Still gathering my thoughts on Marquez, so I thought I'd share my thoughts on a conversation I had with Mary recently.
For some reason, I began musing yesterday about what sort of a tattoo I would get if I ever felt the desire to get one. Let me make clear that I will never get a tattoo. I change my mind far too often, and I can just see myself regretfully trying to wash one off with water as I used to be able to do with my childhood tats from cereal boxes. That being said, were I the type of person to get ink, what would it be? My first instinct was something nautical themed, like a boat or an anchor or something. I'm drawn to that classic romantic calling of the sea (even though I've never been on a ship on the ocean...). That may make me feel a bit like Popeye, though, and not in a good way.
I decided that I would most likely get a quote tattooed on me, probably from a poem (Mary said that this would be an acceptable choice in the alternate reality where I took my spendin' money over to Trader Bob's). After thinking about Tennyson and Dylan Thomas, I decided that I would most like to have something by Whitman etched into me, probably this quote:
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.
It's from "Song of Myself" and was made famous in THIS clip from Dead Poet's Society, a movie I never liked much. It is, by the way, completely my fifth grade teacher's fault that I do not care for this movie, as she is the woman who almost ruined poetry for me. I know it's not the Hipster Way, but this bit of poetry would be my choice even though it is popular and well known. It is everything I love about Whitman, how he is somehow able to be inspiring while still feeling very familiar and rough.
However, I'm not sure I fit this quote. It's either a line for a tough guy or a rebel, and I don't think I'm either of these things. Spending my time reading or playing board games with my friends, I often feel very much tamed. Were I in a position to sound something over the roofs of the world, I'm not sure I could find my yawp. This poem makes me want to run off and do crazy things, just drop everything and see the world. If this were branded onto me, I would not be able to keep my cozy little job. I'd make a dash for the coast and jump aboard a ship bound for the horizon!
Of course, if I were the type of person who would get a tattoo, maybe I'd be a more barbaric chap. Instead, I am who I am. Instead of wishing I were more untranslatable, I should be content with celebrating and singing myself.
PS Speaking of Whitman, this is the current front-runner for the epitaph on my tombstone:
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
PPS Did you know Rip Torn starred in a movie as Whitman? Check it out!
PPPS Speaking of the lure of the ocean, Moby Dick is calling to me from the coffee table ... Daring me to crack it open ... See? A big adventure for me is reading a book about being out at sea.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
One Hundred Years of Solitude: Favorite Passages
I finished One Hundred Years of Solitude the other day. It was a slow, complex, and ultimately tragic book, but I found it enjoyable and certainly fulfilling. It's an epic unlike any that I have ever read. I intend to write a post about my general feelings and contemplations on the book as a whole, but I really feel the need to do some more reflecting on it now that it's over. In the meantime, I want to point out some favorite passages of mine from the second half of the book. Some are touching, others are just plain fun.
"He soon acquired the forlorn look one sees in vegetarians."
This quote makes me think of Aaron, who recommended this book to me. As a vegan, I wonder how he feels about this. If I ever became vegetarian, this is how I would look at a 4th of July barbecue when faced with the forbidden bratwurst.
"On awakening each one had the juice of forty oranges, eight quarts of coffee, and thirty raw eggs. On the second morning, after many hours without sleep and having put away two pigs, a bunch of bananas, and thirty cases of champagne . . ."
In this scene, a gluttonous character gets in an eating contest with a giant woman named The Elephant, obviously. I grinned madly reading the hyperbolic description of their battle of appetites. People are still fascinated with this sort of thing; just look at the various competitions restaurants around the city have for their customers: Eat a giant pizza or so much ice cream that you'll puke! I've never had the balls to take one of those establishments up on the challenge, but this passage inspires me to do so when I feel the desire to die young.
"He saw a woman dressed in gold sitting on the head of an elephant. He saw a sad dromedary. He saw a bear dressed as a dutch girl keeping time to the music with a soup spoon and a pan. He saw the clowns doing cartwheels at the end of the parade and once more he saw the face of his miserable solitude . . ."
