Julie Anne Peters’ novel Luna completely blew me away! I was curious to see how she would broach such a controversial topic with both sensitivity and insight and she exceeded my expectations. The book not only allowed readers to see a transgender teenager for who she really was but also to sympathize with the difficulties such a young person would—and do—face. I thought the entire novel was well written and if it helped me to understand the trials of being a transgender individual, then I think it could help others do the same.
I thought Peters’ choice of narrator for Luna was the perfect fit. Regan is the sole confidant for Liam (aka, Luna). She does the best she can to protect her sister and works hard to ensure that she is safe both at home and out in public. The secret creates a very special bond between them. By using Regan as the narrator, Peters is not trying to understand the emotions of someone who feels they were given the wrong body; instead, she is presenting the struggles through the eyes of a caring and understanding relation. Another important aspect in creating this narrator is the ability to illustrate the effects Liam’s transgender beliefs on family and friends in a more explicit way.
Both Liam and Regan have their own struggles in life. Liam is living a lie and Regan is not even really living. Each of them is hiding who they really are and neither of them believes that they are worth much in the world. Liam is Luna’s “Boy role” (6) and Regan has an “invisibility shield” (25) that she employs. Regan notes, “We were both disembodied hollows” (25). The difference between them is that Liam is willing to put Luna out there and Regan is forcibly dragged out into the real world. Fortunately, both of them find someone who is able to coax them forward and help them with the transition from their hidden lives—Teri Lynn and Chris.
Teri Lynn is the inspiration and motivating force for Liam to become Luna permanently to all those around her. The pain this causes Luna and Regan is immense. Luna struggles with ridicule and disgust from those around her while Regan must deal with both the reactions of others and the strain those reactions place on her life as well as her sisters. She has to deal with the embarrassment and uncertainty of how others will treat her because of Luna. I thought it was great to see the excitement and transformation of Luna after finding and communicating with Teri Lynn. It only serves to emphasize the importance of community and belonging; once Luna has someone with whom she can belong, her life opens up and she is confident enough to announce herself to the world.
Chris was perhaps my favorite character in the novel--Luna and Regan were great but Chris was hilarious. He was sincere and charmingly clumsy. I was nervous that he would end up hurting Regan in some way, but I was relieved when he ended up being someone that Regan could trust and turn to. Although she doesn’t feel comfortable with him or talking to him about the tangled circumstances of her life, he teaches her to put down her invisibility shield and branch out. Together they are an awkward mess, but somehow they work things out. The two of them had me laughing out loud throughout the entire book and I could sympathize with their teenage behavior.
The most fascinating part of the story was the tenuous yet indestructible relationship between Luna and Regan. Regan both loves and loathes her brother in a typical teenage angst-filled passion. Regan claims, “It’s always about my brother. My brother was a black hole in my universe. He was sucking the life right out of me” (117). A short time later, she remembers that he saved her from being abducted by a stranger, “Liam’s so needy now, I thought, I’m forgetting all the times I needed him. He’s always been there for me. Always” (128). She feels used and then she feels it is her duty to protect Luna; she can’t bear to be around him and face the humiliation of coming out, and she can’t imagine him leaving her. In the end, both of them want to be accepted for who they are—idealized versions they see in each other. Luna tells Regan, “Don’t you know, you’re the girl I always wanted to be” (246) right before she leaves for Seattle. In doing this—striking out into the real world—Luna is opening up both of their worlds; “All at once the weight of the world dissolved and I felt myself expand, grow. The same way Luna must feel to be free, I realized. She’d freed us both” (248).
The book was entertaining, emotional, heartbreaking, hopeful, and enlightening all at the same time. Peters is able to take a difficult topic and make it accessible for readers. I knew very little about this topic and I have been in a difficult situation with a group of people who weren’t able to empathize with transgender individuals. I think this book is a great way to provide readers with insight into a different personal lifestyle and to help them sympathize with the characters. I also think this book would be a great resource for readers who are transgender themselves—just as Teri Lynn helped Luna be comfortable with who she was, I think this book could help others accept and respond confidently to their own feelings. I loved this book—couldn’t put it down—and I would recommend it to anyone.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
CI 5442: Biography/Memoir Response #2
I was hesitant as to what I would encounter while reading Ishmael Beah’s memoir A Long Way Gone but despite the horrific and tragic circumstances of Beah’s life growing up within a war torn Sierra Leone, in the end he proves that it is possible to overcome the past and look to the future. The book takes readers through Beah’s experiences; we see evidence of his troubled yet happy life with his brother and friends, the terrifying travels of his band of boys, the initiation into the life of a boy soldier, the violent and conscious-less life of a soldier, the jerk back to boyhood, and the final struggle to leave all the past behind in order to reach a brighter future. These different existences combine into Beah’s present; “These days I live in three worlds: my dreams, and the experiences of my new life, which trigger memories from the past” (20).
Throughout the book I followed the theme of family and belonging, as it played such an important part in the actions and events within the story. Beah is driven in the beginning of the book by his desire to find his family and creates a temporary family with his brother and his friends. When he is separated from them, the loneliness is difficult for him to bear but he soon joins another group of boys—boys who become his family and the members of his unit once he joins with the army forces. After he is pulled away from active duty, Beah is forced to adjust his family to meet his new circumstances. His past catches up with him and he laments his lack of true family; “I feel as if there is nothing left for me to live for….I have no family, it is just me. No one will be able to tell stories about my childhood” (167). He finds new family in Esther and is reunited with a long lost uncle who brings him into his makeshift family; suddenly, he has a new family and more stable existence and even though this existence is shattered again, Beah keeps moving forward in search of a more hopeful existence with families to come.
The hope that pushes Beah on during the longs months wandering the forest, the time spent as a soldier, and the months after his rehabilitation illustrate how it is that hope can be both inspiring and beautiful or driving and twisted. It is the hope in finding his family that inspires Beah to keep surviving in his never ending search for safety and news about his family, but it is also hope that motivates him to kill the rebels—the hope for successfully finding and meting out revenge. The different effects of hope mirror the ways in which it is used by Beah and the people around him. Beah uses hope to keep him moving forward while the army uses hope to twist the thoughts of their boy soldiers in looking to revenge the past. I was horrified at the seemingly easy task of the army to brainwash boys into fighting. When training the boys, they even cast the targets in ways that make the boys think only of what the rebels have cost them; “Over and over in our training he would say the same sentence: Visualize the enemy, the rebels who killed your parents, your family, and those who are responsible for everything that has happened to you” (112).
The hardest parts of the book for me to comprehend were the complete lawlessness of the soldiers. Based on the information within the book, it seems as though the rebel forces went from village to village terrorizing and murdering the people before forcing men and boys to join them. Later in the book, we see the army forces—with Beah—doing the same. Beah recounts how they entered a village occupied by rebels and killed all the rebels as well as anyone they saw. In the end they realize their mistake for killing every member of the village because there was no one to transport the supplies from the village to their base camp. It’s remarkable to think that given their circumstances and the intense need for revenge—on both sides of the fighting—that the soldiers on either side wouldn’t be able to see how they were perpetuating the violence done to innocent villagers, leading to more escapees being turned to one side or the other. It isn’t until long after his rehabilitation that Beah is able to see this for himself. He recounts the endless circumnavigation of the revenge cycle and the need for an end to such perpetuating violence and death.
Something that really stuck out to me in the book were the actions of the boys and the soldiers. Throughout the book Beah and his friends “high-five” one another for any success or happiness, as the story continues, so do the high-fives. Beah and his friends high-five when they find money to spend at a market to buy food, rebel soldiers high-five when they successfully destroy three villages in the course of several hours, and Beah and his unit high-five when they successfully take over a small village. The juvenile gesture that is used to illustrate a job well done and to create a sense of camaraderie is defiled by its use for such perverse actions. The high-fives administered by the soldiers only served to illustrate their youth or their view of the war as nothing more than a type of game. Every time a high-five appeared later in the text I would cringe from the context in which the celebratory mark was recognizing. The familiarity of the gesture brought its placement within the narrative that much more close to home for me. It was a relief toward the end of the book to see the high-five be once more associated boyhood as Mohamed is doing the “running man and singing ‘Here Comes the Hammer’” (170).
