One Side Stories; Guilty Victims

After listening to Chimamanda Adichie's ted talk on the dangers of one-sided stories, I find myself wavering between two discerning feelings. One one hand, I relate to what she is talking about and feel, as a Colombian, a victim of one-sided stories too. On the other, I feel ashamed for being much like Chimamanda's roommate in a lot of ways; I have a handful of predispositions towards the world because of one-sided stories I chose to blindly absorb.

First, I felt ecstatic. This woman was talking about something Colombians suffer from every single day: one-sided stories. Not only was she pointing out the ridiculousness of this, but also she was able to inspire her listeners to reflect upon the issue. The story of her roommate being incredulous at her fluent English repeated itself recently on my trip to Washington D.C during October Break. While riding a cab with some people I had met, I started singing to the song that was being played on the radio. A guy who was sitting next to me turned, surprised, and said, "Oh my God, how come you know the lyrics to this song?". I stared at him and replied, "Well, Colombians also listen to this type of music." He was bewildered at the fact that Colombians actually heard pop music, and additionally seemed a little confused that I could sing the song, which meant I knew, or could at least decipher, English. This comprehensibly opposed his one-sided story about Colombians being indigenous, ignorant, barbarian drug dealers.

Nonetheless, I have to admit that I too have been guilty for formulating one-sided stories. I am incredibly ashamed of accepting this but as I heard Chimamanda's talk I felt surprised by the fact that she, an African, could fluently speak in English. This is ironic, having in mind that I suffered from the same discrimination during my recent trip. But then I quickly wondered, why is it that people in Africa are only thought of as HIV infected natives?  Well, one-sided stories. The exact same reason why Colombians are though of as close-minded, uncultured terrorists.

Chimamanda not only inspired me to speak up for my country and against its one-sided prescribed reputation but also to have an open mind before taking any other stories in. People should have, as she emphasizes, a "balance" of stories before judging people, countries, or just anything around us. We need a balance of stories before we can understand anything that happens around us.

Kurtz's Omnipotence

Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad, idealizes a particular man named Kurtz only to have him die a few pages after he first comes into presence. Kurtz was a great man, indeed. His accomplishments and his vista were beyond the ordinary, but he did not strike me as a man who would go down in history. What was it of Kurtz that made people put him on a pedestal?

Charlie Marlow, the story's narrator, starts off by merely hearing rumors about Kurtz's greatness. This quickly grows into an obsession to the point where Marlow mourns even the idea of Kurtz dying before he is able to listen to him. Marlow's idealization of Kurtz convinced him that Kurtz was a man worth listening to, as if Kurtz were above Marlow and therefore incapable of interacting with him. 

To this point, the reader only knows that Kurtz is some kind of an innate leader who was able to establish a successful ivory business in the middle of a savage milieu. This, to me, did not make Kurtz a god-like man at all.

In Part III of the novel, however, we are able to see Kurtz for the first time. Beyond rumors, Kurtz really is an outspoken man. Although suffering from a lethal disease, Kurtz is still able to impress those around him. He seems like a leader, yet fails to correspond to the God he has been portrayed as by his servants. 

Unconvinced by Kurtz's apparently admirable traits, I was reassured by Marlow's similar reaction. Notwithstanding the fact that Marlow is loyal to Kurtz and to his unquestionable reputation, Marlow also ventures to conclude that Kurtz isn't so unbelievably great. When traveling with him back to Europe, and after a series of deep conversations, Marlow conclusively states that Kurtz has a childish side to himself. More specifically, a "contemptibly childish" side to himself. This he noticed after getting to know Kurtz's vista's on a more intimate level and realizing that most of these were remarkably foolish. Nevertheless, this could also be the personification of what the doctor had foreshadowed in Part I of the novel; the changes that occur inside the men's head once they leave off to colonize.

Kurtz died, as does every other memorable hero, and I still failed to recognize him as an overly admirable man. What was it about him that seized the rest of the men? Was it his ability to speak up? Was it his skill of alleging possessions? Was it his perseverance? All these seem like very common human traits to me, but why was he idealized then?