Just before one character dies after living a miserable and lonely life, he walks out to the street for the first time in years to watch the circus pass. It was a passage filled with poignancy and wonder. One of the many death scenes Marquez handles beautifully. Another character actually ascends body and soul into heaven, Jesus style.
"The air was so damp that fish could have come in through the doors and swum out through the windows, floating through the atmosphere in the rooms."
Here, because of a complex mishap with a banana company, it rains in the town where the book is set for years. How wet does that make the place? Wet enough for fish to swim in the air. Surreal.
"They enjoyed the miracle of loving each other as much at the table as in bed, and they grew to be so happy that even when they were two worn out old people they kept on blooming like little children and playing together like dogs."
This is just a heartwarming story of a man and his concubine. One of the very few relationships in the entire book that is actually sweet and genuine. The description here is exactly how I see Mary and I (except for the part about them being old and about one of them being a concubine...).
"What do you expect? Time passes."
This could very well be the motto of the book, as one hundred years passes. Five generations of the family pass between the book's opening and thundering conclusion. Characters move from carefree childhood to an old age full of pain and solitude. It brings the book full of fantasy into the harsh realities of mortality and the dark moments life inevitably holds for us all.
While it is hard and largely bleak, there was a lot to enjoy, especially when it comes to Marquez's writing style. Certainly a nice change of pace.
Up Next: Thoughts on themes and characters in Marquez and the start of the next book in my journey: MOBY DICK!!!!
"He soon acquired the forlorn look one sees in vegetarians."
This quote makes me think of Aaron, who recommended this book to me. As a vegan, I wonder how he feels about this. If I ever became vegetarian, this is how I would look at a 4th of July barbecue when faced with the forbidden bratwurst.
"On awakening each one had the juice of forty oranges, eight quarts of coffee, and thirty raw eggs. On the second morning, after many hours without sleep and having put away two pigs, a bunch of bananas, and thirty cases of champagne . . ."
In this scene, a gluttonous character gets in an eating contest with a giant woman named The Elephant, obviously. I grinned madly reading the hyperbolic description of their battle of appetites. People are still fascinated with this sort of thing; just look at the various competitions restaurants around the city have for their customers: Eat a giant pizza or so much ice cream that you'll puke! I've never had the balls to take one of those establishments up on the challenge, but this passage inspires me to do so when I feel the desire to die young.
"He saw a woman dressed in gold sitting on the head of an elephant. He saw a sad dromedary. He saw a bear dressed as a dutch girl keeping time to the music with a soup spoon and a pan. He saw the clowns doing cartwheels at the end of the parade and once more he saw the face of his miserable solitude . . ."
Just before one character dies after living a miserable and lonely life, he walks out to the street for the first time in years to watch the circus pass. It was a passage filled with poignancy and wonder. One of the many death scenes Marquez handles beautifully. Another character actually ascends body and soul into heaven, Jesus style.
"The air was so damp that fish could have come in through the doors and swum out through the windows, floating through the atmosphere in the rooms."
Here, because of a complex mishap with a banana company, it rains in the town where the book is set for years. How wet does that make the place? Wet enough for fish to swim in the air. Surreal.
"They enjoyed the miracle of loving each other as much at the table as in bed, and they grew to be so happy that even when they were two worn out old people they kept on blooming like little children and playing together like dogs."
This is just a heartwarming story of a man and his concubine. One of the very few relationships in the entire book that is actually sweet and genuine. The description here is exactly how I see Mary and I (except for the part about them being old and about one of them being a concubine...).
"What do you expect? Time passes."
This could very well be the motto of the book, as one hundred years passes. Five generations of the family pass between the book's opening and thundering conclusion. Characters move from carefree childhood to an old age full of pain and solitude. It brings the book full of fantasy into the harsh realities of mortality and the dark moments life inevitably holds for us all.
While it is hard and largely bleak, there was a lot to enjoy, especially when it comes to Marquez's writing style. Certainly a nice change of pace.
