Practice in Tone

Here is my small paragraph practicing tone:)

B. I knew the music was alive, as it danced across the page and was interpreted through my hands--shitfting to each note--trying to perfect the bow stroke gently across the string. The vision? Dancers--gracefully tip-toeing their way across the stage while the performance of Vivaldi blossomed into 'Spring'. I felt the music running through my viens, I saw the music with my eyes closed, I heard its melody--enticing, as every note passed on. And soon--the end, and the sounds of an applause erupted for an alluring group performance.

Those winter Sundays

This is probably my favorite poem that I have read in the poetry packets you have given us. My father is one of my biggest inspirations, so this poem really touched me. Actually, to be honest, it made me cry.

The imagery in this poem was so beautiful, I wouldn't do it justice by trying to explain it, but I can try. I could picture my father waking up early on a cold, winter day to do things that required labor only a man could really do by himself. Today, he actually replaced the headlight on my car, and I found myself wondering what I would possibly do without him. His hands were cracked from the cold, and I gave him lotion and gloves. My father has always been a man who has worked awfully hard his whole life, and I think that is the man in the poem as well. And the author was filled with regret that he never had the chance to show his father how much he appreciated the fact that he was always there for him-- in fact, it almost seems as if he were arrogant and rude to his father, which troubles him with even more regret.

"Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well."

I picture the antecedent to be a grown man writing about how much he regrets not showing his father how much he loved him back when he was a teenager.

"What did I know, what did I know

Of love's austere and lonely offices?"

What did he know of how much his father loved him?

What do I know of how much my father loves me?

What does my father know of how much I love him?

A lot, I hope, because I just reminded him...for the tenth time today.

Thanksgiving / Pie Poem!

Before I begin, let me just say, pie day was delicious! :)

Thanks-giving.

The laughter
The stories
The food--A feast
Are all my favorite,
to say the least

But when the day is done
And everyone says goodbye.
A bit of me lingers
on my reasoning of why

Why do we celebrate this coming of age
For every year,
it's exactly the same?

My family comes over
we eat, laugh, and play
and everyone always
has something to say

But this year it's my turn.
Today is my day
to say that I am grateful
in every single way.


I hope you have/had a great Thanksgiving, Mrs. White!
P.S. I dreamt about the Annoying Orange last night :(

The Snow Man

So Mrs. White, as I was about to post my Thanksgiving poem to get it out of the way, I was looking at my previous blogs and I think I skipped a week! :( I used my pass on the 7th and then I didn't post another blog until the 21st. I'm really sorry; I don't know how I managed to skip a whole week, but I'll make it up right now!

The Snow Man

I found this poem to be slightly eerie, but at the same time, very peaceful. I read it twice in my head and once aloud, and by the third time I read it, I had a very vivid image of a calm, snowy day. I found the first sentence ironically funny, since it talks about someone having a mind of winter...snow man's "minds" are made out of snow...har har har. :)

Aside from the joking, I do think that this poem was meant to be more relaxing and thoughtful rather than funny or witty. Wallace Stevens uses a lot of imagery to put a mental image in the reader's mind of the trees forming icesicles and of a blurry January sun. I think Stevens incorporates many senses in his writing, especially sight and sound. When he mentions the wind, I can just hear it in the distance on a cool, calm December evening.

"For the listener, who listens in the snow,
and, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is."

I feel like this poem is a person refelcting on themselves. Or maybe not neccesarily reflecting, but rather, just thinking. Here in Colorado, I love staying outside when it's quietly snowing; it's a very meditative and calming feeling. I don't know, I don't this poem really has a hidden meaning, but it's more about the sensory images. I can really picture myself in this poem. It's just a nice curl-up-with-a-cup-of-hot-chocolate kind of poem. :)

On Reading Poems to a Senior Class At South High

This. poem. was. awesome. :D
Honestly, when I first read this poem--picturing the fish swimming around--I totally thought of Dr. Suess. I thought of the book One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. I thought it was great because D.C Berry used such a vivid imagery to describe how these students are "diving" into reading these poems to their class.

"Slowly water began to fill the room
though I did not notice it
till it reached
my ears."

