“Stop This Train”
Time, one of the only constants in our lives, never seems to work exactly how we want it to. It’s often either too fast or too slow; those in-between moments seem to be the most remembered because they are “just right.”
I walked into AP US History one day, laughing with a close friend, and sat down. Our teacher greeted us and then talked about our homework. Then she stopped, looked around, and allowed a slight smile to creep onto her face. She seemed almost incredulous as she said, “Class, we have seven weeks left of the semester.”
I stopped, drew in a breath. Had I heard her correctly? This is why you need to get more sleep, I said to myself. You’re going crazy.
The rest of the class seemed to have the same reaction as I, in varying intensities. Ms. D nodded, and that same incredulous smile became a proud one.
It’s easy to become concerned when one is given a quantity of something. Seven weeks, forty-nine days total (respectively), thirty-five school days (approximately), 1,176 total hours (roughly). Then another semester, which could move even faster than the last one…summer will follow this, and we all know that summer usually speeds by. And after summer, what happens? We’ll join the ranks of high school students once more (minus a beloved friend, who will have graduated).
“Seems like nothing is black and white anymore/ Shades of grey and I feel a weight over my shoulder/ It’s kind of tough getting older…” (Colbie Caillat)
“Stop this train/ I want to get off and go home again/ I can’t take the speed it’s going in/ I know I can’t/ But honestly, won’t someone stop this train?” (John Mayer)**
“We must use time as a tool, not as a crutch.” (John F. Kennedy)
Needless to say, I felt the full shock of her statement (and perhaps more of a shock than was intended, since I am inclined to sentimentality). To me, the speed at which my life’s train was moving seemed dangerously akin to light speed. And as I know from watching Star Wars IV and V (for the first time) last weekend, there’s no turning back after one reaches light speed.
Time is the problem in this situation. I feel as though I do not have enough of it anymore. (On a quick side note, this is amusing to me because for the first sixteen-or so-years of my life, I was constantly anxious to “get older”).
So what is the solution? As of right now, when this realization is still fresh in my mind, I have determined to make the most of my time left at home, for I know “there is a time for everything” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). No matter how much I want to “stop this train” and freeze time, it will still go at the same speed. I can’t change that, so I need to accept it. (Those of you who know me well must be laughing right now, because you know that I have a difficult time accepting the fact that some things cannot be changed).
“Had a talk with my old man/ Said, ‘help me understand’/ He said ‘turn sixty-eight, you renegotiate/ don’t stop this train/ don’t for a minute change the place you’re in/ and don’t think I couldn’t ever understand…I’ve tried my hand….honestly, we’ll never stop this train.’”
I listened to this (and read the lyrics) and thought that it was something my own dad would say. It’s good advice, however formidable. Plus, the future is still something to look forward to. Just because I don’t want to leave the comfort of the present does not necessarily mean that the future will be awful. “Jesus looked at them and said, 'With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26), and I know he is right. John F. Kennedy (quoted above) is also right: we need to use time as an opportunity.
Remind yourself with me: this train of life is moving at this speed for a reason. God has wonderful things planned for us, each at its appointed time, even though we do not always like that or understand it.
“’Cause now I see, I’ll never stop this train…” (John Mayer)
** I selected this song as the frame of this blog post because it really resonated with me. I do not know what John Mayer is like (what his beliefs are), and I have heard a lot of mixed answers to this question. So here’s my disclaimer: I like the song, and am not familiar enough with the singer to make a decision on that front. Thank you in advance to my readers for understanding this. Here’s the link to the song if you want to listen to it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BTzNX5OMN4
- Jessica S.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Dad's Theory of "The Human Condition"
Reading in Ecclesiastes last night, I came across a verse in chapter five that reminded me of something my dad has often referred to as “the human condition.” He likes to tell me that the suffering, happiness, sadness, joy, etc that all humans have to endure is part of this human condition, this cycle of life that all of humanity observes in some concentration.
“Then I realized,” writes Solomon in verse eighteen, “that it is good and proper for a man to eat and drink, and to find satisfaction in his toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given him- for this is his lot.” I read this and thought of Dad’s theory.
“Why do things happen the way they do, dad?”
“Well dolly, it’s just the raw human condition. We’ve all got our lot, and we need to do what we can to make the best of it.”
An answer like that usually confuses a child, subdues a middle school student, and causes reflection in a teenager. I’ve been reflecting more upon it lately.
Dad’s answer aligns with a poem that I adore by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow; it is called “A Psalm of Life.” One stanza reads “Not enjoyment, and not sorrow/ Is our destined end or way; / But to act, that each tomorrow/ Find us farther than to-day.” I always think of dad when I read this. To me, Longfellow wants us to realize that life is not the same unless it possesses emotion, whether good, bad, or somewhere in between.
Another example that comes to mind is Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley, which I read for Language Arts last year. Although I did not enjoy the book very much, I thought it very effective for this reason. In the novel, the inhabitants of earth do not know what love is. They confuse romantic love with lust, and the notion of a loving family horrifies them. Thus, one of Huxley’s major arguments is that feelings and emotions (in any form) are necessary to a meaningful life.
Of course, Jane Austen has something wise to say upon this subject, and she even takes it a little further. She writes in Mansfield Park that "there will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: we find comfort somewhere." Austen does not only state dad's theory of the human condition, but also declares that we can overcome the "little rubs and disappointments" that it encompasses.
Longfellow’s poem “The Rainy Day” drives this point home. The last stanza says “Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; / Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; / Thy fate is the common fate of all, / Into each life some rain must fall, / Some days must be dark and dreary.”