Up Next: Thoughts on themes and characters in Marquez and the start of the next book in my journey: MOBY DICK!!!!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Oh, The Suphering
As a note to yesterday's post about students submitting some disturbing and violent creative writing, I feel the need to recount my own history of such behavior. A couple of years ago, while rummaging through old Childhood Stuff at my folks' place, Mary and I unearthed a treasure: a collection of stories written and illustrated with care by my kindergarten-aged self. Many of these stories were about the X-Men or Power Rangers. All of them involved characters fighting. Now, they were hardly troubling; my inability to spell or color within the lines made them hilarious, actually. Still, one story was about "Rock Man" who killed people with rocks, making them "supher" (what can I say, I was a young poet).
So I drew pictures of people dying, scribbling all over the page with a red crayon, and described mass amounts of suphering. Does that mean I needed counseling at that age? Absolutely not. To this day, I have never been in an actual fight. I just liked comic books and Star Wars. I had an imagination. Had an adult told me that what I was doing was wrong or inappropriate in any way, I would not have taken it well. It would be like telling me that I couldn't eat pizza or watch Saturday Morning Cartoons. Children can have twisted imaginations, but I am living proof that such a thing does not necessarily mean the child will grow up deranged.
PS I also touched on the depressing nature of high school literature yesterday. One such universally read bleak and gloomy classic is Great Gatsby. If you've read it, you may find THIS funny.
So I drew pictures of people dying, scribbling all over the page with a red crayon, and described mass amounts of suphering. Does that mean I needed counseling at that age? Absolutely not. To this day, I have never been in an actual fight. I just liked comic books and Star Wars. I had an imagination. Had an adult told me that what I was doing was wrong or inappropriate in any way, I would not have taken it well. It would be like telling me that I couldn't eat pizza or watch Saturday Morning Cartoons. Children can have twisted imaginations, but I am living proof that such a thing does not necessarily mean the child will grow up deranged.
PS I also touched on the depressing nature of high school literature yesterday. One such universally read bleak and gloomy classic is Great Gatsby. If you've read it, you may find THIS funny.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Teaching Teens to be Troubled
It's fun teaching honors students. This is my first year doing so, and it has been really rewarding. These are honors freshmen, the perfect demographic: smart enough to hold a sophisticated discussion on literature, but young enough to still be eager to learn. It's one time in my week where I know for certain I will have a good time in class, which is certainly not something many teachers are able to say. Considering this, imagine my excitement in assigning my students to write short stories. Many of these students actually enjoy creative writing in their free time and certainly read for fun, so I expected them to have more original ideas and a better grasp on narrative logic than my other students (not to knock on my other students, they can come up with some very creative stuff, too). I left the assignment open ended intentionally, allowing my students to write something they would enjoy.
I have now finished grading these stories (And all of the other essays I had to grade. You can't see it over the interwebs, but I am smiling about this). Some of these stories were real gems: poignant, suspenseful, or fun. I had one student write from the perspective of a mathematician trying to decide whether or not to ask a girl out on a date who solved his predicament using the same logic used to solve a geometric proof. It's these sort of stories that made me excited (yes!) to grade an assignment. Other unimpressive stories covered topics I expected; stories about relationships and prom and other mushy stuff. No less than six involved being asked out by a boy with "piercing blue eyes."
However, almost half of the stories submitted to me involved something I did not expect: violence. Now, I knew that I would have some stories with a little bit of violence, but this bordered on disturbing. Here's the general plot outline of one of these stories: A teen and his girlfriend accidentally allows his younger brother to drown while he was supposed to be watching him. Out of anger, the teen's father attempts to murder him for his negligence. In the ensuing scuffle, the teen accidentally kills his father. When the teen returns home, he and his girlfriend are murdered by his mother in anger. THE END. Another involves a teen who is obsessed with a girl in his class, seemingly romantically. In an ironic turn, once he gets her alone, the boy kills the object of his obsession and skins her. That one made me light headed. It did not help that I had been grading for hours when I stumbled upon it.
Teacher instincts said to talk to these students in private to make sure they did not need counseling. That was my plan until I finished, violently disturbing stories numbering in double digits. That means that this is a far reaching problem, not an individual one. Sharing this with Mary and friends, they reminded me that these kids are surrounded by violent media. They all go home and watch marathons of CSI. I have to admit, I can relate. At that age, I was a huge fan of Braveheart and Boondock Saints. These are the stories many adolescents are surrounded by, so it makes sense that these are the narrative they would weave themselves.