I think this poem shows how people go to a new place when they read poems--just how people say that they travel to new places when they read books. It shows how much people's worlds and paradigmes change when they read them. :)
What I don't understand, though, is who is the person narrating the poem? Is it the author? I assume that it's not a person that attends the class he/she is reading to regularly since he/she mentions: "They went to another class I suppose and I home..."

Well, whatever the case of who the person reading the poem is, it tells of how the students and the person connect through the beauty of poetry. I think that this is super neat considering how no matter what people's backgrounds and thoughts are, they can connect and make the impossible happen through poetry. :)

:)

Hey Mrs. White! I think I'm going to take a break this week from my blog, so this is me using my pass :D Thank youu!

The Possibility

So...I just finished my blog, and then I went to post it, and I wasn't logged in, Shoot. :( Oh well, life goes on.

So this week, I decided to write a response on "The Possibility" by James Fenton. This poem is qite sad, but not a death kind of sad that we are have grown used to, but more of a my-life-is-not-what-I-really-expected-it-to-be kind of sad. In this poem, Fenton seems to be so overwhelmed that he is beginning to look more at the negative aspects of his life rather than the positives. I think he has reached the point that he is so overwhelmed and stressed about something, that he is blinded by the beauty that is life. I really started to think this in stanza two:

I know this flower is beautiful
And yesterday it seemed to be
It opened like a crimson hand
It was not beautiful to me

Ican really relate to him when he mentions that he knows the flower is beautiful, but at the moment that he is writing the poem, it's really not. I'm sure we all have played this mind tricks with ourselves at one point or another. Like, we know something is true, but we're so overwhlemed by our lives, that we only look at the negative aspects of things.

I know that work is beautiful
It is a boon, It is good.
Unless my working were a way
Of aquandering my solitude.

I think here FEnton is merging towards a self-reflection. He sees that working is a good thing in his life, but he then looks back and notices that throughout him working, he has developed a permanent solitude. Now he sees the nagative again, only this time, it pertains more to himself.

And Solitude was beautiful
When I was sure that I was strong.
I thought it was a medium
In which to grow, but I was wrong.

Have you ever gone through something so stressful and hard that the things you were once strong for, you're falling apart for now? I think that is what Fenton is going through. I love the way he goes from reflecting on is surroundings with the flower and knowing he can change his opinion, to reflecting on himself and solitude (also something he can change, but with more diffculty.) to reflecting on this future, in which he says he cannot change or grow for the better. It's somehwhat tragic the way he wrote this poem ,but I think it's just a weak point that eventually everyone goes through.

The Secret by Denise Levertov

This poem by Denise Levertov is a poem focusing around the "secret" two girls discover while reading a line in a poem. The author of the poem, Levertov, is also the author to the poem that had the secret in it. I think that Ms. Levertov wanted someone to get meaning out of her poem (as many of us do), and when they told her they found a secret in her poem, she wasn't all that curious.

"I who don't know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me

(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even

what line it was."

Honestly, that would drive me nuts!! Because I'd be sooo curious as to what they discovered about my poem! However, Denise Levertov has almost the oppsoite reaction--she's almost glad they didn't tell her what they thought was the secret to life because maybe she's trying to figure it out herself...? Okay, if I didn't know the answer to something of that importance, I would be more than willing to hear other people's opinions, but no, Ms. Levertov instead talks about how the girls will forget about her poem in a week, so, along the girls, she will never know what they thought.

I felt that the diction in this poem was very light and even almost peaceful--like Denise Levertov was really okay with not knowing. She was just happy that they thought there was a secret to begin with.

"I love them
for finding what
I can't find,

and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that

a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines

in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for

assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all."


It really is a beautiful poem--I especially liked the ending and the mystery that we, as the reader, never find out what the secret was. Oh, and hey! It's not really a dark poem either! :D

Loveology.

This week for my poetry blog I decided to stray away from the poetry packet and write a response on a song. :) Recently, i've had an awfully big addiction to Regina Spektor, so I chose "Loveology" by her. The lyrics are really, really simple, but I feel like there's so much meaning behind them. She puts so much emotion towards the end to the song--I love it. :) This song hasn't been released or recorded in a studio (I hope it is soon!) so there's only live recordings out right now. Here's a link if you'd like to listen. Sorry the quality isn't very good: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ky6sPyJIcno

And the lyrics :) ...

