Boom

"Or does it explode?" -Langston Hughes

 It seems recently that all the stories we've read in English are tragic; that is, the protagonists die without acheiving their dreams. (Perhaps this is meant to reflect the average 11AP student's grades?) The play A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry seems to be following the same trend.

Walter, so far, appears to be self-pitying. He's full of get-rich-quick schemes and has many grand ideas. He blames his current situation on everyone and everything else: Ruth, Bennie, racism, and so on, making it seem like the whole world is against him. While there is some truth to his claims, he's really just insecure, as shown by his lashing out at Ruth and her eggs. Walter is getting old, and he's beginning to realize this. All he's accomplished is being a chauffeur, and there's not much time left before he's stuck as a chauffeur for life.

Everyone, to some extent, dreams of being successful when they're younger. If you ask around at an elementary school, you're probably not going to find a kid that wants to become a senior grocery bagger when they grow up. However, there are only so many people who can become astronauts. Some people just, well... aren't successful, and there are a variety of methods they use to cope.

In this case, Walter copes by blaming others. "I could be rich if it weren't for this and this and..." A Raisin in the Sun follows Walter through his midlife crisis, and as his hope of a liquor store slowly drifts away, I'm curious as to how he will react.  

 

I Had a Dream

There is a running theme of broken hearts and unfulfilled dreams throughout the Fitzgerald stories we read in class. Both Gatsby and Dexter chase after women, only to realize too late that they've been chasing after an ideal.

Dexter spends most of his life seeking to attain Judy Jones. He doggedly woos her despite her rejections, infidelity, and capricious behavior. We ask ourselves why he doesn't just leave--in fact, even Dexter realizes to some extent that it's a pointless endeavor. When Judy asks Dexter to marry her, "a million phrases of anger, pride, passion, hatred, tenderness fought on his lips," revealing his internal conflict between his dream and reality. Even with all the evidence against Judy, as well as the emotional pain he'd cause Irene, Dexter decides to marry her. To him, she represents the perfect woman. He is completely blind to her faults because he has this flawless image of her affixed in his imagination. He either is unable to or unwilling to give up Judy, because that would mean his life has been meaningless. That is why he is so devastated, years later, when Devlin reveals that Judy is no longer beautiful. Dexter can't deceive himself any longer; his winter dreams are gone, and he realizes "he could never go back any more" (958).

Gatsby's story is very similar to Dexter's. Gatsby, arguably, has the more merciful fate. He doesn't have to go through the painful process of learning to find meaning in life once again. Dexter, on the other hand, is forever changed by his revelation.

These two stories focus on only a few people. Fitzgerald doesn't mention anything about Daisy and Judy's other lovers. If you think about it, how many of them suffered similar fates, chasing after fantasies? The experiences of Gatsby and Dexter aren't unique events. Most people, if not all, have their dreams tested at some point in their lives--and woe unto them if their dreams do not stand up to the harshness of reality.

There is something profoundly sorrowful about the death of a dream.

The Irony of Thanksgiving

The joy of Thanksgiving the settlers experienced came at the expense of the Native Americans. Even though they were the ones who taught the pilgrims how to farm the land, they were soon forgotten in the rush for money and land.

Thanksgiving is meant to be a day of, well, giving thanks. How did the early settlers reconcile their observance of this holiday with their treatment of the Native Americans? It doesn't really make sense, to be partying while stepping all over an entire group of people.

You can still see this mentality today in the Black Friday craze. Americans line up for hours and trample each other for the sake of material wealth. Every year, there are reports of people literally crushed to death by the crowd. You could say Black Friday is the antithesis of Thanksgiving, and yet it takes place the day after. We make the shift from grateful to greedy overnight without seeing an issue. Not only that, Black Friday sales have been gradually taking up more time, starting earlier and ending later, in an effort to boost sales.

This also leads back to the Roaring Twenties. It was a period of lavish spending as the economy soared. Just look at the scale and grandeur of Gatsby's parties--yet, despite all of his wealth, Gatsby wasn't truly happy. The statement "money can't buy happiness" is often ridiculed as something only the poor say, but I believe there's still some truth to it. 

Historiography

Historiography is the history of history, how it's been tweaked and edited over time.

The teacher in Billy Collins's poem The History Teacher blatantly lies to his students in an attempt to protect their innocence. Of course, the poem is an exaggeration, but there is underlying truth.

Even today, we're constantly deceived by everything from advertisements to the government.  Look at how complicated these FDA requirements for food labels are. Is this really necessary? And what about the U.S. national debt? The last time I remember hearing anything about it, it was around the $7 trillion mark. Now it's all the way up to $17 trillion, and climbing steadily.The list goes on and on. Overfishing, foreign political issues, you name it. 