And so, as one may conclude, this truth is simple. We should all believe it and apply it to our lives. So why do we refuse to do this? Helen Keller knows the answer. She once said that “people do not like to think. If one thinks, one must reach conclusions. Conclusions are not always pleasant.”
And she is correct. The conclusion is that our highs and lows, joys and woes are usually not revolutionary in the grand scheme of things. We are not alone in our suffering, and neither are we solitary in our happiness. All of humanity experiences these things; as dad would say, it is the human condition.
I’m not going to pretend that I like seeing the world this way, because truthfully, it forces me to put life in perspective. When I know that my problems are not as huge as I’d thought they were, I can no longer declare that my suffering is the worst, that I am the only victim. As humans, we like to be the victims because it frees us from blame (at least temporarily). So although I’ve learned this lesson from my dad, and I know it is valuable and true, I won’t always want to apply it to my life. I’m not asking anybody else to do so either. Perhaps together we can take baby steps, accepting that what we must endure (whether pleasant or unpleasant) is what we’re meant to endure, and that it defines us as humans. My hope is that we help each other in this acceptance, so that “each tomorrow fined us farther than to-day.”
Thank you Dad, for helping me grow even when I don’t necessarily want to.
A thought for my readers: what lessons do people or situations teach you?
“Then I realized,” writes Solomon in verse eighteen, “that it is good and proper for a man to eat and drink, and to find satisfaction in his toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given him- for this is his lot.” I read this and thought of Dad’s theory.
“Why do things happen the way they do, dad?”
“Well dolly, it’s just the raw human condition. We’ve all got our lot, and we need to do what we can to make the best of it.”
An answer like that usually confuses a child, subdues a middle school student, and causes reflection in a teenager. I’ve been reflecting more upon it lately.
Dad’s answer aligns with a poem that I adore by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow; it is called “A Psalm of Life.” One stanza reads “Not enjoyment, and not sorrow/ Is our destined end or way; / But to act, that each tomorrow/ Find us farther than to-day.” I always think of dad when I read this. To me, Longfellow wants us to realize that life is not the same unless it possesses emotion, whether good, bad, or somewhere in between.
Another example that comes to mind is Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley, which I read for Language Arts last year. Although I did not enjoy the book very much, I thought it very effective for this reason. In the novel, the inhabitants of earth do not know what love is. They confuse romantic love with lust, and the notion of a loving family horrifies them. Thus, one of Huxley’s major arguments is that feelings and emotions (in any form) are necessary to a meaningful life.
Of course, Jane Austen has something wise to say upon this subject, and she even takes it a little further. She writes in Mansfield Park that "there will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: we find comfort somewhere." Austen does not only state dad's theory of the human condition, but also declares that we can overcome the "little rubs and disappointments" that it encompasses.
Longfellow’s poem “The Rainy Day” drives this point home. The last stanza says “Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; / Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; / Thy fate is the common fate of all, / Into each life some rain must fall, / Some days must be dark and dreary.”
And so, as one may conclude, this truth is simple. We should all believe it and apply it to our lives. So why do we refuse to do this? Helen Keller knows the answer. She once said that “people do not like to think. If one thinks, one must reach conclusions. Conclusions are not always pleasant.”
And she is correct. The conclusion is that our highs and lows, joys and woes are usually not revolutionary in the grand scheme of things. We are not alone in our suffering, and neither are we solitary in our happiness. All of humanity experiences these things; as dad would say, it is the human condition.
I’m not going to pretend that I like seeing the world this way, because truthfully, it forces me to put life in perspective. When I know that my problems are not as huge as I’d thought they were, I can no longer declare that my suffering is the worst, that I am the only victim. As humans, we like to be the victims because it frees us from blame (at least temporarily). So although I’ve learned this lesson from my dad, and I know it is valuable and true, I won’t always want to apply it to my life. I’m not asking anybody else to do so either. Perhaps together we can take baby steps, accepting that what we must endure (whether pleasant or unpleasant) is what we’re meant to endure, and that it defines us as humans. My hope is that we help each other in this acceptance, so that “each tomorrow fined us farther than to-day.”
Thank you Dad, for helping me grow even when I don’t necessarily want to.
A thought for my readers: what lessons do people or situations teach you?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Angels
One of my earliest memories of youth group is hearing our youth minister tell us in no uncertain terms that “when you become a Christian, life doesn’t automatically become easier.” In fact, he used to say with conviction, it often gets harder.
I always used to wonder, “but isn’t that obvious, since life in and of itself is usually hard?”
Now, as I grow older, I realize that what he said was very true. When I became a Christian, my life changed. I had new responsibilities to myself, I had to make more time for reading my Bible and praying regularly. I felt (although this may not be true) like I had a higher moral code to live up to.
And yet, slowly I began seeing how all of my worries, fears, and stress dissolved when I thrust them upon God; the limitless help God offers became known to me, at least partially.
I saw my life through different eyes. Situations turning out for the better, after all of my anxiety about them…were my prayers and the prayers of others able to be so effective? People coming into my life at a time when (although I did not know this) I needed them most. Similarly, people leaving my life at what seemed like the wrong time, and then my later understanding that I had done all I could for them.
When I was a child, sleep evaded me. I hated it and tried every measure I could think of to push it from my life. Why would I want to sleep? What if I missed something important? I also frequently experienced terrible nightmares, so when I was young I was afraid to sleep.
To relax me and coax me into sleeping, my mom would tell me that God sent angels to watch over me each night, and they took turns making sure I was safe. She elaborated about how they looked, talked, everything; then when my dad came in to tuck me in, he and I would say a prayer for all of the “angels” in my life.
I’ve always found it amusing to wonder if some of the people in my life are angels sent to help me through. As I write this, I see how incredibly egotistical I sound, but readers please, bear with me a little longer.
