

Stanza four is "For though from out our bourne of Time and Place/ The flood may bear me far,/ I hope to see my Pilot face to face/ When I have crossed the bar." I believe this means that the flood, which symbolizes the rushing changes and differences that occur in death, take him far from his earthly "Time and Place," he hopes to see his Pilot, symbolic of God, "face to face." Also, the "bar" he crosses appears to be death, but in the context of the poem, our group decided it was a sandbar, which follows along with the imagery of the sea and foam and sunset mentioned earlier in the poem.

This song is creepy the first twelve or so times you hear it, but it grows on you. On the plus side, there are no dead people in this particular video.

You're in my spot.

Today in class, we-- or roughly fifty percent of "we"-- were asked whether we would feel offended or complimented if somebody recited "My mistress' eyes" for us personally, and I didn't respond because, due to the gelatinous mush of anti-think that was apparently encompassing my brain, I was too slow to decide. But there's definitely something to be said for sincere, trustworthy appreciation, I suppose. Most likely, though, if somebody told me that, I would just wonder, "Why... are you telling me this?"

The question of "tone" has always seemed a little vague to me.... I mean, is satirical a tone? Shakespeare's speaker is satirizing men who write such exaggerated sonnets for their lady-friends, but is that his tone, or is that just the overall subject?

That aside, I think his tone is sort of pompous, in the beginning at least. Then it moves to being a little defensive, maybe, when he says the last three lines. "My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground./ And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare/ As any she belied with false compare."

Crayola washable kids' paint.

The tone of "Much Madness is Divinest Sense" is satirical, methinks. (*points at question eight*) Dickinson isn't really the dry humor sort, though, so it's not a particularly amusing satire, and I think there's some expectation of that in most satire, so I'm conflicted. Her speaker definitely seems to be calling for change, though. She wants to ensure that people don't just blindly accept things. Sense is madness, and the majority is sensible, but she wants to show that the crazy minorityis in the right.

She does recognize the risks involved, though. "Demur--you're straightway dangerous,/ And handled with a chain." Straying from the norm hasn't worked to the advantage of most of our famous examples. They're usually the ones who bring about the big changes that keep our world from plummeting into irrevocable doom, though, so we need those guys.

Some people call that a prayer.

^^Heart-battering? Anyone?

It's a poem of direct address to God!

The primary focus seems to be on paradoxical statements. For instance, the speaker says he'll never be free until God imprisons him. Also, he says he won't be chaste until he's ravished.

Aaaaand there was quite a bit of symbolism. God the Father is the one who knocks and breaks; think flood-the-land, build-an-arc God. The Holy Spirit is the one that breathes and blows because the Holy Spirit is often described like a wind.... Also, God the Son is the shining and burning one because it's a PUN! =D He's the Light of the World and the Son/Sun of God. (That's actually where the date for Christmas originated, indirectly, I believe. The pagans had a feast day for the sun god, and Christians wanted to party too, so they made Christmas to celebrate at the same time for their Son of God. I may have that slightly wrong, as I am remembering it from middle school religion class.)

*FUN Fact* The name N'SYNC comes from one of the members' mother saying the group sounded "in sync." It also includes the last letter of each of the members' first names: JustiN, ChriS, JoeY, Lan(steN), and JC. Yeah, they gave Lance a nickname so it would fit.

But sir, nobody worries about upsetting a droid.

APO 96225

Don't act like that's not the first image that came to mind.

Okay, so my group saw a lot of similarities between this poem and The Things They Carried. It reminded me particularly of Norman Bowker, which is disturbing because of how he ended up. Both stories, though, explain how in the case of Vietnam, people always wanted to know what was going on until they did, and then they wanted to erase it from memory and flee any more discussion on the topic because they just can't handle the truth.

It's the old "story-truth v. happening-truth" coming back to visit again. I think Margaret pointed out that the "It sure rains a lot here" could be symbolic of the raining down of ash from the napalm and whatnot. (#doesn'tknowwhatnapalmisreally) And then the sunrise could be explosions and the funny monkeys... were symbolic of something else... possibly Vietnamese citizens, but that seems messed up.