Part of me wonders if I, as an English teacher, am partially to blame. It's not that I make my students write about violence, but let's face it, literature read in high school is always depressing and often violent. I am concerned about my students writing about teenage violence, yet we are currently reading a play about two teenagers who commit suicide in the end. After reading Of Mice and Men, Lord of the Flies, and 1984 next year, I'd be surprised if they could write an optimistic story if paid to do so. "Great literature," on the whole, is full of books that are total bummers.
I'm not writing this post to say that I am against that. I certainly don't think that William Golding should have gone to see a psychiatrist because he wrote about some little kids who murder a fat nerdy boy (though it might have done the guy some good). There's some good in writing about the dark parts of the world, and literature helps us come to terms with it. In reading these depressing stories, students are able to confront life's ugliness and process it through discussion in a safe environment. After reading these stories, though, I do worry that they are failing to see the parts of life that aren't all that bad. Oh well, maybe they go to church for that.
Now that I'm caught up on grading, I'll return to Marquez, who surely won't write about anything disturbing like war or incest.
I have now finished grading these stories (And all of the other essays I had to grade. You can't see it over the interwebs, but I am smiling about this). Some of these stories were real gems: poignant, suspenseful, or fun. I had one student write from the perspective of a mathematician trying to decide whether or not to ask a girl out on a date who solved his predicament using the same logic used to solve a geometric proof. It's these sort of stories that made me excited (yes!) to grade an assignment. Other unimpressive stories covered topics I expected; stories about relationships and prom and other mushy stuff. No less than six involved being asked out by a boy with "piercing blue eyes."
However, almost half of the stories submitted to me involved something I did not expect: violence. Now, I knew that I would have some stories with a little bit of violence, but this bordered on disturbing. Here's the general plot outline of one of these stories: A teen and his girlfriend accidentally allows his younger brother to drown while he was supposed to be watching him. Out of anger, the teen's father attempts to murder him for his negligence. In the ensuing scuffle, the teen accidentally kills his father. When the teen returns home, he and his girlfriend are murdered by his mother in anger. THE END. Another involves a teen who is obsessed with a girl in his class, seemingly romantically. In an ironic turn, once he gets her alone, the boy kills the object of his obsession and skins her. That one made me light headed. It did not help that I had been grading for hours when I stumbled upon it.
Teacher instincts said to talk to these students in private to make sure they did not need counseling. That was my plan until I finished, violently disturbing stories numbering in double digits. That means that this is a far reaching problem, not an individual one. Sharing this with Mary and friends, they reminded me that these kids are surrounded by violent media. They all go home and watch marathons of CSI. I have to admit, I can relate. At that age, I was a huge fan of Braveheart and Boondock Saints. These are the stories many adolescents are surrounded by, so it makes sense that these are the narrative they would weave themselves.
Part of me wonders if I, as an English teacher, am partially to blame. It's not that I make my students write about violence, but let's face it, literature read in high school is always depressing and often violent. I am concerned about my students writing about teenage violence, yet we are currently reading a play about two teenagers who commit suicide in the end. After reading Of Mice and Men, Lord of the Flies, and 1984 next year, I'd be surprised if they could write an optimistic story if paid to do so. "Great literature," on the whole, is full of books that are total bummers.
I'm not writing this post to say that I am against that. I certainly don't think that William Golding should have gone to see a psychiatrist because he wrote about some little kids who murder a fat nerdy boy (though it might have done the guy some good). There's some good in writing about the dark parts of the world, and literature helps us come to terms with it. In reading these depressing stories, students are able to confront life's ugliness and process it through discussion in a safe environment. After reading these stories, though, I do worry that they are failing to see the parts of life that aren't all that bad. Oh well, maybe they go to church for that.