Perhaps it’s just the wonder of God working in my life through people that instilled this notion in my head. Maybe I just like to play Author and give specific purposes to all of the characters in the story of my life. But I have to wonder if those that have helped me the most are really just human beings, like everybody else, or if they are something more.
Life has become hard recently. I thank God that I forwent trying to keep my problems to myself; I immediately told my closest friends and asked them to pray. I utilized every medium possible for this task- phone, Faceboook, texting, and actual face-to-face conversation. The latter has helped me the most. I recently told a few friends about my problem, and as I was standing on the sidewalk, listening to their encouragement and insight, tears discovered that they could flow through my eyes quite easily. These, and all of the others who helped me so far, were my angels. I took notice of how they looked, talked, everything; for a moment, they were there just for me, and I knew that this feeling of complete comfort and safety would not pass. The lyrics of “Lean on Me” rang in my mind, and I felt the burdens of life melt from my shoulders.
Days later, when I am beyond the emotional overflow that I experienced that night, I look back and see how completely God’s presence was in that situation. The Lord had (has) done great things for me, and I am filled with joy. Third Day writes accurately that “I caught a glimpse of Your splendor/ In the corner of my eye/ The most beautiful thing I've ever seen/ And it was like a flash of lightning/ Reflected off the sky/ And I know I'll never be the same…”
Whether they really are angels, or simply wonderful human beings, I do not know. Perhaps Helen Keller is right, saying that “when we do the best that we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.” A close friend once told me that “life isn’t for the faint of heart,” and I know this to be true. But I would also add that life isn’t meant to be endured alone. We need God, and we need those He sends to help us. Life may not become easier when one becomes a Christian, but I know that it opens doors that were otherwise impossible to breach.
And so this is my prayer for the angels in my life: that they realize how important they are in my life, and in the lives of others; that they never lose sight of God and the comfort he provides; and finally, that they ask for help when they need it, so they can experience the feeling of blessed relief that I have.
I always used to wonder, “but isn’t that obvious, since life in and of itself is usually hard?”
Now, as I grow older, I realize that what he said was very true. When I became a Christian, my life changed. I had new responsibilities to myself, I had to make more time for reading my Bible and praying regularly. I felt (although this may not be true) like I had a higher moral code to live up to.
And yet, slowly I began seeing how all of my worries, fears, and stress dissolved when I thrust them upon God; the limitless help God offers became known to me, at least partially.
I saw my life through different eyes. Situations turning out for the better, after all of my anxiety about them…were my prayers and the prayers of others able to be so effective? People coming into my life at a time when (although I did not know this) I needed them most. Similarly, people leaving my life at what seemed like the wrong time, and then my later understanding that I had done all I could for them.
When I was a child, sleep evaded me. I hated it and tried every measure I could think of to push it from my life. Why would I want to sleep? What if I missed something important? I also frequently experienced terrible nightmares, so when I was young I was afraid to sleep.
To relax me and coax me into sleeping, my mom would tell me that God sent angels to watch over me each night, and they took turns making sure I was safe. She elaborated about how they looked, talked, everything; then when my dad came in to tuck me in, he and I would say a prayer for all of the “angels” in my life.
I’ve always found it amusing to wonder if some of the people in my life are angels sent to help me through. As I write this, I see how incredibly egotistical I sound, but readers please, bear with me a little longer.
Perhaps it’s just the wonder of God working in my life through people that instilled this notion in my head. Maybe I just like to play Author and give specific purposes to all of the characters in the story of my life. But I have to wonder if those that have helped me the most are really just human beings, like everybody else, or if they are something more.
Life has become hard recently. I thank God that I forwent trying to keep my problems to myself; I immediately told my closest friends and asked them to pray. I utilized every medium possible for this task- phone, Faceboook, texting, and actual face-to-face conversation. The latter has helped me the most. I recently told a few friends about my problem, and as I was standing on the sidewalk, listening to their encouragement and insight, tears discovered that they could flow through my eyes quite easily. These, and all of the others who helped me so far, were my angels. I took notice of how they looked, talked, everything; for a moment, they were there just for me, and I knew that this feeling of complete comfort and safety would not pass. The lyrics of “Lean on Me” rang in my mind, and I felt the burdens of life melt from my shoulders.
Days later, when I am beyond the emotional overflow that I experienced that night, I look back and see how completely God’s presence was in that situation. The Lord had (has) done great things for me, and I am filled with joy. Third Day writes accurately that “I caught a glimpse of Your splendor/ In the corner of my eye/ The most beautiful thing I've ever seen/ And it was like a flash of lightning/ Reflected off the sky/ And I know I'll never be the same…”
Whether they really are angels, or simply wonderful human beings, I do not know. Perhaps Helen Keller is right, saying that “when we do the best that we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.” A close friend once told me that “life isn’t for the faint of heart,” and I know this to be true. But I would also add that life isn’t meant to be endured alone. We need God, and we need those He sends to help us. Life may not become easier when one becomes a Christian, but I know that it opens doors that were otherwise impossible to breach.
And so this is my prayer for the angels in my life: that they realize how important they are in my life, and in the lives of others; that they never lose sight of God and the comfort he provides; and finally, that they ask for help when they need it, so they can experience the feeling of blessed relief that I have.
Friday, July 31, 2009
The Electronic Age of Deprivation
As I am to leave later this afternoon for California I thought I’d write a blog post before my return, which will inevitably bring last-minute distractions such as homework, meetings, and preparations for school. Time is more fleeting than ever it seems, especially as the summer comes to a close. But that is another subject for another post.