After his rehabilitation, I was amazed at Beah’s ability to regain a sense of clarity about his life and to come to terms with his past actions—at least to some degree. At first he is angry and defiant toward those trying to help him, but eventually he takes their words to heart when they say, “None of these things are your fault” (165). Once he internalizes this, he is able to see the past more clearly. His speech at the UN Economic and Social Council was incredibly intelligent and moving. It is in this speech that he tells how boys become seduced and forced to become soldiers due to, “starvation, the loss of our families, and the need to feel safe and be part of something when all else has broken down” (199). He later claims that his experiences have taught him the dangers of revenge and how it “will never come to an end” (199).
The end of the book was heartbreaking to me. After all Beah had been through, the war finds him again. He loses his uncle and is forced to flee Sierra Leone. It seems as though the world is set against him with every step he takes, but in the end I felt confident that he would rise to the challenge and find family again in better circumstances. I was pleased to read in his note at the end of the text that he was reunited with some of his friends and family and that he was able to start a new family with kind people in New York. I think Beah’s memoir is an eye-opening and stunning text everyone should read—it truly gets to the heart of what it means to be human.
Throughout the book I followed the theme of family and belonging, as it played such an important part in the actions and events within the story. Beah is driven in the beginning of the book by his desire to find his family and creates a temporary family with his brother and his friends. When he is separated from them, the loneliness is difficult for him to bear but he soon joins another group of boys—boys who become his family and the members of his unit once he joins with the army forces. After he is pulled away from active duty, Beah is forced to adjust his family to meet his new circumstances. His past catches up with him and he laments his lack of true family; “I feel as if there is nothing left for me to live for….I have no family, it is just me. No one will be able to tell stories about my childhood” (167). He finds new family in Esther and is reunited with a long lost uncle who brings him into his makeshift family; suddenly, he has a new family and more stable existence and even though this existence is shattered again, Beah keeps moving forward in search of a more hopeful existence with families to come.
The hope that pushes Beah on during the longs months wandering the forest, the time spent as a soldier, and the months after his rehabilitation illustrate how it is that hope can be both inspiring and beautiful or driving and twisted. It is the hope in finding his family that inspires Beah to keep surviving in his never ending search for safety and news about his family, but it is also hope that motivates him to kill the rebels—the hope for successfully finding and meting out revenge. The different effects of hope mirror the ways in which it is used by Beah and the people around him. Beah uses hope to keep him moving forward while the army uses hope to twist the thoughts of their boy soldiers in looking to revenge the past. I was horrified at the seemingly easy task of the army to brainwash boys into fighting. When training the boys, they even cast the targets in ways that make the boys think only of what the rebels have cost them; “Over and over in our training he would say the same sentence: Visualize the enemy, the rebels who killed your parents, your family, and those who are responsible for everything that has happened to you” (112).
The hardest parts of the book for me to comprehend were the complete lawlessness of the soldiers. Based on the information within the book, it seems as though the rebel forces went from village to village terrorizing and murdering the people before forcing men and boys to join them. Later in the book, we see the army forces—with Beah—doing the same. Beah recounts how they entered a village occupied by rebels and killed all the rebels as well as anyone they saw. In the end they realize their mistake for killing every member of the village because there was no one to transport the supplies from the village to their base camp. It’s remarkable to think that given their circumstances and the intense need for revenge—on both sides of the fighting—that the soldiers on either side wouldn’t be able to see how they were perpetuating the violence done to innocent villagers, leading to more escapees being turned to one side or the other. It isn’t until long after his rehabilitation that Beah is able to see this for himself. He recounts the endless circumnavigation of the revenge cycle and the need for an end to such perpetuating violence and death.
Something that really stuck out to me in the book were the actions of the boys and the soldiers. Throughout the book Beah and his friends “high-five” one another for any success or happiness, as the story continues, so do the high-fives. Beah and his friends high-five when they find money to spend at a market to buy food, rebel soldiers high-five when they successfully destroy three villages in the course of several hours, and Beah and his unit high-five when they successfully take over a small village. The juvenile gesture that is used to illustrate a job well done and to create a sense of camaraderie is defiled by its use for such perverse actions. The high-fives administered by the soldiers only served to illustrate their youth or their view of the war as nothing more than a type of game. Every time a high-five appeared later in the text I would cringe from the context in which the celebratory mark was recognizing. The familiarity of the gesture brought its placement within the narrative that much more close to home for me. It was a relief toward the end of the book to see the high-five be once more associated boyhood as Mohamed is doing the “running man and singing ‘Here Comes the Hammer’” (170).
After his rehabilitation, I was amazed at Beah’s ability to regain a sense of clarity about his life and to come to terms with his past actions—at least to some degree. At first he is angry and defiant toward those trying to help him, but eventually he takes their words to heart when they say, “None of these things are your fault” (165). Once he internalizes this, he is able to see the past more clearly. His speech at the UN Economic and Social Council was incredibly intelligent and moving. It is in this speech that he tells how boys become seduced and forced to become soldiers due to, “starvation, the loss of our families, and the need to feel safe and be part of something when all else has broken down” (199). He later claims that his experiences have taught him the dangers of revenge and how it “will never come to an end” (199).
The end of the book was heartbreaking to me. After all Beah had been through, the war finds him again. He loses his uncle and is forced to flee Sierra Leone. It seems as though the world is set against him with every step he takes, but in the end I felt confident that he would rise to the challenge and find family again in better circumstances. I was pleased to read in his note at the end of the text that he was reunited with some of his friends and family and that he was able to start a new family with kind people in New York. I think Beah’s memoir is an eye-opening and stunning text everyone should read—it truly gets to the heart of what it means to be human.
Friday, November 20, 2009
CI 5442: Biography/Memoir Response
Francisco Jiménez’s collection of vignettes from his autobiography, The Circuit, offered a heartfelt and eye-opening look into the harsh lives of migrant workers in southern California. I enjoyed being made aware of a new perspective of life within the United States and I can see where this text would be beneficial in helping to introduce readers to a lifestyle that is not often publicized. Within the text, I enjoyed the persistent force and drive of the Jiménez family as they worked together in their search for a better life.
The very first story within the text follows the small family as they make the treacherous journey from Mexico to the United States. Within the story Roberto mentions that, “Fito told me that people there sweep money off the streets” (3). This common misconception made by immigrants who are swept away by the promise of the “American Dream” is very common in literature that features immigrants from other countries who wish to make their fortune on the gold-lined streets of America. I thought this characterization of the family and their high hopes illustrated this point well. Even though Papa knows that this statement is false, he does tell his two sons, “But it’s true that life is better there” (3). It is a fact, not something up for discussion; it is only Mama who worries about the validity of such high expectations.
The reality of living in California is much different than what the family expects. Jiménez’s descriptions of the living conditions they were forced to endure, the vivid images invaded my mind. I tried to put myself in the same position as Jiménez and his family as they try to make a home in tents next to garbage dumps, garages with no windows or holes, living without running water, floors, or electricity much of the time. Before the birth of their third child, Mama “asked Papa to seal the base of the tent by piling extra dirt, about six inches high, all around it outside so that animals, especially snakes, could not crawl underneath during the night” (24). The dangerous conditions of their life in Tent City was difficult for me to comprehend based on my own experiences, nevertheless, the descriptive language of life among the tents makes the scene vividly real.
The Jiménez family has so little to live with from day-to-day that the few luxuries that they can accumulate become precious valuables to them. As soon as Jiménez mentioned his prized penny collection and notebook, I worried that something would happen to them. The pride with which held the objects and the obvious care he spent in protecting them set him up for some sort of disaster. I was heartbroken for him when he realized that his sister had taken his pennies and used them to buy gumballs and when the fire broke out, destroying his carefully collected assortment of words and pieces of knowledge written within the pages of his notebook, I was even more devastated for him. His mother reminds him, “We’re safe and we have each other, gracias a Dios,” but he still fills the pain of loss (93).
The two passages I enjoyed reading the most were “Learning the Game” and “Moving Still.” In the story “Learning the Game” Jiménez comes to learn the power of standing up for what is right. He sees Gabriel as he stands-up to the overseer who wants him to pull a plow like an animal—a degrading position he refuses to be pushed into. Seeing this gives Jiménez the foresight to stand-up against Carlos for Manuelito. He yells at Carlos, “You can push me around, but you can’t force me to play!” (78). Jiménez is given victory while Gabriel is fired for his obstinacy. I thought the parallel ideas reinforced the idea and even though Gabriel “lost” as Papa say, “Gabriel did what he had to do” (79).
