Invisible Lines May 12, 2011

 

Preface

            While living in the city I had friends die, guns shoot, and drugs sold all around me, but this is not always considered a negative. Many people that live in the city never get out, they get sucked into the black hole that engulfs their life forever, but for the people that do leave, the lessons they learned while there will follow them forever. So when I am given a chance to talk about the city, I defend it. My family was able to be a part of the small few that do get out, but before we crossed over to our new world, we were able to learn from many experiences that many never have.

When formulating this story, I first though Kaysen would be my mentor, as she was able to tell many stories in a short amount of time. My original plan was to talk about two or three stories, and I felt her writing structure allow me to formulate this best. Once I began to write, I realized that I had more to say about the events in my life then I though. As I wrote my story, I would find myself reflecting on an event for a large amount of time because it meant so much to me. Watching my story unfold, I found that just one of the three I planned to write took up seven pages, reminding me so much of Black Ice. Cary would reflect upon a scene for pages in her novel because they had so much meaning and depth to her. That is how I felt when writing my story, there was almost a need to dig deeper into what this event truly did to my life. Although some moments while writing this I became sick, it was worth it. In the end I was about to learn more about myself and the influences this event had on my life.

 

The Goal

            Throughout his entire life my father had one goal in mind, to get out of the city. Now, this phase is commonly used and means nothing to the people that live out of the Baltimore lines, but for the people that live inside the boarders, this is a common dream among many. For example, in reality Baltimore is just one big piece of land that holds over 636,000 people, but for the people inside the lines the term Baltimore City and Baltimore County mean a lot. When traveling down the pot hole filled roads of Baltimore, there is a particular spot that you will pass when it is just understood that you have left the city. Now, this spot is not marked, it is an invisible line that is seen by only the people who live there.

My father tried more than half his life to cross that line and he did, when I was twelve years old, but this story isn’t about going off into the sunlight once we crossed that line. It isn’t even about what happened to me after I crossed that line. My story is about the events that led up to the November when I walked into a world completely different from my own, seeing and meeting people that would never truly understand me.

Pulp Fiction

            I love Quentin Tarantino. He is an inventive director and writer that amazes me with ever movie he puts on the big screen, but out of all his movies I would have to say Pulp Fiction is my favorite. As the scenes jump from character to character a story is unwound before the viewer’s eyes, given them pieces to a story they can put together, but there is always one piece of the puzzle that is too hard to watch. When Marsellus Wallace’s wife overdoses on heroin, I always fine myself leaving the room, a thirst suddenly comes over me, the need to use the bathroom, or, in some cases, something on the wall peaks my interested, drawling my eyes away from the television screen. Anything becomes more bearable then watching the adrenalin shot pierce Mai Wallace’s skin.

∙ ∙ ∙

“He is dead,” the woman said.

I was eating pineapple out of a can, talking to my dad’s friend Sturgill, just five minutes before the woman at my door said these three words. It was summer time and school had just ended, anything was possible. There was no bed time, no homework, no nothing. The world was at my fingertips, the freedom was palpable. List upon list of actives were flying through my head: I can wait to go to Ocean City and Florida ,swim ,hang out with Jennifer ,go camping ,see the pony swim ,ride bikes ,play tag all ,go over my best friend’s house ,watch movies all night, the list was endless. I had three months to plan out my adventures before fifth grade started in the fall, and this is how it started. With all the endless possibilities, I was got stuck with this woman tell me some guy was dead.

“What!”

“I said he is dead you need to call 911”

Standing in the kitchen, my door as well as my mouth was open, as the woman walked down my front steps, through the yard, and down the alley. What was I suppose to do and more importantly, who was that woman. She looked as if she has not showered in weeks, her hair was matted down with so much grease making it hard to detect the color, and her clothes had a brownish tint to the fabric; almost as if she rolled around in on the ground, caking the grains of dirt to the fabric. She became my main focus; I did not notice Sturgill talking to my parents, or even them calling 911. Instead my focus was on this woman, all images of summer flushed from my mind, as she walked down the V shaped alley, getting smaller and smaller with ever step she took.