The death of letter-writing as a major form of communication has been sorrowful for me ever since I began watching its decline as a little girl. My grandmother and I have been writing letters to each other for as long as I can remember. She always picked a blank card with pretty designs, or a nice piece of stationary to write upon. Her distinctly twentieth-century script was a puzzle for me, fascinating in and of itself; I put conscious effort towards focusing on the sentences, because I was unused to seeing any style except print, and they were sometimes difficult to decipher. Anything and everything could be discussed in a letter, and I spent hours deliberating over what I would say. I had to afford her as much clarity as I could, because with letters one cannot ask for explanation except in the next letter. She took to sending me newspaper clippings of stories or advertisements that she thought I might enjoy reading; perhaps this contributes to my love of newspapers/magazines, etc,. Saving her letters and reading them over again is definitely one of the largest reasons why I mourn the quick dissolution of letter-writing. Why not take these treasures out again on a rainy day, when a bright bit of sunshine is imperative to getting through the storm?
I woke up at five o’clock this morning to go out to breakfast with my mom and brother, since this is the last time I will see my mom for about a week. For whatever reason I could not go back to sleep once I returned, so I loaded in the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice in the DVD player. To those of you who haven’t seen it or read the book, you should! And also, I promise I will not spoil things for you. All I mean to accomplish by this seemingly irrelevant side note is to remark that in that era, writing letters was more than a form of communication. It was our Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter. It was the only chance to record one’s feelings down on paper, on something palpable that could be passed around or announced to family and friends. Letters could convey deep sentiments to a close companion, or confuse others with vague statements and clever word choice. Of course they had their cons; information was not received immediately, which made emergencies far more anxiety-ridden. Shortages of paper, ink, or time could also pose some challenges for the writer. But in my mind, the benefits of these letters were far more important than the implications of them. As with my grandmother’s letters, they were a surprise to read. Unlike emails or texts, each one could be different and special.
It is entirely possible, given the hour of my rising this morning, that I am run away with my sentiments about letters. I’m not afraid to admit this to my readers, but I do believe that my case is valid. Call letter-writing an art form, a diverse and interesting form of communication, or a valued element of history. Whatever name it goes by, I hope this practice is at least partially revived, so my children can experience this same wonder throughout their lives.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Fantasy That Held My Attention
As a rule, I have distanced myself from the fantasy genre, mostly because I have not read very many fantasy books that caught (and held) my interest. The plots seemed to all run together; no longer could I distinguish the books as individuals. Also, the epic heroes/heroines seemed far from characters that I could relate to and “root for.” While usually well-written and intelligent, I opted instead for classic fiction, where I could be assured diversity.
So, when recommended that I read The Diamond Throne by David Eddings, I had my doubts about whether it would be worth my time. I had similar feelings about the first book of the Twilight series, by Stephanie Meyer, which was recommended to me as well.
Why did they hold my attention?
However, both of these disproved my reservations about fantasy books. They shared, I discovered, four distinct elements that other fantasy books lacked: suspense, likeable characters, frequent and major plot changes, and frequent changes of setting.
Suspense is crucial to many stories, and especially to those in the fantasy genre. It helps set the tone and mood, so that the reader can vividly feel the tension that the characters are experiencing. In The Diamond Throne, Eddings uses suspense very often, and the pace of the novel rapidly increases as the story continues. Similarly, in Meyer’s novel, suspense creates a haunting feel, as though the situations will be disrupted at any moment. Both of these help the reader feel as though a sense of extreme imminence exists.
In my experience, classic fiction novels (such as those of Austen, Dickens, and Forster) largely rely upon likeable characters. The protagonists of these antique treasures stay with the reader long after the last page has been absorbed, because they are relatable. The reader has compassion upon them, and wants them to succeed in everything. Sometimes, these characters feel like actual people, and a sort of friendship begins between the reader and the character. The fantasy genre has led me to many characters that are too perfect; perhaps I simply have bad luck in selecting books in this genre, but either way, I am left unsatisfied. In both Eddings’ and Meyer’s books, though, I met characters who I have come to care very much about. Whether I am worried over the welfare of Sparhawk and Sephrenia, or I share deep sympathy for Bella Swan, the characters seem like real people with real flaws. I berate them for their mistakes and I rejoice in their triumphs. I can easily see their personalities staying in my mind for years to come.
Nobody who knows me well can misunderstand me when I state that Jane Austen in my favorite author. However, I have noticed that her novels lack the constant plot changes that fantasy books offer. As opposed to lengthy, deep intellectual commentary (common in Austen’s novels), fantasy books regularly introduce major plot changes that keep the story moving. I have heard fantasy dubbed “light reading” because it is mostly devoid of the themes/assertions that make books weigh heavily upon the mind. Instead of dwelling upon a few cumulative circumstances, these books are always initiating new developments; instead of trying to prove a larger truth, they are telling a tale. In both The Diamond Throne and Twilight, swift plot change is normal. Therefore, the reader seldom finds his or her self wishing that some parts are omitted; in this case, the books can even end too suddenly.
Classic fiction can be known for its detailed descriptions of setting. In fantasy books, however, setting change is also quite frequent. I believe that this compensates for the lack of commentary; it varies the content of the book. Since fantasy is usually composed of dialogue and plot development, the setting descriptions (though they may be brief) offer a contrast for the reader. When reading about a new setting the reader can take a break from the circumstances and happenings in the characters lives, and simply breathe. Thus the contrast is a welcome one.
I think these four central elements contributed to my overall pleasure in reading The Diamond Throne and Twilight. Without them, they would be like the other fantasy novels I’ve read: dull and predictable.
While these books were not perfect, I definitely enjoyed them and believe they were worth my time. I found myself upset when they ended, because they each belong to a series, and I didn’t have the next book readily available for either. For other bibliophiles like myself, who especially enjoy classic literature, I would recommend trying a fantasy book or two. The chances are high that they will surpass your expectations.