Oh, An incurable humanist you are
Let's go to the movies,
I will hum you a song about nothing at all

Let's go to the movies,
I will sing you a song about nothing at all

Let's go to the movies, Let's go to the movies,
Nothing at all, Nothing at all, Nothing at all, Nothing at all.

Sit down class, open up your textbooks to page 42.

Porcupine-ology, antler-ology, car-ology, bus-ology, train-ology, plane-ology, mama-ology, papa-ology,you-ology, me-ology, love-ology, kiss-ology, stay-ology, please-ology.

Let's study class, let's study class. Sit down.

Love-ology, love-ology, I'm sorry-ology, forgive me-ology, love-ology, love-ology, I'm sorry-ology, forgive me-ology, love-ology, Love-ology.

Let's study class, let's study class.

Love-ology. Let's study class, sit down.

Love-ology, love-ology, I'm sorry-ology, forgive me-ology, love-ology, love-ology. I'm sorry-ology, forgive me-ology, love-ology, Love-ology.

Love-ology

Oh, an incurable humanist you are
Oh, forgive me, Oh, forgive me, Oh
Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me-ology.

The beginning of this song talks about a blooming love--how the fist stages start out slow to the point that they almost seem a bit pointless. "I will hum you a song about nothing at all." I also think that by using the word 'hum' it gives off a more childish feel to the lyrics. These lines are repeated throughout the beginning until my favorite part, "Sit down class..." Regina Spektor mentions her students opening their textbooks to page 42. The number 42 may be a reference to The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. In the book, the number 42 is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. I think this reference connects to the song since the subjects in this song are subjects that you wish people taught you.

I LOVE when she starts singing about the different "ologies" or subjects that her students are reading in their textbooks. She starts out with Porcupine-ology and Antler-ology which are refrences from another song of hers Mary Ann. It's random, but it's showing off her innocence. She then goes into love-ology and subjects that are painful--such as I'msorry-ology. I thought it was super cute and witty of her to say "I'msorry-ology" instead of apology, since that one already ends in "ology". Also, try taking out the "ologies" and just have the word:

Porcupine, antler, car, bus, train, plane, mama, papa ,you, me, love, kiss, stay, please.

Love love, I'm sorry forgive me, love, love I'm sorry- forgive me, love Love.

It sort of forms a message, and demonstrates the stages of love. The innocence and so forth. I'm sorry my thoughts are all over the place, I just love this song. It's so sweet and cute, and she puts so much emotion into it--especially after singing the second "I'msorry-ology." It's just lovely. :)

Theme for English B

Mrs. White! I completely and totally spaced that I didn't do a poetry response last week, so I'm sorry about that! D: This is my poetry response from last week, and after this, I'll do my response for this week. :)

I was so glad that you gave us a Langston Hughes poem and said that we could write a response on it: Langton Hughes is one of my absolute favorite poets.

Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you---
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records---Bessie, bop, or Bach.

->Langston Hughes shows his reader that he isn't terribly different like people think he is. Just because he has a different skin color doesn't mean he isn't human--he still likes the same things as several other people.

I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.

-->I love that part. He's trying to show his instructor that no matter how different they both may be from eachother, they are both still a part of eachother--human. The way Langston Hughes shows his to his instructor equality is sheer brilliance. I wish I could have seen the reaction of the people living in Langston Hughes' era to his poems. They are so strong' I couldn't imagine anyone trying to argue with Mr. Hughes.


That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older--and white--
and somewhat more free.

This is my page for English B.

I am in love with the rhythm this poem has. It sounds like he's telling us a story. I don't even know how to describe it--all I know is that his style is so amazing...so unique. I only wish I could write poetry like Langston Hughes. This is the kind of poetry that is worth reading out loud :)

The Halo That Would Not Light

The Halo That Would Not Light, by Lucie Brock-Broido leaves a very empty feeling for the reader. It talks about how childhood, no matter how innocent and precious, eventually will fade.

When, after many years, the raptor beak   

Let loose of you,

 

                           He dropped your tiny body   

In the scarab-colored hollow

                           Of a carriage, left you like a finch   

Wrapped in its nest of linens wound

With linden leaves in a child’s cardboard box.   