Now that I'm caught up on grading, I'll return to Marquez, who surely won't write about anything disturbing like war or incest.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Dang Technology
I woke up fairly early today to grade papers. I have many many essays and short stories to grade, and I was looking forward to getting them off my plate. Trying to be green and tech-savvy this year, I have decided to use turnitin.com to grade all of my papers. Instead of collecting physical copies, my students submit their papers online, I grade them online, and they get feedback and peer edit online. It allows me to make more substantive comments on their papers without spending the entire class after papers are returned translating my handwriting. For the most part, it's worked like a charm. I get to essentially bring home 100 papers without carrying a heavy bag full of paper cuts waiting to happen.
Today, when I logged on to turnitin.com to get my grading done, this message:
Turnitin is currently down for routine system maintenance and upgrades. The service will be available again at 11:00 AM Pacific Standard Time (6:00 PM Coordinated Universal Time).
Looks like I have a leisurely morning ahead of me. Hey, I tried.
Today, when I logged on to turnitin.com to get my grading done, this message:
Turnitin is currently down for routine system maintenance and upgrades. The service will be available again at 11:00 AM Pacific Standard Time (6:00 PM Coordinated Universal Time).
Looks like I have a leisurely morning ahead of me. Hey, I tried.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Shaking the Spear
I am tired. It's been a busy year. I have a stack of papers to grade stalking me. I am very much in need of some extra enthusiasm and energy. Wizard needs food badly.
Today, I got just what The Doctor (the one with the TARDIS, not a stethoscope) ordered: my Shakespeare unit started today. Oh, teaching Shakespeare to freshmen. It's why I got into this biz. We have so much fun performing in class with fake swords, biting our thumbs at each other. Romeo and Juliet! The passion! The tragedy! The sexual innuendo! The crappy DiCaprio movie! Epic. This is the stuff book nerds' dreams are made of. I hope every year to hook someone the way I got hooked on this stuff when I was their age. At the very least, I know that I'll be having a good time.
Have 80 minutes to spare and looking for some entertainment? If you've not seen it, watch THIS VIDEO. It's the complete works of Shakespeare in one performance. Still remember all of the jokes from watching it in Ms. King's class. Genuinely funny.
Today, I got just what The Doctor (the one with the TARDIS, not a stethoscope) ordered: my Shakespeare unit started today. Oh, teaching Shakespeare to freshmen. It's why I got into this biz. We have so much fun performing in class with fake swords, biting our thumbs at each other. Romeo and Juliet! The passion! The tragedy! The sexual innuendo! The crappy DiCaprio movie! Epic. This is the stuff book nerds' dreams are made of. I hope every year to hook someone the way I got hooked on this stuff when I was their age. At the very least, I know that I'll be having a good time.
Have 80 minutes to spare and looking for some entertainment? If you've not seen it, watch THIS VIDEO. It's the complete works of Shakespeare in one performance. Still remember all of the jokes from watching it in Ms. King's class. Genuinely funny.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
First Thoughts on Marquez
As I mentioned yesterday, I'm three days into One Hundred Years of Solitude and thought I could give some first impressions. It may be a while before I write about the book again because my reading is about to be interrupted by about 110 essays that will need grading starting tomorrow. I mean, what genius scheduled papers due from ALL of his classes on the same day? This leisure time for reading and writing is about to get cut a tad short.
I'm enjoying it. It's certainly not a page turner. Like Bolano's 2666, another Latin American novel I recently read (most of), Marquez has a thing for drawing out his story with detailed descriptions of seemingly not-so-important events. This is not a complaint - I actually like it when authors fully develop the world of the novel, unafraid of details that do not explicitly move the plot forward. This is a book about a family, and the only real stumbling block so far is getting the names straight. For instance, so far there are three characters all named Jose Arcadio. It's realistic that traditional families would pass down names like this, just not super-convenient for the reader.
What sets this novel apart from 2666 is that it's not all about gritty realism. Marquez is the most famous example of an author who writes in "magical realism," which, from what I can tell, translates into awesome. In otherwise realistic stories, elements of the fantastic are thrown in without explanation. In my favorite part of the novel so far, an entire village catches the "disease" of forgetfulness. Nobody can remember what anything is, so labels are attached to everything. For instance, that unfamiliar mooing quadruped chewing grass out in the field is labeled with a nice helpful sheet of paper explaining that it is, in fact, a cow, and that it needs milking every day. A gypsy comes to town with a tonic to cure the forgetfulness. No other explanation is given, and the story of this very real family continues. I love it. Growing up on fantasy literature, I have always had a fascination with these sorts of stories, and I'm already in love with the way Marquez weaves these magical elements seamlessly into the deeply emotional lives of this family. Unlike many fantasy novelists, Marquez does not feel the need to explain exactly how/why all of these fantastical events work; the effect is mysterious and subtle. Makes me want to look into more magical realism books.