So, when recommended that I read The Diamond Throne by David Eddings, I had my doubts about whether it would be worth my time. I had similar feelings about the first book of the Twilight series, by Stephanie Meyer, which was recommended to me as well.
Why did they hold my attention?
However, both of these disproved my reservations about fantasy books. They shared, I discovered, four distinct elements that other fantasy books lacked: suspense, likeable characters, frequent and major plot changes, and frequent changes of setting.
Suspense is crucial to many stories, and especially to those in the fantasy genre. It helps set the tone and mood, so that the reader can vividly feel the tension that the characters are experiencing. In The Diamond Throne, Eddings uses suspense very often, and the pace of the novel rapidly increases as the story continues. Similarly, in Meyer’s novel, suspense creates a haunting feel, as though the situations will be disrupted at any moment. Both of these help the reader feel as though a sense of extreme imminence exists.
In my experience, classic fiction novels (such as those of Austen, Dickens, and Forster) largely rely upon likeable characters. The protagonists of these antique treasures stay with the reader long after the last page has been absorbed, because they are relatable. The reader has compassion upon them, and wants them to succeed in everything. Sometimes, these characters feel like actual people, and a sort of friendship begins between the reader and the character. The fantasy genre has led me to many characters that are too perfect; perhaps I simply have bad luck in selecting books in this genre, but either way, I am left unsatisfied. In both Eddings’ and Meyer’s books, though, I met characters who I have come to care very much about. Whether I am worried over the welfare of Sparhawk and Sephrenia, or I share deep sympathy for Bella Swan, the characters seem like real people with real flaws. I berate them for their mistakes and I rejoice in their triumphs. I can easily see their personalities staying in my mind for years to come.
Nobody who knows me well can misunderstand me when I state that Jane Austen in my favorite author. However, I have noticed that her novels lack the constant plot changes that fantasy books offer. As opposed to lengthy, deep intellectual commentary (common in Austen’s novels), fantasy books regularly introduce major plot changes that keep the story moving. I have heard fantasy dubbed “light reading” because it is mostly devoid of the themes/assertions that make books weigh heavily upon the mind. Instead of dwelling upon a few cumulative circumstances, these books are always initiating new developments; instead of trying to prove a larger truth, they are telling a tale. In both The Diamond Throne and Twilight, swift plot change is normal. Therefore, the reader seldom finds his or her self wishing that some parts are omitted; in this case, the books can even end too suddenly.
Classic fiction can be known for its detailed descriptions of setting. In fantasy books, however, setting change is also quite frequent. I believe that this compensates for the lack of commentary; it varies the content of the book. Since fantasy is usually composed of dialogue and plot development, the setting descriptions (though they may be brief) offer a contrast for the reader. When reading about a new setting the reader can take a break from the circumstances and happenings in the characters lives, and simply breathe. Thus the contrast is a welcome one.
I think these four central elements contributed to my overall pleasure in reading The Diamond Throne and Twilight. Without them, they would be like the other fantasy novels I’ve read: dull and predictable.
While these books were not perfect, I definitely enjoyed them and believe they were worth my time. I found myself upset when they ended, because they each belong to a series, and I didn’t have the next book readily available for either. For other bibliophiles like myself, who especially enjoy classic literature, I would recommend trying a fantasy book or two. The chances are high that they will surpass your expectations.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Five Reasons Readers Love Francie Nolan
Francie Nolan, the child protagonist of Betty Smith’s classic, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, has been beloved by readers since the novel debuted in 1943.
For over sixty years, this “imaginative, alert, resourceful child” has captured the hearts of every person who gets to know her. I finished Book One of the novel, and I have easily found five concrete reasons to adore this admirable heroine.
1. She is an avid reader, and a proud bibliophile. Francie anticipates Saturdays for many reasons, especially since on that day she checks out two books from the local library. “The library was an old shabby place," Smith writes, but “Francie thought it was beautiful” (20). Smith explains that Francie thinks the library contains every book ever written, and Francie intends to read every book the library can offer her. As any serious reader would do, Francie begins her literary quest at the A’s, and works her way down from there. The journey is long, and “she had to admit that some of the B’s had been hard going. But Francie was a reader” (20), and she would not be stopped. Such commitment to and love of reading is exceptional in one so young.
2. She is an obedient daughter and a generally complaisant person. Personally, I am amazed that Francie is so agreeable when I look at her childhood in poverty-stricken Brooklyn. Francie always obeys her mother, working hard to please others. Her father, Johnny Nolan, is introduced to the reader in Book One. Smith says that “his children did not know that they were supposed to be ashamed of him” (32), but that Francie adores her father. As he catches a trolley to go to a job, instances which are few and far between for the alchoholic Johnny Nolan, Francie thinks that “no man had ever looked so gallant as her father” (36). Reason tells us that she has evidence enough to question her father’s behavior. But she doesn’t think of him any differently; instead, this respectful child loves her father unconditionally.
3. She has the ability to bear annoying situations/people. On Saturday, the subject of most of Book One’s chapters, Francie must complete many errands for her mother, and these try her patience. For example, in chapter one, her mother sends her to get the week’s bread from Losher’s. There, she observes a poor elderly man, and panics when she realizes that one day she will be old too. Smith details Francie’s childish fear of growing old, but the reader sympathizes with the poor girl nonetheless. She also has to deal with being teased by hypocritical boys in the morning, fighting over bread with another girl at Losher's, being cursed at by one butcher, and having to withstand the horrible puns of another butcher.