I have come to believe than men at the time were far less innovating and independent than they are now, which would explain Kurtz's reputation to some extent. This is not convincing though. Does it have to do with the wilderness' darkness? Did Kurtz have a darkness of his own that would struck other men as threateningly admirable? I believe the answer to Kurtz's real magnificence cannot be answered until we grasp the underlying meaning of his surroundings. Was his omnipotence the omnipotence of the jungle that enveloped him?

 

Part I, Mateo Wiesner

In his blog entry to Part I of "Heart of Darkness", Mateo Wiesner raised an interesting question as to the use of irony in the novel. What I enjoyed the most, aside from his relevant, textual references, was his conclusion. He actually gave an answer to the question he had initially proposed and concluded that no, an effective use of irony on behalf of Joseph Conrad cannot yet be claimed.

Additionally, Mateo has a straightforward way of writing that allows the reader to enjoy his analysis. It is neither repetitive nor wordy. He does a great job at introducing his entry; giving slight background information about the thesis he was about to propose and, most importantly, going straight to the point.  He is able to create a superb mixture between scholar diction and unusual sentence structure.

I liked the fact that Mateo went beyond the text. I, for example, analyzed Part I on a literal level; I used what Conrad had written and worked with that. Mateo, on the other hand, took what Conrad had written and worked with the way it had been written; why Conrad achieved through the use of irony and what possible underlying message this may have had.

Fog Revisited

Part II of Joseph Conrad's novel, "Heart of Darkness", depicts Charlie Marlow's journey being conveniently interrupted by the "whiteness of a blinding mist". Marlow's experience with a palpable fog establishes a parallelism with Chief Bromden's hallucinative fog in Ken Kesey's, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". But do both fogs deliver the same message?

In "OFOCN", Bromden claims that he feels the safest when going unnoticed by hiding behind a symbolic, blinding fog that builds up whenever he feels fear. Marlow, similarly, feels comfortable in the fog that encapsulates his steamboat; it reassures him that no native attack will likely happen. Although he is overwhelmed by how the mist makes them practically blind, he is calm. Marlow knows, much like Chief Bromden did in "OFOCN", that nothing will happen to them if they stay hidden in the fog. It is some sort of a "if I do not see them, they will not see me" mentality that really seems to work out for human beings.

Overcoming the fog what allowed Chief Bromden from "OFOCN" to extricate the ward. However, escaping the fog was what led Marlow's steamboat to a shower of lethal arrow. Marlow acquired a greater panorama once the mist faded out, but his crew is now vulnerable again; the steamboat is not hidden anymore. But which of the two situations is better? Should we stay hidden behind our fears or should we overcome them and face all the possible consequences that may arise?

The concept of fog has appeared twice in two consecutive, unrelated novels. It represents, in both, the safety of hiding behind one's fears. Marlow and his crew escape the fog as they navigate up the river and closer to Mr. Kurtz's station, while Chief Bromden escapes the fog once he establishes a relationship with McMurphy. Is the symbolism of both fogs reliant on the existence of these two particular characters?

Fearing Darkness

Joseph Conrad's novel, "Heart of Darkness", depicts the story of a group of colonialists and their pasts. Part I of the book starts off with one of the men, Marlow, narrating how he had been introduced in the world of colonialism. Unlike popular belief, many of these marines disagreed with their missions and knew that what their nations claimed about the colonies was false.

Marlow starts off by telling how he had been enrolled in the navy and how he started having uneasy thoughts about the trip days before leaving. His anxiety is evident when the doctor is checking him; he becomes easily annoyed at the doctors questions. The doctor tells Marlow that he never sees the men he examines again once they take off. Marlow keeps quiet and comments on how he felt very annoyed at the doctors remarks.

Further on, Marlow expresses his neglect about leaving to another continent when his aunt hugs him good-bye and tells him to detach the natives from their horrid ways. Marlow felt uncomfortable at this comment, even quite vexed for he claims that women live in their own oblivious worlds. He knows his nation's interest is not within educating the Indians but rather within the continent's profit. What worries me as a reader is that he does not merely comment that he has this theory; he "ventures" to hint that what the Company wanted was profit. Noting the word "ventured" made me realize that these sailors were brainwashed before their trips and that it was not common at all for one of them to notice that.