In the chapter “Moving Still,” Jiménez and his family faces the dangers of the immigration officers. I thought it was particularly interesting that this frightening event happens on the verge of his recitation of the opening lines if the Declaration of Independence. The juxtaposition of his struggles to memorize the first few lines and the appearance of the immigration officers in his classroom emphasizes the exceptions to the rule—immigrants. This was a very moving chapter and only added to the struggle of the Jiménez family. I loved that these two chapters made me think about issues of immigration and the power/rights of the people.
Jiménez did a remarkable job in retelling his family’s stories and bringing to life all the people who influenced him during his life—from fellow workers and friends to the teachers who pushed him. The realism within his stories offers a new look at life for immigrants within the U.S. for those of us who take for granted the lives we have. I thought that this assortment of stories was well worth the read and provided me with new material and issues to ponder.
The very first story within the text follows the small family as they make the treacherous journey from Mexico to the United States. Within the story Roberto mentions that, “Fito told me that people there sweep money off the streets” (3). This common misconception made by immigrants who are swept away by the promise of the “American Dream” is very common in literature that features immigrants from other countries who wish to make their fortune on the gold-lined streets of America. I thought this characterization of the family and their high hopes illustrated this point well. Even though Papa knows that this statement is false, he does tell his two sons, “But it’s true that life is better there” (3). It is a fact, not something up for discussion; it is only Mama who worries about the validity of such high expectations.
The reality of living in California is much different than what the family expects. Jiménez’s descriptions of the living conditions they were forced to endure, the vivid images invaded my mind. I tried to put myself in the same position as Jiménez and his family as they try to make a home in tents next to garbage dumps, garages with no windows or holes, living without running water, floors, or electricity much of the time. Before the birth of their third child, Mama “asked Papa to seal the base of the tent by piling extra dirt, about six inches high, all around it outside so that animals, especially snakes, could not crawl underneath during the night” (24). The dangerous conditions of their life in Tent City was difficult for me to comprehend based on my own experiences, nevertheless, the descriptive language of life among the tents makes the scene vividly real.
The Jiménez family has so little to live with from day-to-day that the few luxuries that they can accumulate become precious valuables to them. As soon as Jiménez mentioned his prized penny collection and notebook, I worried that something would happen to them. The pride with which held the objects and the obvious care he spent in protecting them set him up for some sort of disaster. I was heartbroken for him when he realized that his sister had taken his pennies and used them to buy gumballs and when the fire broke out, destroying his carefully collected assortment of words and pieces of knowledge written within the pages of his notebook, I was even more devastated for him. His mother reminds him, “We’re safe and we have each other, gracias a Dios,” but he still fills the pain of loss (93).
The two passages I enjoyed reading the most were “Learning the Game” and “Moving Still.” In the story “Learning the Game” Jiménez comes to learn the power of standing up for what is right. He sees Gabriel as he stands-up to the overseer who wants him to pull a plow like an animal—a degrading position he refuses to be pushed into. Seeing this gives Jiménez the foresight to stand-up against Carlos for Manuelito. He yells at Carlos, “You can push me around, but you can’t force me to play!” (78). Jiménez is given victory while Gabriel is fired for his obstinacy. I thought the parallel ideas reinforced the idea and even though Gabriel “lost” as Papa say, “Gabriel did what he had to do” (79).
In the chapter “Moving Still,” Jiménez and his family faces the dangers of the immigration officers. I thought it was particularly interesting that this frightening event happens on the verge of his recitation of the opening lines if the Declaration of Independence. The juxtaposition of his struggles to memorize the first few lines and the appearance of the immigration officers in his classroom emphasizes the exceptions to the rule—immigrants. This was a very moving chapter and only added to the struggle of the Jiménez family. I loved that these two chapters made me think about issues of immigration and the power/rights of the people.
Jiménez did a remarkable job in retelling his family’s stories and bringing to life all the people who influenced him during his life—from fellow workers and friends to the teachers who pushed him. The realism within his stories offers a new look at life for immigrants within the U.S. for those of us who take for granted the lives we have. I thought that this assortment of stories was well worth the read and provided me with new material and issues to ponder.
Monday, November 16, 2009
CI 5442: Folklore Book Review
“Before Luke Skywalker, before Batman, before even King Arthur, there were the Greek heroes. Those guys knew how to fight!” (v). Thus begins Rick Riordan’s introduction to the latest edition of Roger Lancelyn Green’s Tales of the Greek Heroes. Riordan attributes his own success to his early encounter with Green’s text and, clearly, many thanks are due. Without Green’s comprehensive and all-encompassing presentation of some of the greatest myths and characters ever created, Riordan would perhaps have never given us Percy Jackson. Green recreates the famous mythology of the ancient Greeks in a new and refreshing way that makes the book impossible to put down.
The tales of the first Greek gods and heroes have been told many times before, but they have not been connected in such a grand narrative as put down by Green since their origin in Greek oral tradition. Green is able to seamlessly piece together every story with such ease that it is a wonder that it hasn’t been done before. One of the most difficult things about introducing children to Greek mythology is the disconnect—or seeming disconnect—between characters and stories. Combine this disconnect with the multitude of unfamiliar and similar names and it becomes a headache for all. Green not only provides illuminating insight into the personal history of each character, he also weaves their stories together in a way that is easy to follow and allows for time sufficient understanding and knowledge of each character.
As with many representations of mythology, Green works to create believable dialogue where none is certain. Green’s diction and dialogue is accessible and provides a more dynamic, narrative quality to the text. It is with this dialogue and careful writing that readers follow the gods from their creation and rise to power continuing on until the end of the Age of Heroes.
Something that Green does remarkably well is to adapt these stories and condense them without losing any of the magic which gives them life. Green admits that he has made some creative decisions and was forced to edit the depth in which each story is presented, but it does not detract from the text and the stories he is recounting to his audience.
A feature that is unique and delightful within the text is the inclusion of either a famous interpretation of the myths or an actual translation of the first recorded accounts of the myths by famous Greek writers at the beginning of each chapter. This grounds the myth as being something extremely valuable and provides validity of its ancient history. In doing this, Green provides readers with a glimpse of the lyrical quality that was either the oral tradition of the story first transcribed hundreds of years ago or the classic interpretations of those who were inspire by such famous tales. All in all Green’s interpretation of some of the most famous Greek myths is seamless in its ability to weave the various texts together “as that single whole which the Greeks believed it to be” (267). The stories educate and inspire all who read them and will remain with them long after the final pages have been turned for, “Once found, the magic web of old Greek myth and legend is ours by right—and ours for life” (270).
The tales of the first Greek gods and heroes have been told many times before, but they have not been connected in such a grand narrative as put down by Green since their origin in Greek oral tradition. Green is able to seamlessly piece together every story with such ease that it is a wonder that it hasn’t been done before. One of the most difficult things about introducing children to Greek mythology is the disconnect—or seeming disconnect—between characters and stories. Combine this disconnect with the multitude of unfamiliar and similar names and it becomes a headache for all. Green not only provides illuminating insight into the personal history of each character, he also weaves their stories together in a way that is easy to follow and allows for time sufficient understanding and knowledge of each character.
As with many representations of mythology, Green works to create believable dialogue where none is certain. Green’s diction and dialogue is accessible and provides a more dynamic, narrative quality to the text. It is with this dialogue and careful writing that readers follow the gods from their creation and rise to power continuing on until the end of the Age of Heroes.
Something that Green does remarkably well is to adapt these stories and condense them without losing any of the magic which gives them life. Green admits that he has made some creative decisions and was forced to edit the depth in which each story is presented, but it does not detract from the text and the stories he is recounting to his audience.
A feature that is unique and delightful within the text is the inclusion of either a famous interpretation of the myths or an actual translation of the first recorded accounts of the myths by famous Greek writers at the beginning of each chapter. This grounds the myth as being something extremely valuable and provides validity of its ancient history. In doing this, Green provides readers with a glimpse of the lyrical quality that was either the oral tradition of the story first transcribed hundreds of years ago or the classic interpretations of those who were inspire by such famous tales. All in all Green’s interpretation of some of the most famous Greek myths is seamless in its ability to weave the various texts together “as that single whole which the Greeks believed it to be” (267). The stories educate and inspire all who read them and will remain with them long after the final pages have been turned for, “Once found, the magic web of old Greek myth and legend is ours by right—and ours for life” (270).