Historically speaking, governments tend to sugarcoat the truth for the sake of "protection." Like The History Teacher shows, though, it doesn't actually help. Ignoring and covering up real issues actually makes things worse in the long run, akin to festering wounds. We've all learned this lesson at some point (after a stern scolding in preschool, for me). Recognizing the problem is the first step to solving it.

Personally, I think we'd all be better off if people stuck with the truth.

Grammar Rules

Grammar, even in an ever-changing world, is necessary for clear communication; the benefits of a common structure far outweigh the demand for artistic fluidity.

Language is, first and foremost, a means of communication. The consistency of grammatical rules allow readers to get an accurate idea of what the writer was trying to convey. The presence of an Oxford comma, for example, can change the meaning of a sentence drastically (Source G). Punctuation marks not only prevent ambiguity, but can also be used to emphasize a point--each has its own connotation. Grammatically correct writing does not have to be devoid of style. The semicolon, as Dolnick states, "captures the way in which our thoughts are both liquid and solid" (Source E). The dash is "informal and essentially playful" (Source D). These connotations are universally recognized, and help create a connection between the author and audience. Adherence to the rules of grammar should remain the standard because it enables effective communication (Source A). Even if, as Hitchings asserts, punctuation has changed over time, the need for punctuation in general has not. In fact, new marks have cropped up due to social media sites like Twitter, showing that punctuation is still useful even in modern times. After all, not everyone is Emily Dickinson; loosening the confines of punctuation would probably result in more rubbish than poetry. 

Surprise!

The ending of The Scarlet Letter was unexpected, but only partially. By now, we've been conditioned to expect plot twists and surprise endings. What half-decent novel or film doesn't have them? From Ender's Game to The Dark Knight Rises, the unexpected has started to become, if you'll excuse the cliché, the expected.

[Spoiler alert]

Near the end of The Scarlet Letter, Hester and Dimmesdale make plans to escape Boston and leave behind their sins. To more cynical readers, this seems too good to be true--a fairy-tale ending, if you will. This sentiment is manifested in Pearl, who foreshadows the tragic ending when she makes Hester put her scarlet letter back on. In addition, Hawthorne's reputation as a "brooding" Romantic also does not bode well for Hester and Dimmesdale. Despite all this, escaping with Hester is still the most rational choice for Dimmesdale; it's most likely what we would do if we were in his position. So, in effect, we're expecting the plot twist even though it's not the most reasonable thing to do.

So why does Dimmesdale do it? Why does he confess to the world, effectively committing suicide and deserting Hester and Pearl, when he has a perfectly good escape plan?

Earlier, I called the ending tragic. However, from Dimmesdale's point of view, it's not necessarily so. His confession is his catharsis, a cleansing of his soul from years of accumulated guilt. He's finally at peace with himself and God and ready to receive his judgement. This illustrates how painful secrets can be, and the sheer relief that comes with their revelation. You could also argue that Dimmesdale was just a coward who couldn't just get on with his life, but that's a matter of opinion.

In the end, Dimmesdale is very similar to John Proctor. They both valued the truth over their own lives.

Schadenfreude

There's something mesmerizing about the ill fortune of others. 

What does the abundance of mishaps on TV and the internet reveal about human nature? We've all showed friends funny clips of people "failing" and getting hurt before. From an outsider's perspective, this behavior is a bit barbaric. You'd think we have progressed beyond laughing at someone taking a pratfall, but evidently we haven't. 

Roger Chillingworth exhibits the same behavior, taking pleasure in Dimmesdale's psychological torment. When Chillingworth first arrives in Boston, he seems normal enough. He's gradually twisted by his thirst for revenge, until even his physical appearance reflects his dark thoughts. This transition seems crazy at first--a regular person could never become that evil. A simple search for "revenge killing" proves this assumption wrong. Under extreme circumstances, people are often willing to give up their ideals for the sake of vengeance. It takes an extremely strong sense of morality to forgive, say, someone who kidnapped your children.

The fact that there are people who commit crimes itself speaks to the depravity of human nature, let alone the people who then are incited to revenge.

As Hawthorne said, no matter how spotless a community, one of the first buildings they find it necessary to build is a jail. 

Theory of Mind

"We're all minor characters in someone else's story." -Unknown

In class, we read "This is Water" by David Foster Wallace, who posits that our "default setting" is self-centered and self-seeking. He uses stream of consciousness to emulate a daily experience, and it's uncannily accurate. I know I've been guilty of thinking that way, especially after a long day at school. How can we all think of other people as nuisances, even as they're thinking the same thing?

From birth, you can only experience life from one perspective--your own. We are not born as omniscient narrators, able to view and comment on the thoughts of others (which would make socializing so much easier). All we know is our own psyche. This is part of the reason why "simple awareness" is so difficult to maintain; it's hard to consider others when we're so used to providing for ourselves above all else.