Finally, Marlow's lack of conviction about sailing off to colonize becomes evident when he says, "I felt as though, instead of going to the centre of a continent, I were about to set off for the centre of the earth." (Page 77). Here, the centre of the Earth is depicted as a location alien to mankind, they know less about the centre of the Earth than what they know about the centre of this new continent. Marlow is nervous, he feels uneasy about setting off to a place he knows nothing about and from where he can expect practically anything; particularly not coming back home.

Marlow's worrisome attitude makes me feel sorry for him. He reminds me of the hundreds of soldiers in classical paintings that are fighting in the middle of colonialist wars or conquering unknown lands and have expressionless faces in them; they do not really feel or understand what is going on. Marlow saw an opportunity in what he country saw as a revolutionary colonialist act, and he feels worried about what he is about to encounter.

Irony

What examples from the song are ironic? How can you tell?

I noticed two examples that struck me as ironic:

1. "Hide your wives and daughter; hide the groceries too.
The great nations of Europe comin through."

- This is ironic on behalf of Randy Newman because he first warns listeners about having to hide their women and their food and then goes on to explaining it is because the "great" nations of Europe are coming. People associate the word "great" with something exciting and admirable, but the excerpt here is describing what these nations do as exactly the opposite. In reality, you would not have to hide anyone or anything from something great. 

2. "Balboa found the Pacific, and on the trail one day,
he met some friendly Indians whom the Church told him were gay,
soooooooooooooo
he had them torn apart by dogs on religious grounds they say
the great nations of Europe were quite holy in their way."

- The last phrase, "the great nations of Europe were quite holy in their way", is ironic in the sense that "holy" usually means something very sacred and saint-like. What the nations of Europe did with the indians by tearing them apart, etc. is not sacred at all; it is exactly the opposite. 

Throughout the song in general, the author describes horrific events and then connects them to the "great nations of Europe". The excerpt below is another example of how these "great" nations actually committed terrible things:

 "destroying everything in its path from sea to shining sea,

like the great nations of Europe in the 16th century"

What examples are not ironic? How can you tell?

1. "The Great Nations of Europe had gathered on the shore.
They'd conquered what was behind them and now they wanted more,
so they looked to the mighty ocean and took to the Western sea -
the great nations of Europe in the 16th century."

- This example is not ironic at all. Here, the nations of Europe are described as the fearless conquerors they were and the adjective "great" has been supported by historical references such as the nations pioneering into the Western sea. 

The Growth of a Giant

"If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we aren't really living."

- Gail Sheehy 

"One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest", by Ken Kessey, narrates the story of how one particular person  impacted the lives of several inmates in a lunatic asylum. What is interesting to notice within the novel's development is how characters change because of this person's influence and inspiration and how they grow either crazier or sane; specifically, how they grow out of the Combine.

Perhaps the most dramatic change occurs within Chief Bromden, the novel's narrator and one of the most important characters in the book. Bromden, originally an Indian from Columbia, starts off as a massive, mute outsider who is incredibly observant, passive, and inoffensive. This upsets the reader because the Chief, as he is nicknamed, could easily stand up not only for himself but for the other men in the ward if he were brave enough; his size is intimidating. Bromden repetitively demonstrates how fearful he is by describing some sort of "fog" that blocks his vision whenever the Big Nurse attempts to control the men in the ward. 

Thankfully, McMurphy is introduced into the asylum. After he discovers that the Chief is not really deaf, both of them start building a friendship that inspires Bromden speak; he starts off only chatting with McMurphy at night but then grows more confident and occasionally speaks up or simply acts up against the fog. One of the most surprising moments is when Bromden raises his hand and votes in favor of a schedule change under the eyes of the Big Nurse and then confesses to himself that he raised his hand because it was his will and not because of peer pressure.

He continues growing more and more confident until one day McMurphy notices the potential within Bromden's size and promises the Indian that he will make him "big" again until he is capable of lifting the metal box that would allow them to break a window and escape the hospital. This promise on McMurphy's behalf of making the Chief "big" again cannot only be understood from a literal perspective but also from a symbolic angle; McMurphy wants to trigger Bromden's confidence in himself.