4. She is determined to be content. Francie is a dreamer, like her father, and she has goals that she wants to reach. But she also finds ways to make herself content, even when everything seems to be coming apart. She has a routine for reading, which makes her happy; she reads one book per day, and treats herself to two on Saturday. When “nothing tasted good” to Francie, “that was big pickle time” (43). On those days, she takes a penny to buy a pickle, which she doesn’t actually eat. Instead, Francie just enjoys the juice and nibbles on it. She realizes how valuable time with her family is, and loves listening to her parents’ voices at night. Francie’s determination to live a contented life symbolizes the Tree of Heaven that Smith describes in the first chapter: “no matter where its seed fell, it made a tree which struggled to reach the sky…the Tree of Heaven flourished” (3,4).
5. She has a sense of humor. Whether unconsciously or not, Francie’s sense of humor manifests itself in her thoughts and words. A product of the stereotypical Brooklyn childhood, Francie has familiar notions about others that she regards as legitimate aphorisms. She thinks about the differences between her neighbor, Flossie, and her Aunt Sissy in regards to men: “the difference was that Flossie Gladis was starved about men and Sissy was healthily hungry about them. And what a difference that made” (28). Through Francie’s visits to see Flossie’s dancing costumes, Smith shows a comical truth, that “poor people have a great passion for huge quantities of things” (39). Francie remembers her thoughts about old age (see reason number three), and regards the poor, old man at Losher's as having “obscene feet” (41). Her ways of thinking make readers laugh, and they are cleverly mixed with Smith’s penetrating realities about life in early twentieth-century Brooklyn.
For over sixty years, this “imaginative, alert, resourceful child” has captured the hearts of every person who gets to know her. I finished Book One of the novel, and I have easily found five concrete reasons to adore this admirable heroine.
1. She is an avid reader, and a proud bibliophile. Francie anticipates Saturdays for many reasons, especially since on that day she checks out two books from the local library. “The library was an old shabby place," Smith writes, but “Francie thought it was beautiful” (20). Smith explains that Francie thinks the library contains every book ever written, and Francie intends to read every book the library can offer her. As any serious reader would do, Francie begins her literary quest at the A’s, and works her way down from there. The journey is long, and “she had to admit that some of the B’s had been hard going. But Francie was a reader” (20), and she would not be stopped. Such commitment to and love of reading is exceptional in one so young.
2. She is an obedient daughter and a generally complaisant person. Personally, I am amazed that Francie is so agreeable when I look at her childhood in poverty-stricken Brooklyn. Francie always obeys her mother, working hard to please others. Her father, Johnny Nolan, is introduced to the reader in Book One. Smith says that “his children did not know that they were supposed to be ashamed of him” (32), but that Francie adores her father. As he catches a trolley to go to a job, instances which are few and far between for the alchoholic Johnny Nolan, Francie thinks that “no man had ever looked so gallant as her father” (36). Reason tells us that she has evidence enough to question her father’s behavior. But she doesn’t think of him any differently; instead, this respectful child loves her father unconditionally.
3. She has the ability to bear annoying situations/people. On Saturday, the subject of most of Book One’s chapters, Francie must complete many errands for her mother, and these try her patience. For example, in chapter one, her mother sends her to get the week’s bread from Losher’s. There, she observes a poor elderly man, and panics when she realizes that one day she will be old too. Smith details Francie’s childish fear of growing old, but the reader sympathizes with the poor girl nonetheless. She also has to deal with being teased by hypocritical boys in the morning, fighting over bread with another girl at Losher's, being cursed at by one butcher, and having to withstand the horrible puns of another butcher.
4. She is determined to be content. Francie is a dreamer, like her father, and she has goals that she wants to reach. But she also finds ways to make herself content, even when everything seems to be coming apart. She has a routine for reading, which makes her happy; she reads one book per day, and treats herself to two on Saturday. When “nothing tasted good” to Francie, “that was big pickle time” (43). On those days, she takes a penny to buy a pickle, which she doesn’t actually eat. Instead, Francie just enjoys the juice and nibbles on it. She realizes how valuable time with her family is, and loves listening to her parents’ voices at night. Francie’s determination to live a contented life symbolizes the Tree of Heaven that Smith describes in the first chapter: “no matter where its seed fell, it made a tree which struggled to reach the sky…the Tree of Heaven flourished” (3,4).
5. She has a sense of humor. Whether unconsciously or not, Francie’s sense of humor manifests itself in her thoughts and words. A product of the stereotypical Brooklyn childhood, Francie has familiar notions about others that she regards as legitimate aphorisms. She thinks about the differences between her neighbor, Flossie, and her Aunt Sissy in regards to men: “the difference was that Flossie Gladis was starved about men and Sissy was healthily hungry about them. And what a difference that made” (28). Through Francie’s visits to see Flossie’s dancing costumes, Smith shows a comical truth, that “poor people have a great passion for huge quantities of things” (39). Francie remembers her thoughts about old age (see reason number three), and regards the poor, old man at Losher's as having “obscene feet” (41). Her ways of thinking make readers laugh, and they are cleverly mixed with Smith’s penetrating realities about life in early twentieth-century Brooklyn.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Dissatisfaction with Where Angels Fear to Tread
I hate to give a book an unsatisfactory rating, but after reading Where Angels Fear to Tread I have concluded that it is not the best of E.M. Forster's works.
As I was reading the first half of the novel, I did not know what to make of the main character, Lilia. She seemed foolish and flightly, impulsive and ignorant. I was not quite able to sympathize with her, because I felt she had brought her unhappy marriage upon herself. I was not angry with her character either; honestly, I didn't really understand why she was a main character at all. Interestingly enough, she died in childbirth before I could really form any solid opinions. This event puzzled me more exceedingly, however; what was Forster's motive behind the new main character, Philip Herriton? Philip was indifferent to the world, it seemed. He didn't take chances, and he always expected to fail because he never tried. Forster suggests that he did this to avoid pain and disappointment, but these conclusions were told to the reader by the character himself; there was little room to infer for oneself. I did like Philip much more than Lilia, because he was a relatable character and I had the pleasure of watching him change and develop throughout the novel.