It is hard to say why this woman had all my attention, as my parents ran through the house franticly. Maybe it was a form of shock, maybe I thought she was going to come back, saying it was a joke, or maybe it was all a dream; maybe, maybe, maybe. Now, when reexamining this moment in my head, I prefer to think about this scene as a form of asking why, why me. At this time there would be no way for me to understand what this woman did , how it shaped apart of the person I am today, but every time I think of this story it is hard not to say the word why. Why couldn’t you have told an adult, why did you tell me, why couldn’t you call the police, why did you have to run away? Or maybe I am just giving her too much credit. She was just a junky, only caring about herself and no one else.

She was gone when the ambulance and police arrived, and by this time my parents had figured out who this dead man was. It was Greg, Greg Fisher, my dad’s childhood friend. We lived in a row house in the middle of Baltimore City at the time, and Fisher lived below us in our basement. Our landlord decided it would be best to divide our house into two, allowing him to make more money, while the four members of my family shared two rooms. I wonder how he felt about a dead man in his basement.

The police officer walked up to my parents, asking the typical questions a police officer asks. What happened? Do you know the woman? Where did she go? Is there any way to contact her? After the debriefing, my parents, the police officers, the EMT, and Sturgill all left my house and began walking to Fisher’s door, which was located in the backyard. I began to follow them, feeling as if it was my right; I was the one who answered the door, and my curiosity got the better of me. My mother did not agree.

“Go back in the house right now, and make sure your sister does not come outside.”

My mother then left me to go join the others in the basement, as I stood in my door way feel as if I was being cheated. Everyone else was going to be able to see, so I was too. Disobeying my mother, I went into the backyard and followed the path to the basement door.  Each step toward my goal was breathtaking, filled with excitement, nervousness, and wonder.

Everyone was inside the basement when I reached the door, no one had noticed me. As I peeked my head around the doorframe, six people stood in the kitchen, two were working anxiously arranging what looked to be a needle. My eyes rotated around the room, looking at the back of every person’s head, until final they fell to the floor. I saw his shoes first, and then moving slowly up his torso until his arms came into view. They were discolored in such a way it was as if his body was bruised. The once pink skin had turned blue. A blue that was so sickly and unnatural, there was no doubt in my mind that this man was dead. A needle stuck out from his left arm, liquid was still inside the cylinder; his blood was mixed with the contents.

“Okay, I’m ready”, said one of the men that had been pulling something together on the countertop, “unbutton his shirt.

My father leaned down to unbutton his suit , exposing more of his zombie life flesh. It almost looked like he was rotting. I could not draw my eyes away from his chest, still shocked that a human could be that color. During my trance, I did not notice the EMT talking, stating what he was going to do, or the countdown, my parents later told me he did. The only thing that was in my view was Fisher’s chest and the needle that was stabbed through it seconds later.

∙ ∙ ∙

            Movies are not always the best way to relate true occurrence with, as many events are exaggerated or completely made up. Pulp Fiction is not one of those movies. After Mia Wallace reserves a shot of adrenalin, she awakes almost instantly, moving and talk as if the over dose never occurred. When watching this film flick across my television screen it is as if I am watching a memory of mine projected on the screen.

As soon as the plunger of the needle was pressed Greg opened his eyes. He sat up, needle still in his arm, and looked around the room, confusion was written on his face. His skin was still blue, but would slowly become pink in time. By this time I had been noticed in the door way, my mother was yelling at me. Grabbing me by the arm, she pulled me through the yard and back into our house. She said many things to me that I cannot recollect, it was not important.  After, her angry tantrum, she left me in the living room, returning back to the excitement. I sat on the couch confused, not knowing what to think.