The red-headed is able to do so and Bromden's development is demonstrated at the end of the book when, aside from hitting the black boys back when they hit McMurphy in the showers, he faced the punishment for that with courage. He did not see any fog before the EST took place and was able to easily escape it once it ended; something that surprised even himself. However, what surprises readers the most and what proves the theory of Bromden undergoing an internal change is the fact that he suffocates McMurphy. McMurphy, who is the ward's saint and inspiration and impulse, becomes a Vegetable after three EST's and an operation. Bromden and the rest are incapable of believing he could actually end up that way, so Bromden acts "courageously" and suffocates McMurphy with a pillow. Yes, Bromden is killing a man, but it took a lot of bravery to do so specially when he could suffer terrible consequences for doing so. Moreover,  the act of accepting how such a lively man like McMurphy could not undergo the rest of his years as a Vegetable took a lot of courage too. More surprisingly still is the fact that Bromden escapes the ward after murdering his friend. 

Conclusively, regardless of whether Bromden is now crazier or not, he became brave. He gained his voice again and his confidence was restored, so much as to make him escape the ward and hop on a truck off to Canada. One single man was able to transform Bromden into a more courageous indian who then escaped the Combine and overcame his fears. This should serve as an inspiration to stand up for our selves and avoid wasting time following unjust rules from either Big Nurse's or the Combine itself. 

A Woman Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Ken Kessey's portrayal of women in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" is offensively intriguing. From a woman's perspective, I find Kessey's depiction of woman as stereotypical and attacking. Nonetheless, I accept this adds mysteriousness to the novel's feminine characters and offers a more accurate setting for the degradation of men within the mental hospital.

Kessey depicts the Big Nurse as this diplomatic, controlled, probably hair-sprayed woman who is able to control a number of outcasts all by herself. An admirable woman, one might think, but the Big Nurse slightly more complex than that. The way in which  her facial expression twitches when her authority is questioned or the way in which that Alice-in-Wonderland-cat-smile of hers seems to be forever hammered below her nose gives the reader an underlying hint of her passive-aggressiveness and the insanity within that. Kessey portrays the Big Nurse as the woman in charge; as the ball-cutter in a hospital of men.

I thought Kessey had only portrayed the Big Nurse as a control-freak, manipulative harpy until Harding's wife came along. Vera stands out to me as a new-rich woman who sleeps around and who, by means of her manipulating skills, got poor old Harding to join the ward. Her coldness reminds me of the Big Nurse. Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Harding, or Vera, has also some sort of passive-aggressive nature to herself; she is also a ball-cutter. In roughly two pages, Vera is able to 1) Tell McMurphy to call her Vera, for she hates Mrs. Harding, 2) Accuse Harding of his inability to have "enough", and 3) Imply that the other men that come to visit her with the excuse of looking for her husband are more manly than Harding.

The connection between the Big Nurse and Mrs. Harding lies in their passive-aggressive, manipulative nature. It makes the reader want to smack both of them in the face.

What surprised me after noticing how these two woman resemble one another was that these are roughly the only two woman Kessey makes reference to, or rather, relevantly describes. But why would Kessey want to depict woman so coldly?

Personally, I have known more Big Nurses than Big He-Nurses. But that still does not give a solid reason as to why Kessey may have chosen women as his way of embodying everything that annoys mankind. Perhaps it is because women like the Big Nurse require smart and clever men; strong men may quiet down another man, but strong men have nothing against even the tiniest of tyrannic women.
This may be Kessey's attempt to target societal norms, which cannot be altered by the strong but by the smart. Only he who succeeds in soothing the Big Nurse's ego will achieve a fog-less  panorama, unlike the one who tried beating the woman down and ended up in Shock therapy.

The Chief's Fog

Throughout the first pages of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest", by Ken Kesey, the narrator makes repetitive references to some kind of fog that creates a thick layer of skim milk material that obstacles the patient's view and  listening skills. This fog comes from a fog machine that is started, apparently, every time the Big Nurse needs to get hold of a patient out of control. Having in mind the narrator's schizophrenia, it is challenging to understand the fog's nature; is it palpable or is it symbolic?

For example, the first time the fog was mentioned was when the narrator suffered a panic attack before getting shaved. He was seized by a group of people and suddenly the fog machine was started and he could not see six inches in front of him nor listen to anything else but the Big Nurse taking control over the situation.