Tonight the wind is hover-

Hunting as the leather seats of swings go back   

And forth with no one in them

As certain and invisible as

                           Red scarves silking endlessly

From a magician’s hollow hat

                           And the spectacular catastrophe

Of your endless childhood

                                                    Is done.

 

 

Though a tragic piece, I absolutely adore the way Lucie Brock-Broido divided up this poem. The structure is simply divine, and the way she ends it is brilliant. Two simple words impact the reader in a way that makes him or her almost do a reflection on themselves. The beginning starts with a refrence to the childhood stork that is known to deliver babies to people on their front steps. This is a direct reference to a person being a child, and how they slowly mature into a young adult. After reading this poem, I found myself looking back on my short life and reflecting on how the innocence and carefree enviornment I once knew was over. I believe that this is was the author's antecedent for writing this poem--she felt overwhelmed by how quickly she had grown up and matured. It was a tragic realization, and it left me with a baffled expression at how quickly time has passed without my knowing of it.

 

As for the title, what I pictured immediately was an angel. Angels are the epitome of innocence and bliss, and for that reason I believe that is why the halo would not light--because the time of immaturity and carefree thoughts were over. This halo would no longer light again for it was time to take on the real world and to forget the time of innocence--I think that is what the character in the poem was experiencing. This poem can easily be more ambigious and not necessarily about childhood, but perhaps, change in general--how people have to learn to deal with change and adjust. I loved this.

1943 by Donald Hall

While looking through my poetry packet, I had completely forgotten about the poem 1943. I don't know why I forgot about it since it struck a pretty big chord on me when Shelby and Julia presented it in class. This poem is about war, but the way Mr. Donald Hall presents it is pretty intense.

To start off, he begins by comparing war to football back in highschool. He mentions how the boys from football thought they were geting practice for war while playing this strict sport:

They toughened us for war. In the high-school auditorium Ed Monahan knocked out Dominick Esposito in the first round

of the heavyweight finals, and ten months later Dom died in the third wave at Tarawa

These lines hit home pretty hard seeing as my brother was enrolled in the Army a few years back. It's cruel to make these high school boys believe that football is a form of teaching the ways of the Army because you and I both know that football doesn't even compare to war.
It's also horrible to think Dom, the boy in the poem who gets killed, didn't know what was coming when he went overseas to fight a brutal war. In the third stanza, Hall makes it clear that life back on the home front continues to go on as men overseas are dying everyday trying to protect its people.

Our class decided that the comparison of milk related to a nurturing feeling, which is felt on the home front. The comparison of milk to the frost bite of the soldiers is an uncomfortable transition for people thinking differently of the war. It makes the reader feel somewhat ashamed that all this is going on while people at home remain unaffected. It's an eerie and gloomy poem, but I really, really liked it.

To Myself by W.S Merwin

Since this is the poem I presented a few days ago, I thought it would be appropriate to write a poetry response on it. So to start off, my first reaction to this poem was I thought it spoke about death. It really made me think that this was the main theme of the poem especially because of the line, "...and the air was still alive around where you were." I think that by using the word "alive" it really makes the reader think about life and death.

But the more I read this poem the more I started thinking differently. It seemed way too straight-foward to be just about death, so I looked on a much lighter note. When I re-read the poem for avout the 20th time, and I read the title, I realized that it was a poem to...well, himself. I guess I feel a bit ridiculous for not catching on to this earlier, but oh well! It's a really cool poem since the author uses almost like a third person perspective to narrate himself and his past and just the way he is. Merwin writes about finding himself through this poem--almost as if he's lost. It's a poem many people can relate to. I didn't like this poem all that much; there really wasn't a line or anything that really stood out to me. The structure was neat, and I liked the topic of it though. :)

Beginning Again by Franz Wright

For this poem, two rather distinct pieces stood out to me: The beginning = good; The ending = ???

The beginning (aka) the good part :)
I think that the imagery here is just darling, So darling, in fact, I believe I'll post it on here.

“If I could stop talking, completely

cease talking for a year, I might begin

to get well,” he muttered.