Still, Philip did not really engage my attention until I read of his interest in Caroline Abbott, whom I believed had great potential as a character. I witnessed Philip's subtle observations of Caroline's character, and hoped that the novel would redeem itself by seeing them married. Perhaps Caroline would change Philip, I thought. Maybe he would become a more likeable, passionate character instead of the uninterested, apathetic man he was so far.
I read of these people's troubles, their thoughts, and their hopes (or at least Philips'). I laughed at the absurdity of Philip's ridiculous, unreasonable sister, Harriet. I hoped that the few touching moments between Philip and Caroline would amount to something, and found myself beginning to expect a happy, tolerable ending.
BAM! Forster surprised me, which is not uncommon of him. I read plenty of surprises in one of his other novels, A Room With A View, and I really enjoyed them. This surprise, however, had not the same effect. Instead of love between the admirable Caroline and the impressively changed Philip, as I had hoped (and expected), I read the last two pages and found that Caroline was in love with somebody else.
The reasons Forster gave for this unlikely attraction are unclear to me. As I am a girl, I know how often we can fall for someone based on appearances, assertions, or other equally silly "reasons." But this was absolutely irksome. Forster had taken the pains of making Philip a character worthy of Caroline, and then decided his reader must be content with the fact that he (Philip) was still not passionate enough to attract her.
Although I think E.M. Forster an excellent writer, his first novel did not satisfy me. I didn't follow many of his conclusions, and those that I understood were explicit rather than implicit. I think Forster could have justified his reasons for the ending, but only if he had explained his motives more completely and provided more background information. My copy is only 117 pages, and I think a good story could have been made if the quantity and (sadly) quality was increased.
So, for those who have read the book: what do you think? Did you feel as if Forster explained himself fully? Of the two novels, (A Room With A View and Where Angels Fear to Tread) which did you like better?
For those who haven't read the book: Why do you think authors fail to explain their motives to the readers? Is it easier to "tell" the reader something than to "show" it to them? Can books still be successes if they rely more on telling than showing?
As I was reading the first half of the novel, I did not know what to make of the main character, Lilia. She seemed foolish and flightly, impulsive and ignorant. I was not quite able to sympathize with her, because I felt she had brought her unhappy marriage upon herself. I was not angry with her character either; honestly, I didn't really understand why she was a main character at all. Interestingly enough, she died in childbirth before I could really form any solid opinions. This event puzzled me more exceedingly, however; what was Forster's motive behind the new main character, Philip Herriton? Philip was indifferent to the world, it seemed. He didn't take chances, and he always expected to fail because he never tried. Forster suggests that he did this to avoid pain and disappointment, but these conclusions were told to the reader by the character himself; there was little room to infer for oneself. I did like Philip much more than Lilia, because he was a relatable character and I had the pleasure of watching him change and develop throughout the novel.
Still, Philip did not really engage my attention until I read of his interest in Caroline Abbott, whom I believed had great potential as a character. I witnessed Philip's subtle observations of Caroline's character, and hoped that the novel would redeem itself by seeing them married. Perhaps Caroline would change Philip, I thought. Maybe he would become a more likeable, passionate character instead of the uninterested, apathetic man he was so far.
I read of these people's troubles, their thoughts, and their hopes (or at least Philips'). I laughed at the absurdity of Philip's ridiculous, unreasonable sister, Harriet. I hoped that the few touching moments between Philip and Caroline would amount to something, and found myself beginning to expect a happy, tolerable ending.
BAM! Forster surprised me, which is not uncommon of him. I read plenty of surprises in one of his other novels, A Room With A View, and I really enjoyed them. This surprise, however, had not the same effect. Instead of love between the admirable Caroline and the impressively changed Philip, as I had hoped (and expected), I read the last two pages and found that Caroline was in love with somebody else.
The reasons Forster gave for this unlikely attraction are unclear to me. As I am a girl, I know how often we can fall for someone based on appearances, assertions, or other equally silly "reasons." But this was absolutely irksome. Forster had taken the pains of making Philip a character worthy of Caroline, and then decided his reader must be content with the fact that he (Philip) was still not passionate enough to attract her.
Although I think E.M. Forster an excellent writer, his first novel did not satisfy me. I didn't follow many of his conclusions, and those that I understood were explicit rather than implicit. I think Forster could have justified his reasons for the ending, but only if he had explained his motives more completely and provided more background information. My copy is only 117 pages, and I think a good story could have been made if the quantity and (sadly) quality was increased.
So, for those who have read the book: what do you think? Did you feel as if Forster explained himself fully? Of the two novels, (A Room With A View and Where Angels Fear to Tread) which did you like better?
For those who haven't read the book: Why do you think authors fail to explain their motives to the readers? Is it easier to "tell" the reader something than to "show" it to them? Can books still be successes if they rely more on telling than showing?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Frankenstein's Theme of the Consequences of Carelessness and Cruelty
Mary Shelley's Frankenstein overflows with profound themes that force the reader to second-guess the compassion often attributed to humanity. Indeed, one of the major themes of the novel is the inevitable, often terrible, consequence of carelessness and cruelty.
"Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me." Doctor Frankenstein, about whom the book mostly revolves, believed these thoughts as a young scientist, dreaming of discovering the means of giving inanimate matter life. No thoughts of the doctor's are spent upon the effects of his future success; he sees no possibility of danger or error. The reader wonders: does the doctor ever consider, while he is making the monster, to make it beautiful instead of ugly? Is he so blinded by the prospect of fame that he fails to notice the need for improvement upon a "sight tremendous and abhorred?"