Another time the fog was mentioned was in page 37, where the Chief says "Before noontime they're at the fog machine again but they haven't got it turned up full, it's not so thick but what I can see if I strain real hard." Bearing in mind that the person talking is schizophrenic, I believe the fog machine may be some type of medicine forced on patients that will limit their vision and senses in order to make it easier to manipulate them. There is a scene in which the narrator says, "On rare occasions, some fool might ask what he's being required to swallow" (page 30). I connect this to the fog and conclude that the red pills enforced on patients, and for which the nurses refuse to give an explanation, are part of a series of tranquilizers given to patients. These tranquilizers, either because they are needed on behalf of a critical patient or because the nurses are careless upon their excessive use, are the cause of the fog the narrator claims to suffer from every once in a while.

The fog does not only represent the physical impediment the patient is suffering from but also the mental repercussions it causes. The fact that nurses implement these type of measures on their patients demonstrates how the mental hospital they live in is not the democratic place they claim they are but rather a systematic space in which patients are subdued to clinical authority and expected to act as society wants them to act. The nurses seem annoyed by the patients and react harshly to the slightest hint of discomfort on their behalf; they use the fog in order to make their jobs easier and simply have the patients subdued into a state of strained vision instead of having to fight against them or help them understand the reasons of their expected behavior.Yes, patients might be insane, but from what has been described there has not really been a need to make use of the fog and, nevertheless, there it is.

Questioning the Bible

Watching Waiting for Godot was a very different experience from the one I had while reading the play. Watching certain details and listening to specific parts of the conversation between Vladimir and Estragon made me notice things I had ignored before.

After reading the play, I hardly remembered or even gave importance to the beginning of the story. However, watching the movie made this initial scene a lot more relevant in my afterthoughts. For example, I had not realized the importance of Didi’s hat; the way in which he takes it off and examines it after certain thoughts. I had also forgotten the fact that Didi and Gogo make reference to the past; they talk about how they “were” and where they had “traveled” as if some unspoken event had changed the nature of their lives. Another thing that popped up to me was Didi’s frightfulness towards dreams. Nevertheless, what surprised me the most was how Didi straightforwardly questioned the Bible. To me, the most concerning of these realizations is the latter. 

I remember reading something about Vladimir and Estragon making some vague allusion to God and perhaps a Biblical name. Nonetheless, watching the movie made me realize that these references were not vague at all. In fact, Didi is pretty straightforward and wonders, or rather challenges, why only one of the four gospels talks about a thief being saved. Moreover, Didi questions why it is that we, the human race, believe that single gospel and not the other three. Not only is it one evangelist of four who makes reference to a thief being saved, but two do not even mention thieves and the third says both thieves abused Jesus, or our Savior, because he would not save them. And why is it that men believe the version of that single, merciful evangelist? Is it because we are afraid of believing the opposite? Because following any of the other two versions would slightly change the perception we have had of Jesus for the past 2,000 years. That would not be easy at all. Furthermore, believing on any of the other two versions would either mean that Jesus was crucified alone, that is, it would make the story less credible due to the differing versions, or it would mean Jesus was not actually a Savior or at least not forgiving enough.

The reflection one could make on this trivial piece of the dialogue is everlasting. However, Estragon closes the topic with the most convincing of all conclusions, “People are bloody ignorant apes” (Page 7). As Thomas Gray once put it, “Ignorance is bliss.” The less we dwell on the subject, the happier we will be. I feel a lot more tranquil believing on the sort of established evangelist version we have adapted rather than stressing on the implicit meaning of the other two versions (and the fact that one of the two is supported by half the number of gospels). People are bloody ignorant apes who are willing to believe on what is morally correct regardless of whether it is true or not. However, in this case, being ignorant gave men a reason to live for and a set of morals to follow. Let us not question the Bible too much Didi, we might not find its unveiling secrects very pleasant. 

Waiting For Who?

“Waiting for Godot” by Samuel Beckett is possibly the most confusing play I have ever read. Although noticeably funny, the play’s simplicity suggests that there is a lot more to it than what you read. For example Godot, who is he? Or rather, what is he? And why do Vladimir and Estragon keep waiting for him? Do they know him? And why doesn’t Godot he ever come?