The Lesson

            This occurrence had many negative effects on my life, preventing me form watching movies, television shows, and even pictures depicting the injection of drugs. When seeing anything that may draw on this memory, I become sick to my stomach, it becomes hard to breath, and I sometimes I being to panic. The memory is too strong and vivid, but I am glad I have it.

Seeing an event or something similar to it is common in the city, while in the county this is very rare. While in the classroom with my new class mates, hearing them take about drugs, not taking health class seriously, I always become happy that I was able to witness Grey’s resurrection. In my case I took this event as a lesson, as it taught me more than any teacher or video ever could, leading me no never do or try a drug. The sad fact is that only about 2% of the people living in the city learn from the lessons their environment gives them. Most of my friends I had during this part in my life have died, have children, or are on drugs. I am just happy I was able to live and learn from once in a life time experiences that not many get to have. Although many stories that I have are horrible, it is up to the person to decide what to do with what they saw, and it takes a strong person to learn and flourish from them.

A Very Rough Draft May 9, 2011

The Goal

            Throughout his entire life my father had one goal in mind, to get out of the city. Now, this phase is commonly used and means nothing to the people that live out of the Baltimore lines, but to the people that live inside the boarders, this is a common dream among many. For example, in reality Baltimore is just one big piece of land that holds over 636,000 people, but for the people inside the lines the term Baltimore City and Baltimore County mean a lot. When traveling down the pot hole filled roads of Baltimore, there is a particular spot that you will pass when it is just understood that you have left the city. Now, this spot is not marked, it is an invisible line that is seen by the people who live there.

My father tried more than half his life to cross that line and he did, when I was twelve years old, but this story isn’t about going off into the sunlight once we crossed that line. It isn’t even about what happened to me after I crossed that line. My story is about the events that lead up to the November when I walked into a world completely different from my own, seeing and meeting people that would never truly understand me.

The Reason

            At this moment I feel like I should make it clear, before I continue that I am glad I moved, and I understand why we did. My father did not want me to see or have to experience the things he did while growing up. The drugs, the fights, a friend getting stabbed in the eye with a pencil, my mother almost getting rape, are all events he wanted me to avoid, for good reasons. I am just happy I was able to have my childhood in the city, allowing me to learn so many lessons that I would have never known otherwise.

Invisible Lines May 4, 2011

When I was growing up my father had one goal that was his motivation for year, to get out of the city. During his constant efforts to reach his goal, I sat back and watched as well as experienced many events along the way; many that I believe shape who I am. I would like to focus on my experiences I had living in the city, experiences my father tried to prevent, but I do not regret what I saw or what happened to me. In fact I am grateful, as I see my sister grow up in the county; happy I did not grow up in the environment my father tried so hard to reach.

Throughout his entire life my father had one goal in mind, to get out of the city. Now this phase is commonly used, and means nothing to the people that live out of the Baltimore lines, but to the people that live inside the boarders, this is a common dream among many. For example, in reality Baltimore is just one big piece of land that holds over 636,000 people, but for the people inside the lines the term Baltimore City and Baltimore County mean a lot. When traveling down the pot hole filled roads of Baltimore, there is a particular spot that you will pass when it is just understood that you have left the city. Now, this spot is not marked, it is an invisible line that is seen by the people who live there.

My father tried more than half his life to cross that line and he did, when I was twelve years old, but this story isn’t about going off into the sunlight once we crossed that line. It isn’t even about what happened to me after I crossed that line. My story is about the events that lead up to, the November when I walked into a world completely different from my own, seeing and meeting people that would never truly understand me.

I would like to do some research on drugs for may paper and how prevalent they were in the 1990s. In addition , I would like to see what the most popular drug was in the 1990s. From what I looked at so far from times magazine, cocaine and heroin seemed to be the dominate player.