Some favorite lines so far:
-The way this book talks about sex is great, hilarious at times. Marquez describes one boy's first sexual encounter by telling the reader that the boy now "understands why men are afraid of death." When the boy's younger brother asks him what sex feels like, he responds, "It's like an earthquake." It's just such a serious and dramatic way of talking about sex that I can't help but smile, even if that's not the desired effect.
- This book covers 100 years, so we begin quite some time ago, probably in the mid 1800s. The invention of the daguerreotype, a precursor to photography, comes into the village (when thinking about daguerreotypes, my mind always pictures THIS famous daguerreotype of Poe). The mother in the story refuses to have her picture taken. Her reasoning? She "did not want to survive as a laughingstock to her grandchildren." Ha. So true. I'm reminded of the Ghosts of School Picture Day Past that haunted my aunts and uncles from my grandparents' fireplace mantle. Embarrassing 70s eyeglasses and haircuts. Laughingstock indeed.
Anyway, I look forward to reading more, even if my pace will be slowed by my mound of student writing. Possible venting in the forecast. Stay tuned.
I'm enjoying it. It's certainly not a page turner. Like Bolano's 2666, another Latin American novel I recently read (most of), Marquez has a thing for drawing out his story with detailed descriptions of seemingly not-so-important events. This is not a complaint - I actually like it when authors fully develop the world of the novel, unafraid of details that do not explicitly move the plot forward. This is a book about a family, and the only real stumbling block so far is getting the names straight. For instance, so far there are three characters all named Jose Arcadio. It's realistic that traditional families would pass down names like this, just not super-convenient for the reader.
What sets this novel apart from 2666 is that it's not all about gritty realism. Marquez is the most famous example of an author who writes in "magical realism," which, from what I can tell, translates into awesome. In otherwise realistic stories, elements of the fantastic are thrown in without explanation. In my favorite part of the novel so far, an entire village catches the "disease" of forgetfulness. Nobody can remember what anything is, so labels are attached to everything. For instance, that unfamiliar mooing quadruped chewing grass out in the field is labeled with a nice helpful sheet of paper explaining that it is, in fact, a cow, and that it needs milking every day. A gypsy comes to town with a tonic to cure the forgetfulness. No other explanation is given, and the story of this very real family continues. I love it. Growing up on fantasy literature, I have always had a fascination with these sorts of stories, and I'm already in love with the way Marquez weaves these magical elements seamlessly into the deeply emotional lives of this family. Unlike many fantasy novelists, Marquez does not feel the need to explain exactly how/why all of these fantastical events work; the effect is mysterious and subtle. Makes me want to look into more magical realism books.
Some favorite lines so far:
-The way this book talks about sex is great, hilarious at times. Marquez describes one boy's first sexual encounter by telling the reader that the boy now "understands why men are afraid of death." When the boy's younger brother asks him what sex feels like, he responds, "It's like an earthquake." It's just such a serious and dramatic way of talking about sex that I can't help but smile, even if that's not the desired effect.
- This book covers 100 years, so we begin quite some time ago, probably in the mid 1800s. The invention of the daguerreotype, a precursor to photography, comes into the village (when thinking about daguerreotypes, my mind always pictures THIS famous daguerreotype of Poe). The mother in the story refuses to have her picture taken. Her reasoning? She "did not want to survive as a laughingstock to her grandchildren." Ha. So true. I'm reminded of the Ghosts of School Picture Day Past that haunted my aunts and uncles from my grandparents' fireplace mantle. Embarrassing 70s eyeglasses and haircuts. Laughingstock indeed.
Anyway, I look forward to reading more, even if my pace will be slowed by my mound of student writing. Possible venting in the forecast. Stay tuned.
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