To me, Godot is the personification of God. Why he never comes I cannot understand. However, the fact that Vladimir and Estragon are waiting for him somehow demonstrates how men in the real world are also always waiting for a God that might never come. What seems foolish though is how Vladimir and Estragon keep returning to the spot where they are to wait for Godot despite the fact that he never comes. Are men like that? Do we keep waiting for God even when we know deep inside that he might never come? I believe so. The problem is, why do we? Is it because we are afraid of abandoning the illusion that he might come or is it because we are afraid of what he might do if he did come and we were not there waiting for him? But then what kind of a benevolent God is he if he were to do something to us if he did not find us waiting for him?

Nevertheless, my questions go beyond the play’s title. The tree: What does it represent? Why did it grow leaves all of a sudden?  Does it represent life, the fact that it is a blossoming tree, or does it represent death, the fact that Didi and Gogo want to hang themselves from it?

Furthermore, Pozzo and Lucky intrigue me. Their love/hate relationship reminds me of the old guy’s relationship to his cocker in “The Stranger” by Albert Camus. Why does Lucky keep up with that? What sort of human being is he? And why does Pozzo become blind all of a sudden?

Finally, perhaps the most enduring question I have regards a tiny detail from the book. Except from Vladimir, why can’t anyone seem to remember anything from the day before? More importantly, why is Vladimir the only one who can remember?

Although the play is fun to read and its random dialogues and simple occurrences cause the reader to giggle, I believe I will not be able to grasp the play’s basic meaning and message before I am able to answer these questions. To me, the play resembles some kind of critique towards men and their blindness and weakness and everlasting hope of being saved. Nevertheless, I prefer to answer these thoughts before solidifying my shallow verdict. 

Foolish, Unreasonable Existence

“The irrationality of a thing is no argument against its existence, rather a condition of it.”

- Friedrich Nietzsche

Is existence absurd? Albert Camus’ novel, “The Stranger”, delivers an interesting approach to this and many other existentialist verdicts through the life and upcoming death of his character, Monsieur Meursault. Notwithstanding the fact that reading a phrase like “Existence is essentially absurd” may cause readers to giggle, reflect, or cry in despair, we can all agree that there is a reason for the statement. We all live, we all die; what is the point of being in a world where you will soon be forgotten and where your 70-year lifespan will have no effect on the infinite prevalence of the universe?

Several incidents throughout “The Stranger” attempt to touch on this existentialist conviction. The very beginning of the book, describing, or rather simply stating, Maman’s death is the base to realizing there is no difference whatsoever in her dying yesterday, today, or tomorrow. Camus expresses this sort of indifference towards existence by opening his novel with the ever-controversial declaration, “Maman died today. Or yesterday maybe, I don’t know” (Page 3). He again strengthens this point in page 24, where Meursault is pictured wondering to himself, “It occurred to me that another Sunday was over… Maman was buried now, I had to go back to work tomorrow, and that really, nothing had changed.” Nothing had changed except that his mother had died, which many might consider the most painful day in the life of a reasonable human being. However, what Camus is trying to say is that life goes on, another Sunday goes by, some work is to be done the next day, and so on. The world did not stop because Maman died, so why dwell helplessly over it?

In order to move on, I must include what the definition of absurd is according to the Oxford dictionary: “Absurd – unreasonable, illogical, inappropriate, foolish.” But why may men believe their existence is illogical or foolish? Camus once again approaches this ideology when Meursault decides to kill an Arab man for no apparent reason. Apparently,  the sun was hitting him too hard. What Camus is trying to deliver through this is how one’s life is meaningless; one moment you are in the sand, the next a random French existentialist decides to shoot you four times. Existence is illogical; we are all doomed at the end and, additionally, we have to live with the fear and incapability of doing anything to prevent it. I believe existentialists hold on to this philosophy as a way to let go of their human instinct against the inevitability of death. They claim existence is absurd, so why give any importance to it?