Selfishness is hardwired into our systems. Our ancestors competed to survive, just as we now compete to be successful. People fight for fame, wealth, power, you name it. The nature of this competition demands selfishness: for every winner, there must be losers. We're easily blinded by our goals, too busy working to notice the plight of others. It's not uncommon to see hundreds, thousands of people walking by a beggar without giving a second glance.

The term theory of mind refers to the capacity to empathize. It's quite possibly the most valuable gift humans have--it allows for strong connections to be made between individuals. Theory of mind is what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom. It's what David Foster Wallace is talking about, taking the time to truly care about others. It's a shame that we're not using it to it's full extent.

On a more positive note, a relatively recent photography movement has sprung up: Humans of New York. Brandon Stanton's work captures snapshots of people we'll never meet, providing a glimpse of their life stories. It really makes you think about the people you meet every day. What if there's more to "the guy who wears funny hats," or "the guy who sits behind me in chemistry?" This is a step in the right direction; it's this kind of art that really brings out the best in humanity.

Bananappeals

Did you know that bananas are naturally slightly radioactive (thanks to their potassium content), but the level of radiation is not high enough to cause harm?

Jokes aside, appeals are largely responsible for the power of language. They can make the reader question previously held beliefs or solidify them. As we've seen from reading historical documents in class, early American writers used appeals to great effect. 

Patrick Henry used a variety of arguments in his speech; he mixed logical evidence with loaded language such as "insidious," "delusive," and "invincible." Integrating the abstract and the concrete served to make both more effective--readers are more likely to accept his rational evidence after being softened by his emotional appeal, and the evidence makes the emotional appeal seem more logical. In addition, his use of rhetorical questions guided the audience's thinking throughout the speech. This combination of tactics served to stir the hearts of many. 

Appeals, however, can also be considered manipulative depending on how they're used. Emotional appeals are especially dangerous because they don't require any evidence. People should be critical of speeches and causes that rely solely on emotional appeal to gain supporters. This is exemplified by the advertisements that deluge us today; organizations like PETA attempt to guilt-trip viewers instead of providing factual information.

"The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it." -Terry Pratchett

The Effects of Refrigeration on Hippopotamuses

Names make an impact on what we expect from something or someone.

Depending on the context of a situation, names can be viewed in different ways. Reputation tends to be tied up with names, especially in The Crucible, because a name is how society identifies an individual. Your name is a label that encompasses everything you've done publicly. Since only public actions will affect your reputation--and hence your name--people who are eager to inflate their stature often try to publicize every good deed while concealing incriminating events. This behavior is clearly evident in Salem; everyone from Abigail to Reverend Hale is concerned about defending their reputation. Proctor is even willing to die in order to keep his name in the town unblemished. 

On the other hand, reputation doesn't mean much if you've only just met a person. After learning a stranger's name, people tend to make snap judgements about the person based on several factors.

• Meaning

Although less common today, in Biblical times names were often chosen because of their meaning. Abraham, for example, means "father of many;" a fitting name for the ancestor of innumerable people. Parents often try to name their children optimistically, like Aaron (shining light) or Bella (beautiful).

• Prior experience

If someone named Oliver bullied you throughout middle school, you're probably going to have an unfavourable first impression of Olivers in the future. It might not even be a conscious reaction.

• Stereotypes or associations

Research shows that certain names can be and are discriminated against. Some names just carry negative connotations. For example, after 9/11, anyone with a slightly Middle-Eastern name was treated with suspicion. Again, this discrimination isn't always a conscious or hostile decision. Just think of the names Olga and Alyssa. Since my name is Newton, I've had plenty of prior experience with people who make (original and hilarious) jokes about how intelligent I must be. I'm sure I've had a completely different experience than, say, someone named Batman.

Baa, Baa, Black Sheep

This week in class, we read The Crucible, a play by Arthur Miller about the hysterical atmosphere of the Salem witch trials. Again, we see the power of mob mentality at work. With all the discussion of social dynamics we've been having lately (stereotyping, power of the individual, etc.), it seems like I accidentally signed up for a psychology course, but I digress.

Proctor, the tragic hero of the play, is somewhat of an anomaly in the town of Salem. He doesn't participate in petty squabbles over land like the rest of the townspeople, and is "respected and even feared in Salem" (144). Naturally, people feel threatened and consider him (albeit behind his back) an outsider; you might say he's a black sheep.

