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.

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.

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.

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?

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!

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?