Nevertheless, Camus makes an interesting and rather differing point on this ideal at the end of his novel, when Meursault is condemned to being beheaded. Camus offers the reader a powerful image of the ever-existentialist adult who now faces a scheduled death and finds himself unable to ignore it. Camus’ message goes from being extremely existentialist to showing that men will still be men, and that as absurd as existence may be (demonstrated by the implied fact that Meursault still dies), men are naturally incapable of accepting this. What men should do though, is reach a personal point at which they feel satisfied with what they have done in life and open up to the fact that life does have an end. That is what Meursault ends up concluding while holding to a minute hope of being saved; that same hope we all have and which convinces us we are immortal.

And So The Guillotine Was Let Loose

It is overwhelming how sometimes certain things are better understood when left unsaid. That is, how the art of inferring can enlighten us with richer knowledge than that we would have ever attained through careless reading. What are sometimes considered as gaps in the text are rather hidden caves of infinite information that allow the reader to infer. Most of these inferences made throughout the reading of a novel unravel vital truths that would have otherwise not caused such an impact.

            Throughout Albert Camus’ novel, “The Stranger”, the continuous gaps in the text provide fructiferous questioning that not only force but also inspire the reader to infer on what both Camus and Meursault are attempting to deliver. It surprised me how undetailed the novel is; nonetheless, this grants an even deeper meaning to it. The reader can see how Meursault never describes himself, how he never really explains what and when things went wrong with Maman, and why he is the careless man he is.

            Despite Meursault’s lack of emotion and explanation, what distressed me the most was not textually reading whether his beheading occurred or not. It took me a moment to realize just how much richer was Camus’ way of concluding the novel.  The reader can infer upon the novel's end; he/she has the chance to compile 120 pages of textual reference with unlimited prior knowledge in the attempt to formulate an individually convincing verdict.

“As if that blind rage had washed me clean… for the first time… I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world… I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again.” (Page 123)

And so the novel ends. But wait, where is the part where Meursault gets his head cut off and crowds cry and cheer and Marie scowls in despair and Maman waits for him beside the God he never believed in?

            I believe Camus did this for a reason; just as Meursault was accused of being intelligent while in trial, I accuse Camus of being clever while in writing. So what if Meursault dies beheaded or of old age? So what if he died now, later, yesterday? Meursault reached the ultimate sentiment of indifference towards the world; that which we all want but feel afraid of. He understood that what mattered was his unique capability of living life without regret and without the childish illusion of hoping it would be another. He was a man; he understood that he was alone and that the only thing that mattered was what he had in the present: dawn, the beating of his heart, and his capability of feeling happy in the face of death. He was strong; he never even considered a hypocrite deathbed conversion. If we were indifferent to the world, just as it is indifferent to us, we would be able to genuinely and gingerly live the condemned life we have. The lack of information provided in the novel only encourages us to daydream of the infinite possibilities Meursault may have faced; however, what really ends up having any relevance and importance is his final inner accomplishment. It is a lesson, to each and every one of us. Anyone can die today or tomorrow, anyone can come along and decide for you, but what should worry us in life is the task of attaining an indifferent position against the possibility of death and rather use our time to focus on doing what we are passionate about, what we can do now, and what we will probably not have the opportunity to even considering doing tomorrow. 

The Stranger; Existentialism Between the Lines

Albert Camus’ novel, “The Stranger”, delivers existentialist ideals through Monsieur Meursault’s actions and lack of emotions. The fact that he is detached from his mother’s death and apparently unaffected by it is the ultimate example of Camus’ personification of existentialism; which, as it is commonly known, deals with the whole purpose of human existence and the philosophy that life has no meaning and therefore nothing in it really matters.

In the first four chapters of the novel the reader can begin to understand Meursault’s attitude towards life; “Then I felt like having a smoke. But I hesitated, because I didn’t know if I could do it with Maman right there. I thought about it; it didn’t matter.” (Page 8). Meursault is using the classic existentialist phrase, “It doesn’t matter.” So what if I have a smoke in front of my mother’s dead body? Camus infers that Meursault’s habit of smoking probably bothered his mother, but at the same time the man has no problem with opposing this even when she lies dead in front of him. As Meursault might have thought so at the time, mankind has free will and nothing that he does has any importance.