The speaker utilizes understatement in his letters until he finally gets worn down and tells his mom the truth. Then, in what I believe is situational irony, the dad tells him he's upsetting his mother and to try to be less ominous.

"Someday, I'm gonna be exactly like you. 'Til then I know just what I'll do. Barbie, beautiful Barbie, I'll make believe that I am you."

The central theme (question 7) of "Barbie Doll" was pretty clear. First of all, the dimensions of a Barbie, if she was life-sized, in case you hadn't heard, are as follows:

If Barbie were a real person, she would be 6' 0", weigh 100 lbs., and wear a size 4. Her measurements would be 39"/19"/33".

Thank you, Christian-mommies.com. Woahhh, that's what I get for deciding to link before I realize the web site title's odd.

Piercy's objective was to point out the ridiculous lengths to which pubescent (<--that's right, I said it) girls feel justified in going to meet society's expectations. The girl in that poem commits suicide, and sure, it's an overstatement, but the sentiment is there all the same. That kind of thing happens. That extreme is rare, which is definitely something for which to be thankful, but it shouldn't happen at all.

The last line is particularly poignant: "To every woman a happy ending." Actually, that's verbal irony for sure. She's finally met society's expectations, I suppose, but she's dead, and she most certainly didn't die happily.

Old advertisements are kind of creepy.

Butterfly Shots

This is the part where Emily Dickinson is high on life. That was my first reaction, anyway.

Now's as good a time as any to say that, in response to question two, I kind of feel like the speaker is Emily Dickinson. It's not necessarily the case, but she just doesn't seem the type to write from another's perspective. She was sort of disturbed, I think, and she wrote poetry to express that in a healthy way. That's why I was surprised, though, by the optimistic tone this poetry seemed to take.

I had inferred that life was the never-brewed liquor of which she spoke. Some people said, more specifically, nature, which probably makes more sense but is less relatable, I feel. Most people just don't get that excited about nature, in my experience. I guess Emily Dickinson wasn't "most people."

As my dear friends Kahle and Christian have already pointed out, "Vats upon the Rhine" refer to wine which originates from the vineyards along the Rhine. Rhine wine. Aha. Perhaps, though, she is more excited about the flowing of the Rhine and the blooming/blossoming/whatever-the-grapes-do of the grapes. So the occasion (question four) is just an ordinary day's appreciation of nature.

I guess the theme (question seven) would have to be appreciation of nature and also maybe fear of judgment. Dickinson was agoraphobic by nature, so it's fitting that she mentions the "Saints" running to windows to watch her as she makes something of a fool of herself.

Also, the setting (question five) is outside during the daylight, which we know because of her "Leaning against the--Sun--." I have a severe distaste for her ending of poems with random dashes as though she just gave up on concluding her thoughts. Oh well. I interpreted that to be her sort of final detachment from reality in her never-brewed-liquor-induced tipsiness. It's as though she's falling up against the Sun because the world is spinning all around her.

"I tripped on my shoelace,
And I fell up.
Up to the roof tops,
Up over the town,
Up past the tree tops,
Up over the mountains,
Up where the colors
Blend into the sounds.
But I got me so dizzy
When I looked around,
I got sick to my stomach
And I threw down."

--Shel Silverstein

I prefer cinnamint.

First things first: to "defer" is to put off.

Also, I want to get the "Or crust and sugar over--/like a syrupy sweet?" out of the way while I still have some sense of its meaning. I believe the consensus we reached in class was that the speaker implies a state in which the dream is deferred because it has been "sugarcoated." This barrier of glorified vision is particularly deceptive because of its sweetness. The speaker longs so deeply to fulfill his quest that he gradually loses his faith in his ability to succeed. The dream becomes more and more a dream and less and less an actual goal.

Then, we have the ever-so-redundant similes. "Like a raisin in the sun," "like a sore," "like rotten meat," and "like a syrupy sweet," all modify this deferred dream. It gets old and shrinks. It festers. It encompasses the dreamer's being.