CI 5442: Poetry Book Review
The book Hate That Cat by Sharon Creech is the well-written and heartwarming follow-up story to Love That Dog, both of which are novels in verse. The books follow a young boy as he learns to appreciate poetry for what it can be rather than what it always “must” be. In this second book, Ms. Stretchberry is able to bring more sophisticated poetry mechanics to life for her students. By reading the thoughts of Jack—in poem form—as he learns about alliteration and onomatopoeia while overcoming the loss of his dog Sky, Creech creates a story that is both heartfelt and educational. Her use of poetry and first person diary-esque dialogue invites readers into Jack’s world and lets readers learn to about poetry themselves, first hand.
Creech’s ability to show readers what is going on inside of Jacks mind is a key aspect of the novel. As the reader follows Jack they learn more and more about his feelings and relationships with the things around him. The one-sided aspect of the journal should, perhaps, make it difficult to keep up with the dialogue between Jack and Ms. Stretchberry but Creech counters this by giving the journal a sense of continued dialogue. It is easy enough to determine what is going on both within the journal and in the outside world simply by connecting the journal entries to one another.
After reading Love That Dog, it seems as though there is nothing more the reader can learn about Jack, but during the reading of his second poetry journal more details about him are brought to life in a way that enhances his charm and highlights the effects of poetry on all manners of people. Creech emphasizes some of the key pieces of figurative language that are often associated with poetry in the text, alliteration and onomatopoeia. While she uses many different examples in Jack’s entries to illustrate the meaning and use of these devices, she is sure to point out that they are not essential parts of the poem. Creech creates a foil to Jack’s poems and beliefs about poetry in the form of Jack’s Uncle Bill—a university professor. Uncle Bill is highly critical not only of Jack’s poems but also the poems of William Carlos Williams and other famous authors discussed in Ms. Stretchberry’s class.
The most remarkable aspect of the text is Creech’s development of Jack’s understanding of poetry. In the text, Jack poses a very good question, “if you cannot hear/ do words have no sounds/ in your head?/ Do you see/ a/ silent/ movie?” (16). He poses a similar question about the use of onomatopoeia and how sound words would be interpreted by someone who cannot hear. These questions lead the reader to wonder why they appear in Jack’s journal. We learn that Jack’s mother is deaf and that she feels sound—tapping out the rhythm. Jack’s mother serves not only as a catalyst for these questions about poetry and sound, but also as a reminder readers that the emotions, thoughts, images, etc. evoked by a poem are more important than a poem’s form, rhythm, and style. It is these qualities that make poems worth the reader’s time—something Jack comes to understand despite his Uncle Bill’s protestations.
Creech uses Jack and his family as the protagonists in the fight against those who dread and fear poetry. By using a child’s reactions and opinions to poetry—especially “classic” poetry from authors like Tennyson and Poe—Creech empowers readers; she gives them the tools and ability to look at poetry with a fresh and confidant eye. No longer is poetry the dreaded, impossible compilation of words on a page, it is the ticking of a clock, the purring of a cat, the image of an eagle clasping a rock with its talons. Creech entertains, empowers, and teaches her audience to appreciate and confidently approach poetry by showing readers the path of understanding taken by Jack as ha navigates through the misconceptions of poetry. The novel is a clever, disguised learning experience that is enjoyable for all who encounter it.
Creech’s ability to show readers what is going on inside of Jacks mind is a key aspect of the novel. As the reader follows Jack they learn more and more about his feelings and relationships with the things around him. The one-sided aspect of the journal should, perhaps, make it difficult to keep up with the dialogue between Jack and Ms. Stretchberry but Creech counters this by giving the journal a sense of continued dialogue. It is easy enough to determine what is going on both within the journal and in the outside world simply by connecting the journal entries to one another.
After reading Love That Dog, it seems as though there is nothing more the reader can learn about Jack, but during the reading of his second poetry journal more details about him are brought to life in a way that enhances his charm and highlights the effects of poetry on all manners of people. Creech emphasizes some of the key pieces of figurative language that are often associated with poetry in the text, alliteration and onomatopoeia. While she uses many different examples in Jack’s entries to illustrate the meaning and use of these devices, she is sure to point out that they are not essential parts of the poem. Creech creates a foil to Jack’s poems and beliefs about poetry in the form of Jack’s Uncle Bill—a university professor. Uncle Bill is highly critical not only of Jack’s poems but also the poems of William Carlos Williams and other famous authors discussed in Ms. Stretchberry’s class.
The most remarkable aspect of the text is Creech’s development of Jack’s understanding of poetry. In the text, Jack poses a very good question, “if you cannot hear/ do words have no sounds/ in your head?/ Do you see/ a/ silent/ movie?” (16). He poses a similar question about the use of onomatopoeia and how sound words would be interpreted by someone who cannot hear. These questions lead the reader to wonder why they appear in Jack’s journal. We learn that Jack’s mother is deaf and that she feels sound—tapping out the rhythm. Jack’s mother serves not only as a catalyst for these questions about poetry and sound, but also as a reminder readers that the emotions, thoughts, images, etc. evoked by a poem are more important than a poem’s form, rhythm, and style. It is these qualities that make poems worth the reader’s time—something Jack comes to understand despite his Uncle Bill’s protestations.
Creech uses Jack and his family as the protagonists in the fight against those who dread and fear poetry. By using a child’s reactions and opinions to poetry—especially “classic” poetry from authors like Tennyson and Poe—Creech empowers readers; she gives them the tools and ability to look at poetry with a fresh and confidant eye. No longer is poetry the dreaded, impossible compilation of words on a page, it is the ticking of a clock, the purring of a cat, the image of an eagle clasping a rock with its talons. Creech entertains, empowers, and teaches her audience to appreciate and confidently approach poetry by showing readers the path of understanding taken by Jack as ha navigates through the misconceptions of poetry. The novel is a clever, disguised learning experience that is enjoyable for all who encounter it.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
CI 5442: Non-Fiction Response #1
I was excited to start reading Jennifer Armstrong’s Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World. Flipping through the text I was drawn to the images of the men and the clear struggles they faced based on the documentation provided by the photographs. Non-fiction can be a difficult genre to really engage with unless you are particularly interested in the topic or there is a human component to the presentation of the material that draws you in. This text is able to combine these two elements and create a narrative that is captivating for anyone despite their interests.
The first few pages provided nothing more than basic information about the journey and the area in which the Endurance was about to traverse. At first I was worried that I wouldn’t get the story I wanted most—about the men themselves—but, Armstrong was not about to disappoint me. Soon, I was learning about the crew and imagining their antics: from practical jokes to skiing attempts. I was also sitting on the edge of my seat as I read about the tight time-frame the men had to deal with, “If Shackleton did not reach the edge of the continent before the end of the short Antarctic summer, the ice would shut him out” (15). I tried to imagine the agony of being forced to wait at the whaling station before traveling on in hopes of being the first to travel across Antarctica; a lofty goal with so many obstacles and odds set against them.
As I continued to read I was drawn by the humanity of the men aboard the Endurance. Because of the remarkably thorough documentation and reports of the entire crew, not only did I feel as though I was getting to know some of the men, but I also felt tied to their journey. The book takes the reader through the hard times as well as the uplifting or light-hearted moments experienced by the crew in a way that invests the reader in both the lives of the men and their expedition. We are able to see the men as they were beyond their occupations—they were young men setting out for adventure; men who played pranks, held races, and made toasts such as, “ To our sweethearts and wives—may they never meet” (20).
Shackleton himself stood out to me among the members of the crew. While I was nervous to read at the beginning of the book that he didn’t make emergency plans and was a seat-of-his-pants kind of guy, he turned out to be the driving force behind the successful rescue of his men. It is obvious when reading the comments of the crew and Shackleton’s own account that he always held the good of his men as his top priority. He worked hard to ensure that spirits and morale was maintained as much as possible—breaking up disagreements and never letting the crew know if a break was meant specifically for them as they travelled across the barren ice and sea of the Antarctic. When they must leave the ship, Shackleton leaves behind gold coins but orders Hussey to take his banjo, “because they would need the comfort of music in the hard times ahead” (52). When the crew’s temporary ice camp cracked he alerted them and helped them to get across to the “safe” side of the floe as he stayed “behind to ensure that all of his men got over safely” (80).