Although throughout the novel Meursault seems indifferent towards his mother’s death, the culmination of this hypothesis occurs in page 24 where he states, “It occurred to me that anyway one more Sunday was over, that Maman was buried now… and that, really, nothing had changed.” Nothing had changed? His mother had just died! Anyhow, it is not like Meursault even knows when this occurred, as shown in the first pages of the novel where he questions whether his mother’s death occurred yesterday or the day before that.  One might believe on existentialist philosophies but it is absurd to become indifferent of your mother’s death, especially because that is simply disrespectful. However, Meursault is just like that; objective, euphemistic, detached. Will the sorrow of losing his mother ever come to light?

Another thing that stood out for me was how the first four chapters of the book ended with an interesting contrast between characters. Mr. Salamano, Meursault’s neighbor, approaches Meursault because he is deeply concerned about his dog’s disappearance. Despaired and trembling, Salamano asks Meursault, “They’re not going to take him away from me are they…? Otherwise, what’s going to happen to me?” (Page 39). This stands out to me because it happened just two days after Meursault buried his mother, and while he seems totally untroubled by that, his neighbor is loosing his head over a dog. Regardless of the relationship this man had with his cocker, it is ridiculous that he falls into an anxious breakdown for a dog while Meursault enjoys the day after his mother's death. Nevertheless, Camus once again throws hints of his existentialist ideals through this; Meursault is enjoying the day, isn’t that the only thing that matters?

Although I am liking the novel, I find Meursault’s detachment slightly perturbing and worrying. I respect Camus’ existentialist believes but I think the human being is incapable of hiding these kind of overwhelming emotions forever. Will Meursault ever fall into them?

Dear Mr. Ferrebee

Dear Mr. Ferrebee,

After reading my 45 minute AP Question Response, and before reading the comments you printed on the back, I thought it was, overall, a good essay that met the standards and showed interesting quotes and analysis. However after reading your comments I felt you were right with some but perhaps not so clear with others. For example, a 5 Essay meets the assignment while providing “thin and commonplace information” but my essay included two quotes from the book that I could remember, place, and explain; I do not believe that to be thin information. Even though I agree with most of the characteristics you highlighted on the back, details like this make me disagree a little on the final grade for my essay. I am aware that my essay is not an 8 but I believe the usage of quotes may place mine on a higher grade as compared to others who, though I am not aware of this, might have not used quotes from the text and still gotten the same grade as I did.

Nevertheless, thank-you for including the comments on the back, it is a helpful manner of showing us that our essays are graded based on solid standards.

Sincerely,

Andrea Diaz 

Colors Within "The Great Gatsby"

“We both looked at the grass- there was a sharp line where my ragged lawn ended and the darker, well-kept expanse of his began. I suspected he meant [cutting] my grass." (page 82)

F. Scott Fitzgerald refers to colors in both a direct and an indirect way throughout his novel, "The Great Gatsby". But what is his intent? What do those recurring colors represent?

The excerpt above was taken from a scene describing Gatsby's behavior before Daisy's arrival to Nick's house for tea. Gatsby, a West Egg millionaire, slightly criticizes Nick's ragged lawn and straightforwardly tells Nick that he wants to cut it, trim it, make it more pleasant to look at. Nick immediately notices how his grass, compared to Gatsby´s, looks poor. I understand a "ragged lawn" as some sort of disorganized,  dirty, brown patch of weed. Its owner certainly does not have the money or the time to take care of it and make it delightful to look at. However, when Nick describes Gatsby's "darker, well-kept expanse" I imagine something totally different; rich green extensions of fertile lawns, those that people would rather look at than step on. Moreover, by how the scenery is described throughout the novel, I imagine Gatsby's lawn to be somehow above Nicks, as if it were a little mountain, as if Gatsby himself were "above" the narrator. What I believe Fitzgerald is attempting to deliver is just that; social classes. A perfectly kept, dark, rich green lawn with the white house gingerly built over it is the classic image of the American Dream; of those who made it. Meanwhile, a ragged lawn portrays the ghettos and suburban areas where people hardly have enough money to eat let alone embellish a lawn. Gatsby does not even ask Nick if he could trim his grass, he just says it. This shows how his dark, beautiful lawn is somehow better than Nick's and Gatsby is "considerate" enough to make it prettier, or richer, all because of what Daisy might think. Fitzgerald is delivering, through imagery and what colors may tell us, how Nick´s and Gatsby´s incomes differed and how one of them apparently accomplished the American Dream.