Finally, there's the metaphor: the explosion.

I saw this as the all-or-nothing moment. I think we decided ultimately in class that the clearly-important-because-it's-italicized "Or does it explode?" was an expression of fear that the dream would explode in a whirlwind of violence. After some thought, though, I'm more inclined to believe that it's an expression of a different sort of trepidation. He has that nervous feeling that erupts right before a big event, when one knows he or she is about to become either very happy or very sad. This "explosion" could set things right, or it could prove to be a disaster of epic proportions.

Siriusly (<--Sorry.)

This poem had lots of figurative language, so I'm going to begin by listing and explaining thoooose to get them out of the way.

"No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable," is an example of consonance because of the repetition of the "st-" sound. I have trouble deducing what the express purpose of such language is. I mean... it sounds nice. It's poetry. Ergo, it happens. Am I missing something?

The poem itself is an apostrophe with direct address to the bright star from whence the title originates. It seems to me as though the speaker is trying to rid himself of the burden of his cumbersome thoughts, and since he doesn't want to be talking to himself, he directs his words toward an object which can't judge him. Because of this focal point, however, his poem takes the direction that it does--comparing his own situation to the situation of the star.

Also, "sweet unrest" is evidently a noteworthy oxymoron. I took it to mean that it was sweet because the moment with the two lovebirds is sweet, but the speaker holds a sense of unrest in the idea that someday, it will inevitably end.

This provides a segue into the poem's conclusion, which is full of all kinds of frantic clinging loviness.

The things about the star that the speaker admires are its steadfast and patient nature, and he hopes to steer clear of the star's loneliness and sleeplessness.

*FUN Fact* Sirius, AKA "The Dog Star," is the brightest star in the night sky and part of the constellation Canis Major.

Lawlz....

This poem made me uncomfortable... mostly because I have a cat, and I can relate a liiiittle too well. Actually, I felt like I related a little to well to most of this poem, which makes me uncomfortable because everybody else was like, "Weirdest. Poem. Ever." Peeeeeer preessurrrre!

But who hasn't wanted to stay in bed all day rather than get up in the morning? And who hasn't, upon fighting that first impulse, lazed idly about and eaten random stuff in a pique of self-destruction as they dwelled on the horror that is February? (Well, when you put it that way....)

Then there's the apostrophic moment with the indifferent cat. The speaker wants her cat to get off its pink bumhole and procreate. It's like she thinks of her cat as "one of the lucky ones," almost. I just got that vibe. I didn't see it so much as the speaker's telling herself to hop to it, although that's certainly a possibility. I felt like she was saying, "Cat, I find your behavior annoying as all get-out, but you might as well get on with it. I mean, maybe you can reel in the spring a little faster."

Pink is red mixed with white.

The dog: it's pink because it is BALD! That didn't occur to me until I reread it the next day. I felt oblivious.

Anyway, "Pink Dog" seems to be a social commentary of some sort. Possibly the dogs are representative of prostitutes. Evidence supporting this would be the line inquiring as to the whereabouts of the dog's babies and also the focus on the diseased nature of the dog. It reminded me of "London" in that respect; prostitution was viewed as the greatest problem the city faced.

The poem also seemed to have a somewhat ironic or satirical tone to me. I thought possibly part of the social commentary was intended to point out the superficiality of a society which thinks if one dresses better, he will be better.

Our group also discussed the possibility that the poem took place during Mardi Gras. Evidence to support this includes "Ash Wednesday" and the sambas, which are a type of Brazilian/African dance.

This dog is not the right kind of pink, but there is no denying that it is reallyreallycute.

Residual Nabokov Resentment?

It's a whole new spin on Spring! Huzzah!

It's not really huzzah-worthy, though, because this one is pretty depressing. It's okay, though, because it doesn't feel like poetry to me unless it's depressing. True story.