After leaving most of the crew of Elephant Island in order to go seek aid, Shackleton continues to think about the needs of his men. South Georgia Island, across 800 miles of open sea in a small dingy not meant for such trying use, the men left behind pushed the Shackleton and the others to the brink. Armstrong notes, “He was tormented with the thought of the twenty-two men waiting for him. They were waiting for him. The Boss. For months they had placed all their hopes and lives in his hands” (107). Thus he decides to trek across the “Alps of the Southern Ocean” a feat never accomplished before. His duty to his men pushed him, “He could not rest now, when only when only twenty-nine miles separated him from rescue for his men” (107). When he is finally able to reunite with his men, Shackleton is paid the highest of compliments, “We knew you’d come back” (123). Shackleton exemplifies the qualities desired in a leader among men and this account serves as a testament of his duty to ensure the survival of his men.
Armstrong is able to combine the personal accounts of the journey with detailed information about the dangers and scientific aspects of the traveling through the Antarctic Circle during the early twentieth century in a way that is informative and interesting at the same time. She threads the information within the story of the men and their survival flawlessly. Even though I am not particularly interested in sea-travel at the turn of the twentieth century I was drawn into the details of the trip by their connection to the journey of the Endurance. Armstrong is able to present the information using highly literary and engaging language that allows the setting to become a character in the plot and the scientific aspects of the journey and setting to become integral pieces in developing the plot. She claims that the timbers of the ship “began to complain” under the pressure from the ice, or describing the riptide “roaring after them, threatening to engulf the three puny boats with a deluge of ice and slush,” effectively characterizing the men’s surroundings in an almost lyrical narrative style (39, 79).
Armstrong’s retelling of this amazing feat of human endurance is entertaining and informative in equal amounts. I learned a lot but never felt overwhelmed by the information presented in the text. She smoothly transitions information from primary accounts of those among the Endurance with the history and dangers associated with the area and travel during the beginning of the twentieth century. The photographs add to the validity of the accounts within the text and draw the reader into the lives of the men as they battle against nature and time. In the end Armstrong is able to create a piece of non-fiction that draws the reader in so much that they become absorbed in the details and fate of the Endurance and her brave crew.
The first few pages provided nothing more than basic information about the journey and the area in which the Endurance was about to traverse. At first I was worried that I wouldn’t get the story I wanted most—about the men themselves—but, Armstrong was not about to disappoint me. Soon, I was learning about the crew and imagining their antics: from practical jokes to skiing attempts. I was also sitting on the edge of my seat as I read about the tight time-frame the men had to deal with, “If Shackleton did not reach the edge of the continent before the end of the short Antarctic summer, the ice would shut him out” (15). I tried to imagine the agony of being forced to wait at the whaling station before traveling on in hopes of being the first to travel across Antarctica; a lofty goal with so many obstacles and odds set against them.
As I continued to read I was drawn by the humanity of the men aboard the Endurance. Because of the remarkably thorough documentation and reports of the entire crew, not only did I feel as though I was getting to know some of the men, but I also felt tied to their journey. The book takes the reader through the hard times as well as the uplifting or light-hearted moments experienced by the crew in a way that invests the reader in both the lives of the men and their expedition. We are able to see the men as they were beyond their occupations—they were young men setting out for adventure; men who played pranks, held races, and made toasts such as, “ To our sweethearts and wives—may they never meet” (20).
Shackleton himself stood out to me among the members of the crew. While I was nervous to read at the beginning of the book that he didn’t make emergency plans and was a seat-of-his-pants kind of guy, he turned out to be the driving force behind the successful rescue of his men. It is obvious when reading the comments of the crew and Shackleton’s own account that he always held the good of his men as his top priority. He worked hard to ensure that spirits and morale was maintained as much as possible—breaking up disagreements and never letting the crew know if a break was meant specifically for them as they travelled across the barren ice and sea of the Antarctic. When they must leave the ship, Shackleton leaves behind gold coins but orders Hussey to take his banjo, “because they would need the comfort of music in the hard times ahead” (52). When the crew’s temporary ice camp cracked he alerted them and helped them to get across to the “safe” side of the floe as he stayed “behind to ensure that all of his men got over safely” (80).
After leaving most of the crew of Elephant Island in order to go seek aid, Shackleton continues to think about the needs of his men. South Georgia Island, across 800 miles of open sea in a small dingy not meant for such trying use, the men left behind pushed the Shackleton and the others to the brink. Armstrong notes, “He was tormented with the thought of the twenty-two men waiting for him. They were waiting for him. The Boss. For months they had placed all their hopes and lives in his hands” (107). Thus he decides to trek across the “Alps of the Southern Ocean” a feat never accomplished before. His duty to his men pushed him, “He could not rest now, when only when only twenty-nine miles separated him from rescue for his men” (107). When he is finally able to reunite with his men, Shackleton is paid the highest of compliments, “We knew you’d come back” (123). Shackleton exemplifies the qualities desired in a leader among men and this account serves as a testament of his duty to ensure the survival of his men.
Armstrong is able to combine the personal accounts of the journey with detailed information about the dangers and scientific aspects of the traveling through the Antarctic Circle during the early twentieth century in a way that is informative and interesting at the same time. She threads the information within the story of the men and their survival flawlessly. Even though I am not particularly interested in sea-travel at the turn of the twentieth century I was drawn into the details of the trip by their connection to the journey of the Endurance. Armstrong is able to present the information using highly literary and engaging language that allows the setting to become a character in the plot and the scientific aspects of the journey and setting to become integral pieces in developing the plot. She claims that the timbers of the ship “began to complain” under the pressure from the ice, or describing the riptide “roaring after them, threatening to engulf the three puny boats with a deluge of ice and slush,” effectively characterizing the men’s surroundings in an almost lyrical narrative style (39, 79).
Armstrong’s retelling of this amazing feat of human endurance is entertaining and informative in equal amounts. I learned a lot but never felt overwhelmed by the information presented in the text. She smoothly transitions information from primary accounts of those among the Endurance with the history and dangers associated with the area and travel during the beginning of the twentieth century. The photographs add to the validity of the accounts within the text and draw the reader into the lives of the men as they battle against nature and time. In the end Armstrong is able to create a piece of non-fiction that draws the reader in so much that they become absorbed in the details and fate of the Endurance and her brave crew.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
CI 5442: Science Fiction Response #2
Alright, The Giver. I read this book in fifth grade and I hated it. I admit that part of this might have been caused by my mother who expressed her distaste for the book to me when she found out that I was reading it. Because of this and the fact that everyone just loves I thought I would read it again. Reading it now I can see why people like it, but it still makes me uncomfortable. I think Jonas is a great character and I was relieved when both he and the Giver decide to force emotions back into the community but their society bothers me so much. I think my discomfort with science fiction is my apprehension that dystopian societies could be created or that they are on their way to being built already.
Jonas is the one redeeming character in the book for me—the Giver to a lesser extent. Jonas thinks carefully about his words throughout the text illustrating a connection with language that others don’t seem to possess. Even when he is receiving memories from the Giver he is attuned to his lack of language. He grasps the power of words such as warmth, family, grandparents, and love as well as more negative and painful words like war, pain, and death. For the amount of emphasis his community places on the precision of language, it is remarkable how much they miss with the lack of memories and real feelings. Jonas asks his parents his parents if they love him and their response illustrates the lack of depth within their emotions and actions within the community. His father replies, “You of all people. Precision of language, please!” while his mother explains:
Your father means that you used a very generalized word, so meaningless that it’s become almost obsolete….our community can’t function smoothly if people don’t use precise language. You could ask, ‘Do you enjoy me?’ The answer is ‘Yes’….Do you understand why it’s inappropriate to use a word like ‘love’? (127)
It’s sad to think that a word as powerful as love could be reduced to mere “enjoyment” and “pride” the way Jonas’ parents describe their affection for him and his sister. I think that Lowry is able to provide readers with a glimpse into a bleak existence without emotions by emphasizing the power of language through Jonas.