Off alone again performing

brain surgery on himself

in a small badly lit

room with no mirror. A room

whose floor ceiling and walls

are all mirrors, what a mess

oh my God--

Hopefully, you'll notice that I tried to keep the structure intact as much as possible. The way a poem looks is so important, even if you are not a fan of the awkward structure. Personally, I love it. It gives the poem personality, and it makes my brain read it differently. For example, in this poem, I mentally "paused" and added emphasis. I think Mr. Wright did a lovely job of arranging his brilliant words. On to the brilliant words part of the poem I assume the most important part? ;)

The imagery is excellent--flat out perfect. You ask yourself, 'Why wasn't there a mirror, mister? You're going to do a positively crummy job of brain surgery if you can't see what you're doing." Then the whole room becomes a mirror, and only then would a handmirror be completely useless because everything would be a big shiny mess! (...that totally made more sense in my head.)

--But maybe the mirrors don't have to make sense. Maybe they're just imaginary mirrors the sick man thinks he needs. The man is performing brain surgery on himself; which pretty much classifies him as a crazy in my book. But, that's me trying to rationalize the poem, and poetry can't exactly be rationalized because it's not exactly rational. (You know, beating it with the hose...am I making any sense here?)

Next comes my favorite part :)

And still

its stands,

the question

not how begin

again, but rather


Why?

In all its puzzling glory, it's practically truth. Why should a person change? Who has the right to say that the person was bad before? (A side note: the form here is absolutely beautiful. It definitely got the point across.)
I don't really have much else to say about this stanza rather than it's fantastic. Some things are better left untouched.

Unfortunately, this brings me to the second half of this poem. It's short so I'll post it:

So we sit there

together

the mountain

and me, Li Po

said, until only the mountain

remains.

First and foremost, who is Li Po and how did he get there? I honestly read that line and got a bit irritated; I feel like Li Po had trespassed on such a brilliant poem. (Ridiculous, I know, but I didn't like it.)
Secondly: mountain? What mountain? I was enjoying a room full of mirrors, not a huge rocky mountain. I live in Colorado, Mr. Wright; We have plenty of mountains, thanks.

The ending just didn’t make sense to me. I felt it was unrelated and irrelevant. And I didn’t really like Li Po (or the mountain for that reason) they both felt really out of place. Then again, I doubt Franz Wright cares what I think about the last portion of his poem since he wrote it, and became famous because of it. :P

Hopefully, the ending might make more sense after hearing other people's thoughts in class. Thanks for reading!

P.S I do believe my blogs are getting longer every week... :/

Wallflowers

(A side note: I didn't realize how late it was, but I wanted to get this poem done with since for some oscure reason, I'm not tired, so I thought I'd do something with my life. Anyways, moving on...)

I decided to do a poetry response on Wallflowers by Donna Vorreye since it talked about adopting wierd words and making them your own in a cute and light-hearted way. As I read this poem, I assumed that the 'weird' words were actually real words and that Ms. Vorreye wasn't pulling a fast one on us. Nevertheless, I took the extra effort and looked them up on Dictionary.com. To my surprise, gegenshien was nowhere to be found! I know I have a real dictionary lying here somewhere...

Nope. Nothing.
Google? I think so.

Here we go! Gegenshien-a faint brightening of the night sky in the region of the anti-solar point.
Continuing.

zoanthropy- a mental disorder in which one believes oneself to be an animal.

Woah. Okay, so I assume that these have no connection to the poem whatsoever besides the fact that they are obscure words. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think there's any huge symbolism here.

The title 'Wallflowers' was a very unique and lovely title for this poem since the words are lonley and shy like a wallflower.

“…hollow-eyed orphans in Dickensian bedrooms, longing for someone to say, ‘yes, you… you’re the one?’”
         When read aloud, this line is absolutely brilliant; it was almost like a lullaby. Plus, the way Vorreye puts together the lonliness of people and the lonliness of the words is such a vivid and beautiful connection.

“…give me your tired, your poor, your gegenshein, your zoanthropy–”

Hey, look! The words we looked up earlier finally came into play!