Anyway, I was intrigued by the fact that the only incontrovertible evidence that the speaker's husband has died is in the title. I wondered if I would have assumed he had died if I hadn't read the title, but now I can never know, because I did read the title--which, by the way, I feel is proof that there is indeed such a thing as reading, so take that, Nabokov.

Now, let's get back to the Spring thing. This time of year is "poignant" because spring is affiliated so closely with new life--blooming, budding trees, resurrection and whatnot. The lady's husband is dead, which is decidedly the opposite of living. Also, this meadow seems to remind her of her husband. For this reason, the son seems to be trying to coerce her into returning there to remember and mourn and move on. When the widow hears this, however, she envisions, rather than a rejuvenation, a sinking into the marsh which, to the reader, feels permanent, as though she might consider her son's advice only to join her husband in death. While the son intends the white trees "in the distance" to inspire a hope for the future, they only seem to further depress his mother.

Hopping.

"Spring" contained some lovely alliteration, which always just makes everything better. We had "long and lovely and lush" weeds in wheels, and there were five consecutive lines that began with the "th-" sound.

Also, there was an allusion to the Garden of Eden, which brings about the whole theme of the poem. Youth is finite; innocence is temporary, as we recall from Adam and Eve's first sin. Likewise, spring doesn't last forever. Winter inevitably arrives.

EB blogged about how the poem reminded her of Easter, and I could see that; I also pointed out that the author's name is Hopkins, which is just a silly coincidence, but nonetheless.... The Garden of Eden is unquestionably religious imagery, as is "heavens" and "sinning" "Christ, lord." "O maid's child" could refer to Jesus, which would make the final stanza an invocation on behalf of the children. The speaker hopes Christ will save the "girl and boy" before they lose their innocence to sin.

Cold

When I read "Those Winter Sundays," I interpreted it as a grown (wo)man looking back on her younger years, spent in a home with chronic apathy-inducing tension. It felt like there was just so much anger that she couldn't muster the strength for reciprocal anger.

The imagery of the poem fits the title; it's wintery. The air is cold and dry, as is the atmosphere. The "fire" image accentuates this, which might be juxtaposition. Also, the fire and the shined shoes point out a second message of the poem. The speaker seems to regret his or her lack of gratitude toward the father figure. This regret combined with the specific mention of Sundays bring to light the possibility of a religious thread. The father could mean the Father, for our gratitude toward Him will always be a little bit insufficient, so regret for this seems logical.

"Immanent" is not a misspelling. I thought it was a misspelling.

"The Convergence of the Twain"--that's the point where two things meet! Thanks, Trevor!

Anyway, the things meeting are almost indisputably the Titanic and the glacier that drowned it. This becomes more evident when one remembers to read the subtitles: "Lines on the loss of the 'Titanic.'" The "vaingloriousness" of the affair is evidenced in the mentioning of such items as mirrors and jewels which have been ravaged by "salamandrine fires."

Also, the "Immanent Will" seems to me like a description of fate. Is it personification if it's capitalized like that? Probably it is not. Similarly, I believe "Spinner of the Years" to be a metaphor-type-thing for God.

The format of this poem was intriguing as well.... Why eleven stanzas, Mr. Hardy?

Ambiguity?

As it turns out, I rather like this poetry. I remember writing my Famous American Day report on Emily Dickinson back in third grade and really wanting to like her poetry. I didn't, though. I also really hated the costume.

Since I'm apparently talking about Emily Dickinson, I'll go ahead and make this post about "I felt a Funeral, in my Brain."

Worth noting is the seemingly random capitalization; actually, she seems to have aimed for nouns, which is oddly German of her. In any case, her perspective, arguably, could be from the casket, or "Box," in question. If one takes that stance, then the funeral is her own. Although I feel that is the most satisfactory interpretation, this site says that she felt traumatized by several deaths which were not her own, which I suppose she might have had trouble removing from her brain.