Clearly language is tied to emotion, but as Jonas learns, both emotion and language are firmly grounded in memory. A powerful moment for me in the text was when Jonas attempts to rejoin his childhood friends in a game of “good guy” versus “bad guy.” A game he had played many times, yet, “He never recognized it before as a game of war” (133). He pleads with his friends to stop the game saying, “You had no way of knowing this. I didn’t know it myself until recently. But it’s a cruel game” (134). His friends don’t have the same memories as Jonas and therefore they don’t understand. It’s like when you are a kid and you hear a bad word for the first time and then you go around using it because you don’t know what it means and why it is inappropriate.
My least favorite part in the book is when Jonas sees his father “releasing” a newly born infant because it is the smaller of two identical twins. I was as horrified as Jonas to “see” the needle being driven into the smaller infants head until his struggles ceased. For Jonas’ father, it isn’t a big deal and he dumps the baby into something resembling “the same sort of chute into which trash was deposited at school” (150). That is exactly the image that killed this book for me when I was younger and even reading it again it gives me chills. I think Lowry wanted to illustrate the disconnect achieved by the members in society because of their lack of memories and feelings—attributes that define our species and set us apart from other creatures. Without these elements humans become nothing more than empty shells.
I was so relieved when Jonas inspires the Giver to understand the importance of memories and the need to release them back into the community. Although the pair knows that releasing the memories will be difficult and painful for the community, but in the end the memories will release the community from their meaningless and empty existence. The Giver notes that memories “are forever” and need to be shared (144). He notes that the people will be in great need of him once the memories are returned to them and, therefore, he won’t be able to leave with Jonas. He tells Jonas, “The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared” (154). Only through expression and communication can we—as humans—come to terms with experiences, emotions, and events in our lives.
Lowry creates a world that enables readers to see the importance and significance of the entire spectrum of human experiences—from unbelievable suffering and pain to blissful moments of happiness and love. Readers can explore the power of language and memories by entering a dystopian society. The novel explores extreme control in a safe and hypothetical environment—but that doesn’t make it any less disturbing. While the premise of the story still bothers me I will acknowledge that it did make me think about the world and the future; especially in terms of what I can do to prevent such an existence from becoming a reality.
Jonas is the one redeeming character in the book for me—the Giver to a lesser extent. Jonas thinks carefully about his words throughout the text illustrating a connection with language that others don’t seem to possess. Even when he is receiving memories from the Giver he is attuned to his lack of language. He grasps the power of words such as warmth, family, grandparents, and love as well as more negative and painful words like war, pain, and death. For the amount of emphasis his community places on the precision of language, it is remarkable how much they miss with the lack of memories and real feelings. Jonas asks his parents his parents if they love him and their response illustrates the lack of depth within their emotions and actions within the community. His father replies, “You of all people. Precision of language, please!” while his mother explains:
Your father means that you used a very generalized word, so meaningless that it’s become almost obsolete….our community can’t function smoothly if people don’t use precise language. You could ask, ‘Do you enjoy me?’ The answer is ‘Yes’….Do you understand why it’s inappropriate to use a word like ‘love’? (127)
It’s sad to think that a word as powerful as love could be reduced to mere “enjoyment” and “pride” the way Jonas’ parents describe their affection for him and his sister. I think that Lowry is able to provide readers with a glimpse into a bleak existence without emotions by emphasizing the power of language through Jonas.
Clearly language is tied to emotion, but as Jonas learns, both emotion and language are firmly grounded in memory. A powerful moment for me in the text was when Jonas attempts to rejoin his childhood friends in a game of “good guy” versus “bad guy.” A game he had played many times, yet, “He never recognized it before as a game of war” (133). He pleads with his friends to stop the game saying, “You had no way of knowing this. I didn’t know it myself until recently. But it’s a cruel game” (134). His friends don’t have the same memories as Jonas and therefore they don’t understand. It’s like when you are a kid and you hear a bad word for the first time and then you go around using it because you don’t know what it means and why it is inappropriate.
My least favorite part in the book is when Jonas sees his father “releasing” a newly born infant because it is the smaller of two identical twins. I was as horrified as Jonas to “see” the needle being driven into the smaller infants head until his struggles ceased. For Jonas’ father, it isn’t a big deal and he dumps the baby into something resembling “the same sort of chute into which trash was deposited at school” (150). That is exactly the image that killed this book for me when I was younger and even reading it again it gives me chills. I think Lowry wanted to illustrate the disconnect achieved by the members in society because of their lack of memories and feelings—attributes that define our species and set us apart from other creatures. Without these elements humans become nothing more than empty shells.
I was so relieved when Jonas inspires the Giver to understand the importance of memories and the need to release them back into the community. Although the pair knows that releasing the memories will be difficult and painful for the community, but in the end the memories will release the community from their meaningless and empty existence. The Giver notes that memories “are forever” and need to be shared (144). He notes that the people will be in great need of him once the memories are returned to them and, therefore, he won’t be able to leave with Jonas. He tells Jonas, “The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared” (154). Only through expression and communication can we—as humans—come to terms with experiences, emotions, and events in our lives.
Lowry creates a world that enables readers to see the importance and significance of the entire spectrum of human experiences—from unbelievable suffering and pain to blissful moments of happiness and love. Readers can explore the power of language and memories by entering a dystopian society. The novel explores extreme control in a safe and hypothetical environment—but that doesn’t make it any less disturbing. While the premise of the story still bothers me I will acknowledge that it did make me think about the world and the future; especially in terms of what I can do to prevent such an existence from becoming a reality.
CI 5442: Science Fiction Response #1
I was a bit apprehensive about diving into science fiction, especially a novel about clones, but I found Nancy Farmer’s The House of the Scorpion to be a disturbing yet completely engrossing text. I found myself caring about Matt and the decisions he made throughout the text. I cringed when he forced his Maria to kiss him at El Patron’s birthday party and I sympathized with his bought of severe acne after working at the shrimp harvesting company. Nevertheless, I still shudder at some of the topics within the novel and ideas that are in science fiction.
The most interesting piece of Farmer’s story was the stigma attached to being a clone. From the moment Matt’s foot is read by those in the Alacran house he is ostracized and viewed as nothing more than an animal. Rosa, the unfortunate housekeeper who is forced to care for Matt, literally treats him as an animal by providing him with newspapers as a lavatory. She eventually puts down chicken litter to make it easier for her to care for him. Willum, the doctor, remarks about Rosa’s decision saying, “You’re a strange woman, Rosa, but I have to admit the beast’s in good condition” (43). Even Maria, Matt’s only friend, continues to consider Matt to be an animal by comparing him to her dog, Furball. Eventually even Matt begins to believe that he is an animal. He tells Maria, “ ‘I am an animal,’ he replied. Once those words would have pained him, but he accepted his status now” (92). The only people who don’t treat him like an animal are Celia and Tam Lin. Both adults treat Matt like a human and expect more from him.
During El Patron’s 143rd birthday party, after Matt behaves like an animal in a figurative way. After the treatment of Tom, the embarrassing gift and kiss situation with Maria, the mysterious death of Furball, Matt’s anger turns to heartache as he realizes how his behavior can eventually poison his behavior and his future. Yet he remembers the words of Tam Lin, “Any rat in a sewer can lie….But a human doesn’t run and hide in dark places, because he’s something more” (134). At first this does nothing but drive Matt further into his own torment, but then he realizes that such a statement mirrors Tam Lin’s treatment of him as different from others. “He treated Matt as an equal” (138). In this Matt finds hope from, “Someone, out of all the people who thought he was no better than a dog, believed he could be something more” (139). It is from that moment on that Matt really decides to be a better person than Matteo Alacran, the original.
Matt and El Patron have a very strange relationship throughout the novel. I myself was very curious as to what the purpose for Matt’s creation and El Patron’s reason for not wanting to have a chip inserted into his brain. It was well into the novel that I began to doubt the sincerity and benevolence behind El Patron’s decisions. Every moment from then on in which there was any kind of foreshadow to perpetuate these thoughts, I physically cringed. It was heartbreaking for me and I tried to deny it as much as possible, just as Matt did, but when the awful truth came out I was terrified for Matt. It was only through my faith and trust in Celia, Tam Lin, and Maria to get him out safely that I was able to continue reading the book. When I get really involved in a novel it is hard for me to continue reading if I feel any apprehension for the well-being of the characters.