At this moment for my story I feel like Kaysen’s would be the best mentor. I would like to go through many events that are important to me and my life. Although I cannot so them all I would like to force on a few. With Kaysen’s structure I feel I will be able to do this the best because she was able to say a lot with only using up a few pages.

I know I want to talk about at least two events in my story. My main questions are how to go about explain the events, as they are very complex. In addition, for me this is a very emotion matter and I would like this to come out in my writing. As I said in my blog about The Glass Castle I want people to understand me not feel sorry for me. This is a very important matter for me and I would like to work on how to do this in my own story.

Stamped and Ready to GO! April 29, 2011

I Hear:

As Kaysen goes through her experience of being in a metal institute for two years the reader can see an almost atypical way in the telling of her story. Instead of telling the read that she was or was not sick, she seems to play around with the idea, never really come to a conclusion. During her reflection of this time in her life, she also likes to incorporate what others thought of her as well. What she looked like to the outside world and how she was marked because she was in this hospital at one part of her life. I would like the discuses Kaysen’s interact with people when she left the hospital and who people reacted to the idea of a metal hospital and there idea of her.

I Notice:

It is not completely clear in the novel if Kaysen thought herself to be sick. At some moments she can relate to the definition of her disease, while other aspects seem completely wrong. This has no meaning in the real world though. She was in a metal hospital and it does not matter that she could have been falsely diagnosed, she lived there, that makes her different. One thing I found interesting was one of the documents that’s was written six years after her being released from the hospital allowing her to get a drivers license. Or when she had her job interview:

“What were we, that they could know us so quickly?” (124)

This is what Kaysen wrote about the man how gave her the job interview.

These experiences combined with Kaysen’s own way of interoperating her disorder work together. For example, although it may seem that Kaysen is trying to work through with herself if she has a disorder, for instance, when she adds the definition of borderline personality disorder to her story and they ways she tries to relate the definition to her own life. Seeing if what she did added up with what borderline personality was.

What I find interesting is that the answer to the big question, “Is Kaysen crazy?” really does not matter. Once she told someone or if they found out she was in the hospital she was crazy instantly, no questions asked. The day she walked in and the day she left, two years later define her life no matter what.

I just found it interesting that Kaysen was given a chance to say she was not crazy and defend herself in this book, but she does not do this.

She was able to produce this through her incorporation of documents and her own personal experiences in life after the hospital. When she left the parallel universe with a stamp on her fore head.

I Wonder:

I would like to know if Kaysen really thinks she was sick or is still sick? Although I do not think that there is an answer to this. I would also like to know more about her thoughts of being “stamped” for life, for example, the driver’s license.  Does it even bother her anymore? If she did not tell people about this experience because it changed the way they thought about her, why did she write the book? Was it a way to show them that she might not be crazy?

Autobiography: An Interpretation of One’s Life April 20, 2011

Looking at the definition of an autobiography, it is said to be “a history of a person’s life written or told by that person” (Oxford Dictionary). Although this definition is very flexible in how to represent an autobiography, in the past it can be seen that most authors have similar patterns in the way they write. In a traditional autobiography, everything is written in prose, each sentence beginning with a capitalized letter and ending in punctuation.  Every sentence falling in order, one after another, until it creates a full paragraph, then the enter button follows and the process starts again. Although this method has been successful in the past, some writers are taking the autobiography to the next level. Instead of just relating an autobiography to factual events, authors have begun to incorporate an imaginative and almost creative process in telling their non-fiction stories. To enhance and draw attention to the creative aspect in the non-fiction, the use of multimedia and multi-genre text are included into the pages of the autobiography, ultimately increasing the personal connection with the author. The concept of adding multimedia and multi-genre to autobiographical text can be seen in N. Scott Momaday’s, The Names, where photos and his interpretation of his past are used  in telling the story of his life, as well as in Natasha Trethewey’s novel Beyond Katrina, where she incorporates prose and poems to tell her story about the Mississippi Gulf Coast. In both cases, the typical format of an autobiography is completely changed, leaving the reader with a more creative text that enhances the personal connection between the reader and author.