This ambiguity receives no clarification from the abrupt end. Dickinson seems to either lose her mind or die, mid-thought. The cynic in me also includes the possibility that she merely grew bored or frustrated in the writing of that particular poem and tossed her pen aside. More likely, though, she lost her mind from the mourning for the funeral in her brain--a funeral which was likely a metaphor for the mourning itself rather than a literal funeral, as funerals aren't things to be "felt [in the] brain." If in fact the funeral she imagined was her own, she was already dead, and she can't be expected to die in the writing of this poem. At the same time, though, if she's dead, can we expect her to be watching her own funeral anyway? Well... maybe.

Poetry Interpretation: Hermione v. Luna

Mr. Perrine has expressed the view that some interpretations of poetry are too "far-fetched" to be correct. I won't say that I disagree with that, necessarily. Rather, I would like to refer to this opinion as the "Hermione Viewpoint." Hermione Granger of the Harry Potter series is a terribly intelligent witch; indeed, Sirius Black once calls her the "cleverest witch of [her] age." However, she often finds herself at odds with another witch in the class behind hers who has what I would call a broader range of realities. That witch goes by the name of Luna "Loony" Lovegood, and it is worth noting that she, rather than Hermione, resides in the Ravenclaw dormitories, where "wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," whereas Gryffindors treasure daring, nerve and chivalry. My point is that if there is no way for a poet to describe exactly what he meant without limiting his work, then perhaps the reader should be allowed to interpret it as they see fit, as long as they have ample evidence for their beliefs. If the interpretation is particularly "far-fetched," the interpreter will have to work a bit harder, but that's what makes poetry so interesting, right?

For instance, I "misinterpreted" Melville's poem. I do indeed prefer the "correct" interpretation with the deeper questions and *coughpretentiouscough* metaphors, but why couldn't it simply be a poem about soldiers soldiering? Perrine goes on in his essay to say that William Blake's "The Sick Rose" has a broad base of interpretation. Would my interpretation, then, that the rose is a rosy apple, the worm's dark secret love, be correct? It seems a little ridiculous, in retrospect, which is probably because I did it in the wee hours of the morning, long after I should have been asleep, but it still seems logical enough to me. "The rose must always represent something beautiful or desirable or good. The worm must always be some kind of corrupting agent of youth," says Perrine. Apples are desirable to some people, I suppose, although personally, they make me itchy. Also, a worm is indisputably a worm. I don't know about "corrupting agent of youth;" that seems like sketchy phrasing.

Well Shoot

How do I only have nineteen blog posts for this book?

I think I'll review the book reviews on the back cover.

"The best American writer of his generation."

--San Francisco Examiner

I dunno about that. I'm a pretty big Suzanne Collins fan right now.

"The Things They Carried is as good as any piece of literature can get."

--Chicago Sun-Times

That's pretty good. As soon as a book gets labeled as "literature," I become instantly wary of it. I didn't mind this book, though, and that's as good as it's going to get.

"This is writing so powerful that it steals your breath." --Milwaukee Journal

Definitely it's powerful. It didn't cause me any breathing problems, for which I am thankful.

"Rendered with an evocative, quiet precision, not equaled in the imaginative literature of the American war in Vietnam." --Washington Post

I can't vouch for this one; I'm a Vietnam novel novice.

"You've got to read this book... These stories shine in a strange and opposite direction, moving against the flow, illuminating life's wonder, life's tenuousness, life's importance."

--Dallas Morning News

I have two problems with this decidedly rather eloquent review. First, it doesn't end the first sentence with enough periods. I really think there ought to be four--three to illustrate the ellipsis/trailing off and one to show the end of the sentence. I also don't like that it told me I have to read it. I mean, I don't even live in Dallas.

"A book so searing and immediate you can almost hear the choppers in the background... This is prose headed for the nerve center of what was Vietnam."

--Boston Globe

I am forgiving the three-period thing. Maybe it's a personal preference, but anyway, the consistent three-period-pattern suggests that perhaps that's a Mariner Books influence.

"An ultimate, indelible image of war in our time, and in time to come."

--Los Angeles Times

I guess. I mean, it'll probably stick with me for a while. I won't be around forever, so... "indelible"... maybe not. That's commonplace hyperbole, though, I guess.