"I want to make room for all of them, to be the Ellis Island of your diction–”
         Am I the only one who read this line the first time and found it slightly humorous? I'll be the Ellis Island of your diction. Oh yeah? Well, I'll be the Statue of your Liberty.
But immaturity aside, after I read this poem aloud again, I realized this line was actually pretty cool. It took a comparison of something relatively small and compared it to something massive. (ie. Ellis Island)
I also have to admit that I am a sucker when it comes to poems comparing objects or ideas to flowers:

"Or do they wait patiently, shy shadows
at the high school dance,
knowing that, given the slightest chance,
someday they'll bloom?"

You got me, Ms. Vorreye. Touche.

Evening Concert, Saint-Chapelle Response

Saint-Chapelle: Paris, France

After Ana did her poetry response on Evening Concert, Sainte-Chapelle, I was inspired. I started thinking about this poem, and the more I read it, the more I fell in love with it. Ana opened my eyes to look at this poem and read it with a different, analytical perspective. I don’t think the person in the poem is someone who just went into the Saint-Chapelle and heard the music, but rather, he or she was in the orchestra itself. My reasoning for this lies in the third line, “we rustled into place.” I could imagine this very well; the musicians rustling their music and getting into place—it creates an imagery that makes this poem seem very realistic. Also, he refers to the violins as “his” a lot. In the line “our violins were cased in thin but solid sheets of lead” I think he’s saying that the music is so strong it cannot be contained in regular sheets of music—that it’s so vivid it takes a form so strong hardly anything can keep it together. Also in this line of, “until our beating hearts…” I relate to this line in a personal way; when I play my violin, it sometimes feels as if my heartbeat aligns with the beat of the music.

      I loved absolutely loved how John Updike used Vivaldi in his poem: he is one of my favorite composers. I picture The Four Seasons (Vivaldi’s most famous piece) playing in the background while all the colors of the cathedral light up the atmosphere. It’s convenient to know the background knowledge to this poem—like that Vivaldi has a smoother; more connected style, whereas Brahms has a short, staccato and frantic touch to his music. Overall, I feel like this poem read very smoothly, and I loved it.

The Heart of Darkness

I’m going to be completely honest and say that I was not looking forward to reading The Heart of Darkness. At all. But when I finally sat down and started reading, it wasn't so bad--even if it gave me the most trouble out of the three books. I did not understand what was going on in the first few pages—I’ll admit, I may have been a bit distracted, but eventually, I caught on to the fact that Marlow was telling a story to Conrad. A narrator within a narrator? Clever-- but kind of confusing. After I figured that out, the book started looking up, and my understanding for it increased as well.

To start off, I liked that Marlow was relatively open-minded. He seemed to be knowledgeable about the world, and I guess that makes sense seeing as though he is a sailor. Though it was horrible that he had to witness the brutality in the Congo, it was necessary to make him the person he is. By him being open-minded, he had more of an impact on the book itself, and it made him a more reliable character. I hate seeing the cruelty in men; not only because it makes me sick to my stomach, but because it isn’t completely fiction. There has been and still is cruelty in mankind. When Marlow first meets the natives, I could imagine the sadness within their hearts; I could just picture them tied to each other by the neck with a look of hopelessness that their life would ever be good and fair again. The idea of this majestic island contrasting with the brutality of man was an effective way of writing made by Joseph Conrad. It gave the feel of the island being suitable for the white man, but it was a complete opposite experience for the natives. The imagery I obtained from these contrasting ideas made me think of the book as more realistic, and by doing so, it had more of an impact on me. Kurtz was someone whom I pictured really well. I give him credit for being as clever as he was. He was a great leader; he was a very talented person in general. And I didn’t imagine the famous line, “The horror! The horror!” to come out of his mouth. I feel pretty cool knowing what that line is from now. :)

For this book, I annotated it by looking more at Joseph Conrad’s style. His writing was very elegant and the transitions flowed fairly nicely. Like I mentioned before, his use of contrasting ideas made the book that much more interesting to read. It wasn’t an easy read by any means, but I feel that by focusing on Joseph Conrad’s writing style, it made me get a better understanding if the book. I couldn’t help but compare his writing style to that of Hosseini. I liked Hosseini’s writing style a lot more, but I noticed that both writers were big in the foreshadowing department; also, both Conrad and Hosseini used contrasting ideas in their writing. Conrad used it for the big and majestic island compared to the evil within man, and Hosseini used this writing style to compare Hassan with Amir--it was pretty cool to see the similarities. :)

The Great Gatsby

Maybe it’s just me, but I felt like this book had no actual plot. Perhaps I’m missing a huge part, or I’m not picking up on the symbolic arrangements in the book, but it seemed like an easy and somewhat boring read. I felt like Fitzgerald did not build up to the excitement of the climax of the book, and when the actual ‘climax’ happened, per say, it ended just as quickly as it started. I felt as if one moment Gatsby was in no way connected to Daisy besides through Nick, and then all of a sudden it turns out they've known eachother for years. It felt like I didn’t know much about Gatsby until after he died, which made me a little sad because he was one of the semi decent people in the book.