Merriam Webster defines carelessness as "a free from care; untroubled; indifferent; unconcerned; not taking care." It is quite a pity that the doctor was so utterly unconcerned with consequences that he neglected to construct a creature that would be accepted by the human race. Because as much as we would all love to deny it, humanity is generally incredibly vain. Reading Frankenstein has compelled me to believe that vanity is one of humanity's greatest flaws. Hardly do moderately ugly things (or persons) become accepted; imagine how awful it was for the monster to be considered the most detestable, grotesque creature ever shunned by humanity. His heartbreak must have been unbearable. If Dr. Frankenstein had thought beyond his ambitions of fame and recognition to provide for the life he was creating, the novel's central conflict, that of the monster's unparalleled loneliness because of his appearance, would not have existed.
Cruelty follows the creation of the monster almost immediately, and many may assert that the act of creation was cruel as well., since the monster was created without regard to its future happiness. From the monster's narrative, we learn many of the details of his early life. He learns to adore the DeLacey family; yes, the doctor (and the reader) realizes, this creature has the capacity to love. Yet he is met with extreme cruelty, even from these supposed "best" of people. They enter the house and find him gruesome and threatening, rejecting him violently. Here Shelley makes us wonder whether the monster's later vicious crimes (the murders of William, Clerval, and Elizabeth and the framing of Justine) are somewhat understandable. Murder is never the right option, but after the DeLaceys cast him off as detestable scum, one can only imagine that he will be angry. His anger is justified to many readers, although his outlet for this anger (murder) is not.
So my question to the reader (of Frankenstein and of this humble blog post) is this: are these crimes equally terrible? Carelessness created a monster who was hated by those he loved, as well as his creator. Cruelty fueled the monster's anger towards humanity, and perhaps played a part in his impulsive birth.
What do you think? Comments are welcome!
"Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me." Doctor Frankenstein, about whom the book mostly revolves, believed these thoughts as a young scientist, dreaming of discovering the means of giving inanimate matter life. No thoughts of the doctor's are spent upon the effects of his future success; he sees no possibility of danger or error. The reader wonders: does the doctor ever consider, while he is making the monster, to make it beautiful instead of ugly? Is he so blinded by the prospect of fame that he fails to notice the need for improvement upon a "sight tremendous and abhorred?"
Merriam Webster defines carelessness as "a free from care; untroubled; indifferent; unconcerned; not taking care." It is quite a pity that the doctor was so utterly unconcerned with consequences that he neglected to construct a creature that would be accepted by the human race. Because as much as we would all love to deny it, humanity is generally incredibly vain. Reading Frankenstein has compelled me to believe that vanity is one of humanity's greatest flaws. Hardly do moderately ugly things (or persons) become accepted; imagine how awful it was for the monster to be considered the most detestable, grotesque creature ever shunned by humanity. His heartbreak must have been unbearable. If Dr. Frankenstein had thought beyond his ambitions of fame and recognition to provide for the life he was creating, the novel's central conflict, that of the monster's unparalleled loneliness because of his appearance, would not have existed.
Cruelty follows the creation of the monster almost immediately, and many may assert that the act of creation was cruel as well., since the monster was created without regard to its future happiness. From the monster's narrative, we learn many of the details of his early life. He learns to adore the DeLacey family; yes, the doctor (and the reader) realizes, this creature has the capacity to love. Yet he is met with extreme cruelty, even from these supposed "best" of people. They enter the house and find him gruesome and threatening, rejecting him violently. Here Shelley makes us wonder whether the monster's later vicious crimes (the murders of William, Clerval, and Elizabeth and the framing of Justine) are somewhat understandable. Murder is never the right option, but after the DeLaceys cast him off as detestable scum, one can only imagine that he will be angry. His anger is justified to many readers, although his outlet for this anger (murder) is not.
So my question to the reader (of Frankenstein and of this humble blog post) is this: are these crimes equally terrible? Carelessness created a monster who was hated by those he loved, as well as his creator. Cruelty fueled the monster's anger towards humanity, and perhaps played a part in his impulsive birth.
What do you think? Comments are welcome!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Potential Summer Blog/ My First Post!
I was geniunely disappointed when I discovered the lack of summer AP English homework. I had looked forward to writing essays, answering questions, and analyzing literature in preparation for the class next year. The homework, however, is limited to reading two books, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Into the Wild. No summaries, notes, or essays are required. In the wake of this blow, I thought I'd look into creating some type of weekly online blog (hopefully on Facebook, which most of my friends and family use) so that I could practice my writing over the summer. I'm still debating this, as I have a long list of books that I plan on reading, and I want to start studying for the SAT this summer. I also quite enjoy sleeping :-) Since I'm new to "blogging," the question remains in my mind: what exactly is the purpose of a blog?
In pursuit of the answer, I looked up "blog" in the dictionary, and my results are as follows:
n. A weblog.intr.v. blogged, blog·ging, blogs
To write entries in, add material to, or maintain a weblog.[(we)blog.]blog·ger n.
Perhaps it is unusual for a blogger to ask questions of her readers, but in the spirit of individuality I will anyways. Should I start a weekly summer blog?
In pursuit of the answer, I looked up "blog" in the dictionary, and my results are as follows:
n. A weblog.intr.v. blogged, blog·ging, blogs
To write entries in, add material to, or maintain a weblog.[(we)blog.]blog·ger n.
Perhaps it is unusual for a blogger to ask questions of her readers, but in the spirit of individuality I will anyways. Should I start a weekly summer blog?
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