In psychology, the black sheep effect refers to how individuals in a group view other members. Proctor and the townspeople belong to one big group of Salem residents, but Proctor is a bit of a deviant; he doesn't conform to society and so becomes a separate outgroup. When the witch trial frenzy begins, Abigail's coterie go after anyone they believe is different (those in the outgroup) under the pretense of religion. People between the inner and outer groups are caught up and tend to comply with the group, even if they are privately opposed to the group's actions. All it takes is one ringleader--Abigail--and everyone goes nuts because, well, everyone else is going nuts, so they should too, right? This effect is only compounded by the Puritan obsession with reputation. Once the wheel has been set in motion, it cannot be stopped. As Danforth says, "reprieve or pardon must cast doubt upon the guilt of them that died till now" (201).

The articles we read show that this attitude of witch-hunting is still very much alive today, from Communist teachers to literal witch hunts in third-world countries.

O'Brien put it best in The Things They Carried: "I was a coward. I went to war."

Historical Revolution

“History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme.” ― Mark Twain

As much as people like to declare themselves as progressive, open-minded thinkers, society as a whole hasn't changed much from colonial times. In fact, in some ways it seems to have regressed. The literature of colonial times we read through was surprisingly familiar. It was the same stuff we see today--journals and love letters, religious sermons and oppressed minorities. We've collected a few fancy new toys along the way, but the same questions and themes are still relevant. It's ironic how Americans, after freeing themselves from British "tyranny," turned around and started keeping slaves. Equiano wrote to inform the world of its cruelty. Although not as severe, didn't proponents of same-sex marriage and women's rights have similar goals?  As for Jonathan Edwards' "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," the basic message is still relevant today, if not more so. He'd probably have a heart attack if he saw something like the recent VMA's. The present may not be a carbon copy of the past, but they do share similarities.

It seems that human nature is hard to change, for all of our technology and education. 

“But here's some advice, boy. Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come around again. That's why they're called revolutions.” 

― Terry Pratchett, Night Watch

Moore's Paradox

It never really occurred to me to question how nonfiction writers created such detailed accounts of a situation. That isn't to say that it makes sense to me; I just didn't think about it. I knew, on some level, that parts of The Glass Castle were fabricated; however, I read it as if it were completely true. It's an interesting paradox, how it was possible for me to believe (against logic) that everything Jeannette said was factual. It's like doublethink in 1984 almost, knowing something is both fiction and truth. Jeannette's memoir served its purpose in the end though, didn't it? It was an entertaining read and a fascinating account of her childhood.

How much fiction is acceptable in a "nonfiction" book?

On one hand, we have The Glass Castle, with minor(?) fictional filling-in. On the other hand, we have James Frey, with the vast majority of A Million Little Pieces made up. And on a third hand, we have metafictional like The Things They Carried, which claims to be both truth and fiction. Where does the actual truth come in? What exactly is truth?

Nonfiction books and documentaries probably wouldn't be very interesting to read without a storyline. In fact, I think those are called textbooks. So whether it's Sherman Alexie publishing fiction with rooted in truth or Tim O'Brien publishing truth rooted in fiction, it all comes down to pretty much the same purpose: a better understanding of the world.

(Garfield would not be quite as funny if it were true)

(Source)

Godwin's Law

How much power does an individual wield? 

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Everyone is, by definition, an individual. Why then, does a group of individuals behave so differently? It seems only logical that a larger number of people could achieve more. In practice, however, the social and intellectual bottlenecks that arise actually make groups less efficient. 

Individuals have more potential than most people realize.

One recurring theme in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is racism. Many of the characters are racist simply because that's how they were raised. Aunt Sally, for example, disregards the black man that was killed in a steamboat accident. She casually states that "sometimes people do get hurt" (223). Aunt Sally is by no means a vicious person; she's just behaving how everyone else is behaving. The feud between the Shepherdsons and the Grangerfords is a similar situation. Buck dies without even knowing why he was fighting. Colonel Sherburn's speech exemplifies the kind of mob mentality that is so prevalent in the novel. He scornfully disperses the crowd, knowing that most are "afraid [they'll] be found out to be what [they] are—cowards" (149). Sherburn is able to think clearly because he's not caught up in the mob.

Throughout history, there have been people who profoundly impacted the world, for good or evil. Their names are still common knowledge today--Martin Luther King, Abraham Lincoln, Alexander the Great, Adolf Hitler, Albert Einstein. Very rarely, if ever, is a group remembered the same way. It's always been individuals whom the world has immortalized. Godwin's Law states that the longer an online discussion lasts, the higher the chance that Hitler is brought up. This is a testament to how an individual can affect the lives of many, although in this case we would have been better off without his influence.

1984 and Brave New World, two dystopian novels, both depict the general public as mindless subjects, subject to the laws and regulations of higher powers. The point Orwell and Huxley make is that groups are easier to control than individuals, as shown by Big Brother's ruthless treatment of Winston.

The individual wields power because they aren't bound by social rules or obligations. Individuals are free to innovate and/or act on convictions without having to worry about what others will think of them. They are usually the people heading a group and creating change.