My favorite part in the book was when Tam Lin lets Matt know the secret about clones. He whispers into Matt’s ear, “No one can tell the difference between a clone and a human. That’s because there isn’t any difference. The idea of clones being inferior is a filthy lie” (245). This is something that helps Matt when he finally escapes Opium and enters Aztlan—escaping one dystopia for another. In Atzlan, Matt isn’t looked down upon for being a clone, instead he is singled out for being “the aristocrat” (280). With the Lost Boys and the Keepers Matt faces a new world filled with misplaced and hypocritical Socialists. The Keepers are unable to really practice what they preach and essentially imprison the boys while they spend the days eating and taking drugs. In this new land Matt gains his first male friends his own age who don’t treat him differently for being a clone—even after their initial misgivings. Matt is quick to point out to the Keepers that they are attempting to turn the boys into zombies or the eejits created in Opium.
I was relieved in the end when the all the boys finally see through their disillusionment and take things into their own hands. I love the fact that Farmer really gives us the glimpses into the different experiences and influences that shape Matt. Throughout the book he recalls advice given to him by others, moments of love, moments of anger, moments of joy, everything that make him into the person at the end of the book who is willing to return to Opium in order to take control of the entire enterprise and bring it down—going with full acknowledgment that he might not make it. In the end I admired Matt for his fortitude and strength of character; he could have let the experiences in his life lead him to become another El Patron but he rose above them.
I enjoyed reading the book, and yet, I have to admit that despite Farmer’s ability to present serious and feasible issues in her text I will not actively pursue a greater diet of science fiction text than necessary—although I might have to check out the other books in this series just to see what happens. The book gave me horrible nightmares and while I know that some of that could have been heightened by the fever I had the day and night I read the book, I don’t enjoy thinking about these topics in such personal ways. Good literature affects me personally and Farmer’s text did just that; I admit my personal investment in Matt’s story despite its genre.
The most interesting piece of Farmer’s story was the stigma attached to being a clone. From the moment Matt’s foot is read by those in the Alacran house he is ostracized and viewed as nothing more than an animal. Rosa, the unfortunate housekeeper who is forced to care for Matt, literally treats him as an animal by providing him with newspapers as a lavatory. She eventually puts down chicken litter to make it easier for her to care for him. Willum, the doctor, remarks about Rosa’s decision saying, “You’re a strange woman, Rosa, but I have to admit the beast’s in good condition” (43). Even Maria, Matt’s only friend, continues to consider Matt to be an animal by comparing him to her dog, Furball. Eventually even Matt begins to believe that he is an animal. He tells Maria, “ ‘I am an animal,’ he replied. Once those words would have pained him, but he accepted his status now” (92). The only people who don’t treat him like an animal are Celia and Tam Lin. Both adults treat Matt like a human and expect more from him.
During El Patron’s 143rd birthday party, after Matt behaves like an animal in a figurative way. After the treatment of Tom, the embarrassing gift and kiss situation with Maria, the mysterious death of Furball, Matt’s anger turns to heartache as he realizes how his behavior can eventually poison his behavior and his future. Yet he remembers the words of Tam Lin, “Any rat in a sewer can lie….But a human doesn’t run and hide in dark places, because he’s something more” (134). At first this does nothing but drive Matt further into his own torment, but then he realizes that such a statement mirrors Tam Lin’s treatment of him as different from others. “He treated Matt as an equal” (138). In this Matt finds hope from, “Someone, out of all the people who thought he was no better than a dog, believed he could be something more” (139). It is from that moment on that Matt really decides to be a better person than Matteo Alacran, the original.
Matt and El Patron have a very strange relationship throughout the novel. I myself was very curious as to what the purpose for Matt’s creation and El Patron’s reason for not wanting to have a chip inserted into his brain. It was well into the novel that I began to doubt the sincerity and benevolence behind El Patron’s decisions. Every moment from then on in which there was any kind of foreshadow to perpetuate these thoughts, I physically cringed. It was heartbreaking for me and I tried to deny it as much as possible, just as Matt did, but when the awful truth came out I was terrified for Matt. It was only through my faith and trust in Celia, Tam Lin, and Maria to get him out safely that I was able to continue reading the book. When I get really involved in a novel it is hard for me to continue reading if I feel any apprehension for the well-being of the characters.
My favorite part in the book was when Tam Lin lets Matt know the secret about clones. He whispers into Matt’s ear, “No one can tell the difference between a clone and a human. That’s because there isn’t any difference. The idea of clones being inferior is a filthy lie” (245). This is something that helps Matt when he finally escapes Opium and enters Aztlan—escaping one dystopia for another. In Atzlan, Matt isn’t looked down upon for being a clone, instead he is singled out for being “the aristocrat” (280). With the Lost Boys and the Keepers Matt faces a new world filled with misplaced and hypocritical Socialists. The Keepers are unable to really practice what they preach and essentially imprison the boys while they spend the days eating and taking drugs. In this new land Matt gains his first male friends his own age who don’t treat him differently for being a clone—even after their initial misgivings. Matt is quick to point out to the Keepers that they are attempting to turn the boys into zombies or the eejits created in Opium.
I was relieved in the end when the all the boys finally see through their disillusionment and take things into their own hands. I love the fact that Farmer really gives us the glimpses into the different experiences and influences that shape Matt. Throughout the book he recalls advice given to him by others, moments of love, moments of anger, moments of joy, everything that make him into the person at the end of the book who is willing to return to Opium in order to take control of the entire enterprise and bring it down—going with full acknowledgment that he might not make it. In the end I admired Matt for his fortitude and strength of character; he could have let the experiences in his life lead him to become another El Patron but he rose above them.
I enjoyed reading the book, and yet, I have to admit that despite Farmer’s ability to present serious and feasible issues in her text I will not actively pursue a greater diet of science fiction text than necessary—although I might have to check out the other books in this series just to see what happens. The book gave me horrible nightmares and while I know that some of that could have been heightened by the fever I had the day and night I read the book, I don’t enjoy thinking about these topics in such personal ways. Good literature affects me personally and Farmer’s text did just that; I admit my personal investment in Matt’s story despite its genre.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
CI 5442: Fantasy Response #2
Being myself an avid fan of Greek and Roman mythology and having read both The Odyssey and The Aeneid—I even translated some of this from the Latin texts—I was intrigued to read Adèle Geras’ novel Troy. While the facts and figures from the text fit within my prior knowledge and understanding of the long siege of Troy, the book itself left me a little disappointed. While there were many elements I enjoyed in the story itself, I had a hard time connecting with the characters in a way that made me actually care for them on a personal level. Part of this might come from my aversion to stories with dramatic love triangles that seem trite, but I also think the number of characters contributed to my disinterest—not that I wanted anything bad to happen to them, but I was as involved in their lives as I wished to be. That being said, let’s talk about the things I did enjoy about the text.
The Gods. I thought the use of the gods and goddesses within the texts was brilliant! I loved the fact that they would come and disclose information about the present or future only to be dismissed as lunatics by the very people they conversed with in Troy. Characters within the text either found themselves completely disregarding the information provided by the gods and then simply forgetting what they heard or acknowledging their presence only to forget it anyway. The only character who was able to instantly recognize, believe, and remember the gods walking among them was Marpessa who’s near death experience seems to have given her some connection with the gods—at least that is my guess for her capabilities. It could also be her belief and continued exposure to them that allows her to recognize the gods when they appear to interfere with the citizens of Troy.
While some might think the constant interference of the gods and the inability of the citizens to remember them doesn’t fit within the text, I think it is the perfect way to not only explain some of the events that have, are, or will take place so that the audience can keep up with the intricacies of the Trojan War. The use of the gods also reinforces the idea that the gods were a constant part of the lives of the Trojans and Greeks alike. As Ares, the god of war, claims, “It’s not as easy as it looks, organizing things. Every battle has a plan, and every death, every wounding, has to be worked out. It’s exhausting, I can tell you. But it’s almost over…this war” (266). Ares goes further to explain that the gods are tired of the war and ready for it to be over, “It’s enough…That’s the feeling on Olympus. It’s all gone on long enough. I had to promise the end was in sight” (266). His presence throughout the text and the work of the other gods in orchestrating or divulging information about the war makes it explicitly clear who is in charge of Fate.