It was hard to imagine this book taking place in the 1920's, so when it talked about how it was okay for a man to have a 'mistress,' that took some getting used to for me. I wish I could connect more to Gatsby or Nick, and then perhaps I could connect more to the story itself. I did, however, feel bad for Gatsby when no one came to his funeral. And also It was sad how Nick called person after person and still no one showed up to show their respects towards Gatsby. Gatsby seemed like a relatively nice guy, so it was strange that no one came. Wolfheim had said he did not want to get tangled up in those kinds of affairs, but for the others, I couldn't figure out why they didn't go. It was also sad how Gatsby did so much for Daisy. He was determined to go into the Army and earn a lot of money to solely impress her. He went through so much trouble to 'woo' her and to spend time with her, only to get shot in the end--because of her.

For this book, I used the interact with the book annotation because I knew that I needed to try and connect with the storyline as much as I could to pick up on the little things. It actually helped me stay focused and it helped me transition through the scenes a lot smoother. I would read this book during my off time at work and several people who would see the book would ask me how I liked it. I told them that it was okay, but person after person would tell me to stop reading it—that it was a “waste of time.” I didn't think it was necessarily a waste of time, and it didn’t seem so bad while I was reading it, but once I finished it, I was apathetic about Fitzgerald's story. I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love it.

The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner was the first book I read out of the three, and let me begin by saying that I have the upmost respect for Khaled Hosseini for writing such a great piece of literature. When the lengthy novel arrived at my doorstep, I somewhat dreaded the fact of having to take time out of my summer schedule to sit down and actually begin reading and annotating the book. Fortunately, to my surprise, I found myself having difficulty setting the book down; it was such an engrossing piece of fiction. The eloquence Hosseini demonstrated in his writing was remarkable. There were sections in which I found myself smiling how perfectly Hosseini explained what he had to say. “Every woman needed a husband. Even if he did silence the song in her.” I read this sentence over multiple times baffled by how in one line, Hosseini described the relationship between Soraya’s mother and father—and how it made sense to me.

 I loved the way Hosseini described Hassan and Amir’s relationship. It was so precious, and after reading the alley part, I hated Amir. I hated him for ruining such a strong friendship. I hated him for being a coward, for being dishonest, and for being greedy. Hassan never deserved any of that. Hassan was loyal, honest, and selfless. I felt pain for Hassan. I wanted nothing more than for Hassan to have the life he’s always dreamed of and for Amir to have to live with redemption. Sadly, in the end, that’s not how it turned out. I was heartbroken when Amir found out Hassan had been shot and that his only son had become an orphan. It was sad, but Hosseini did an excellent job in using contrasting ideas to describe the main characters. I believe that his purpose for this was to show that no matter how different these two were, in the end, they were still connected through blood. It made Hassan and Amir’s relationship seem stronger, and made the reader empathize with the novel even more.

There have been few books in which I have actually cried while reading them, and I thought for sure that The Kite Runner would add to that list—but it didn’t. Rather, I found a sort of emptiness within me. It was a mix of sadness, sympathy, and satisfaction all dealt into one emotion. I didn’t want the book to end the way it did, but at the same time, I wouldn’t have wanted it to end any other way. It made no sense, and that takes serious talent from the author. Amir finally deserved the silence he had that night in the alley, and he got it from the only person who would’ve truly impacted him--Hassan’s son, his own nephew. Amir needed to be punished for his actions to finally rid of the guilt he’s had to live with for so long. It was hard for me to sympathize with Amir-- The last line; however, did cause me to slightly change my opinion of Amir. “For you a thousand times over.” I loved it: It was simple. It was perfect.