Geras also does an admirable job in showing the humanness of the gods. When the gods were created by the ancient peoples of the Mediterranean, they imagined them as possessing the same faults and humors as mankind as well as a similar appearance. The actions of the gods illustrate these human characteristics. Hermes loves to gossip and spread news, Hera feels the need to comfort, Artemis laments the loss of life, Hephaestus wants to make the best armor there is, Zeus seeks out human lovers, Ares plans battles, Poseidon has a temper that shakes the ground, both Hera and Athena are jealous and can hold a grudge, and Aphrodite needs lots and lots of attention and feels guilt over the amount of damage she unknowingly created. She says at the end of the book after Troy has been ravaged by war and fire, “‘As for that…’She looked toward Troy, now vanishing into the distance. ‘I didn’t really mean for so much destruction’” (356). They are human yet not and their actions influenced the course of history.
I also enjoyed the reflective nature of the situation in Troy and the characteristics of the gods with the characters in the book. The “Gossips” of the cooking women in the palace reminded me of the three “Fates” who decide, measure, and cut the life threads of all mortals. The women gossiping were forever discussing what was going on around them and the latest news that influenced the Fate of Troy. The jealousy of the goddesses was reflected in both the lives of the Trojan princes and princesses and the lives of their servants in Marpessa, Xanthe, and Iason with Alastor and Polyxena thrown into the mix. The wills of the gods also mirrored the wills and actions of the different armies and warriors as they battle tirelessly for ten years. The micro/macro parallel marks a good work of historical fiction—throw in the aid of the Greek gods, and Geras creates an exemplary piece of historical fantasy.
What I liked about Geras’ interpretation, besides the accuracy to ancient texts, is the fact that she was able to capture the anguish of the war and the destruction of lives on both sides of the wall—Greek and Trojan. While the Greeks may come out more as the villains, there is enough detail on both sides of the story to suggest that both sides were fighting an impossible war that had negative consequences and feelings all around; both nations have good and bad warriors and people living among them, both nations have people who regret the destruction caused by the war both in regards to human life and the city itself. I liked the inclusion of Greek thoughts at the end of the book that let the reader into the minds of different Greek warriors as they sacked, burned, and looted Troy. These thoughts gave us thoughts to balance those of the Trojans—some happily following orders to burn and loot, others questioning the decisions, orders, and actions of those in command; “Of course we couldn’t afford to leave Hector’s son alive. I see that. But there’s ways and ways. Kid wasn’t more than a baby. He could’ve been smothered with a pillow….But he wasn’t….That’s what I’ll see. That’s what I can’t stop seeing” (337-338). The narrator, whoever he is, cannot stomach or forget the image of Astyanax being tossed over the wall and onto the sharp rocks below showing a sense of humanity among the brute force of his commander.
Overall, Geras takes a very complex tale with a great amount of required background knowledge and reworks it into a text that is accessible and, perhaps, more appealing to younger readers. It reads very much like a modern Soap Opera-esque drama—like The Hills of an ancient era. I think the characters deal with timeless issues of love, hate, jealousy, and the overarching destruction of war; issues readers can still identify with. I think my own distaste for the overly dramatic realm of daytime television clouds my reading to some degree and denies my absolute love for the text, but there are many redeeming qualities that place it among novels that I like and admire. I wish that I could have learned more about the characters—their pasts and presents—in order to form a greater bond with them, but alas, it was not to be. When it comes down to it though, I think Geras does an admirable job and I can see myself recommending this book or maybe using it as a companion text to classical Greek and Roman literature.
The Gods. I thought the use of the gods and goddesses within the texts was brilliant! I loved the fact that they would come and disclose information about the present or future only to be dismissed as lunatics by the very people they conversed with in Troy. Characters within the text either found themselves completely disregarding the information provided by the gods and then simply forgetting what they heard or acknowledging their presence only to forget it anyway. The only character who was able to instantly recognize, believe, and remember the gods walking among them was Marpessa who’s near death experience seems to have given her some connection with the gods—at least that is my guess for her capabilities. It could also be her belief and continued exposure to them that allows her to recognize the gods when they appear to interfere with the citizens of Troy.
While some might think the constant interference of the gods and the inability of the citizens to remember them doesn’t fit within the text, I think it is the perfect way to not only explain some of the events that have, are, or will take place so that the audience can keep up with the intricacies of the Trojan War. The use of the gods also reinforces the idea that the gods were a constant part of the lives of the Trojans and Greeks alike. As Ares, the god of war, claims, “It’s not as easy as it looks, organizing things. Every battle has a plan, and every death, every wounding, has to be worked out. It’s exhausting, I can tell you. But it’s almost over…this war” (266). Ares goes further to explain that the gods are tired of the war and ready for it to be over, “It’s enough…That’s the feeling on Olympus. It’s all gone on long enough. I had to promise the end was in sight” (266). His presence throughout the text and the work of the other gods in orchestrating or divulging information about the war makes it explicitly clear who is in charge of Fate.
Geras also does an admirable job in showing the humanness of the gods. When the gods were created by the ancient peoples of the Mediterranean, they imagined them as possessing the same faults and humors as mankind as well as a similar appearance. The actions of the gods illustrate these human characteristics. Hermes loves to gossip and spread news, Hera feels the need to comfort, Artemis laments the loss of life, Hephaestus wants to make the best armor there is, Zeus seeks out human lovers, Ares plans battles, Poseidon has a temper that shakes the ground, both Hera and Athena are jealous and can hold a grudge, and Aphrodite needs lots and lots of attention and feels guilt over the amount of damage she unknowingly created. She says at the end of the book after Troy has been ravaged by war and fire, “‘As for that…’She looked toward Troy, now vanishing into the distance. ‘I didn’t really mean for so much destruction’” (356). They are human yet not and their actions influenced the course of history.
I also enjoyed the reflective nature of the situation in Troy and the characteristics of the gods with the characters in the book. The “Gossips” of the cooking women in the palace reminded me of the three “Fates” who decide, measure, and cut the life threads of all mortals. The women gossiping were forever discussing what was going on around them and the latest news that influenced the Fate of Troy. The jealousy of the goddesses was reflected in both the lives of the Trojan princes and princesses and the lives of their servants in Marpessa, Xanthe, and Iason with Alastor and Polyxena thrown into the mix. The wills of the gods also mirrored the wills and actions of the different armies and warriors as they battle tirelessly for ten years. The micro/macro parallel marks a good work of historical fiction—throw in the aid of the Greek gods, and Geras creates an exemplary piece of historical fantasy.
What I liked about Geras’ interpretation, besides the accuracy to ancient texts, is the fact that she was able to capture the anguish of the war and the destruction of lives on both sides of the wall—Greek and Trojan. While the Greeks may come out more as the villains, there is enough detail on both sides of the story to suggest that both sides were fighting an impossible war that had negative consequences and feelings all around; both nations have good and bad warriors and people living among them, both nations have people who regret the destruction caused by the war both in regards to human life and the city itself. I liked the inclusion of Greek thoughts at the end of the book that let the reader into the minds of different Greek warriors as they sacked, burned, and looted Troy. These thoughts gave us thoughts to balance those of the Trojans—some happily following orders to burn and loot, others questioning the decisions, orders, and actions of those in command; “Of course we couldn’t afford to leave Hector’s son alive. I see that. But there’s ways and ways. Kid wasn’t more than a baby. He could’ve been smothered with a pillow….But he wasn’t….That’s what I’ll see. That’s what I can’t stop seeing” (337-338). The narrator, whoever he is, cannot stomach or forget the image of Astyanax being tossed over the wall and onto the sharp rocks below showing a sense of humanity among the brute force of his commander.
Overall, Geras takes a very complex tale with a great amount of required background knowledge and reworks it into a text that is accessible and, perhaps, more appealing to younger readers. It reads very much like a modern Soap Opera-esque drama—like The Hills of an ancient era. I think the characters deal with timeless issues of love, hate, jealousy, and the overarching destruction of war; issues readers can still identify with. I think my own distaste for the overly dramatic realm of daytime television clouds my reading to some degree and denies my absolute love for the text, but there are many redeeming qualities that place it among novels that I like and admire. I wish that I could have learned more about the characters—their pasts and presents—in order to form a greater bond with them, but alas, it was not to be. When it comes down to it though, I think Geras does an admirable job and I can see myself recommending this book or maybe using it as a companion text to classical Greek and Roman literature.
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