In N. Scott Momaday’s memoir, The Names, photography as well as prose are incorporated into his autobiography. When first seeing his use of photography, it almost seems logical. By nature, photographs are a form of documentation, as they represent the past of a person or place. Using photography in an autobiography allows the author to show his readers what he tries to say in words, almost creating a stronger personal connection with his audience. This connection develops because photography allows the reader to view a moment out of a person’s life that is concrete, making it seem like the reader is viewing an event through the authors own eyes. Although Momaday adapts this generalized meaning of a photograph to his own story, he adds a twist.  He begins to incorporate an imaginative side in interpreting his photos, allowing the reader to understand Momaday on a more personal level. For instance, a photograph of Momaday as a young boy is shown with the caption, “I believe that I was thinking on great things” (Momaday 71). When first looking at this photo, it seems like a typical studio photograph that most parents have their children take at this age, but what makes this photo more complicated is the inclusion of a caption. This is because it is almost impossible to recollect what a person was thinking when a photo was taken, but Momaday does this. He begins to interpret and imagine an idea of himself in this photo that could be completely false, which is the opposite of what an autobiography should portray. The interesting aspect is that his use of imagination does not weaken, but strengthens the autobiography, resulting in a closer relationship to the author. For example, Momaday writes, “If I were to remember other things, I should be someone else”, (Momaday 63). Momaday’s interpretation of an autobiography is focused more on events that happen in a person’s life, and how they remember certain events. So in reality, for Momaday, an autobiography is a set of facts that a person believes to be true about themselves. For instance, when thinking about an event that took place in life, one story could be remembered in many different ways, some stories are completely forgotten, and others are remembered forever. In the end it is up to the individual person to decide how a memory is stored, and when the reader is able to understand this, a personal connection is made. A connection is formed because when the reader is able to see how the author thinks and why they thought that way, it is almost like being in their head, seeing an event from a different perspective, and eventually understanding that person. In N. Scott Momaday’s memoir, The Names, the incorporation of photography and captions help Momaday interpret his life, and form a closer relationship with the reader. Although it seems strange to include a fictional way to interpret one’s life, in the end it strengths the autobiography as well as the personal connect with the reader, which was made possible with the use of multimedia.

As seen with N. Scott Momaday’s memoir, The Names, the use of multimedia can be integrated into an autobiography, increasing the effectiveness of the story; but photographs are not the only option. In Natasha Trethewey’s novel, Beyond Katrina, poems are included alongside prose to help Trethewey tell her story about the Mississippi Gulf Coast. When just looking at the general definition of a poem, it is said to be, “a literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm” (Oxford Dictionary). From the definition it can be seen that poetry is associated more with the idea of imagination and conveying certain feelings one has, which can be seen in Trethewey’s own poetry. For example, while reading the poem Liturgy, each line reverts back to a previously stated aspect in the text that was written in prose. Natasha writes, “To the security guard staring at the Gulf / To Billy Scarpetta, waiting tables on the coast / To the woman dreaming of returning to the coast / To miss Mary, somewhere” (Trethewey 65). When reading about them the second time, it is almost different; the emotion and the connection with these people seem to strengthen. For instance, when first hearing these stories, they are completely spread out in the novel, one being on page sixteen another on page ninety, with no real relationship besides where they lived. While in the poem the stories become one, Trethewey is able to create one story out of many, through her use of figurative language in her poetry. As the poem continues, Natasha writes, “This is a memory of the coast: to each his own / recollections, her reclamations, their / restorations, the returning of the coast” (Trethewey 66). Although the idea of the coast having memories is imagined, it helps blend their stories together in a way that creates a stronger emotional reaction to their lives. As she make the land the people are living on come to life, and as it is dying the only life line it has are the people living on top of it. In the end illustrating the fact that is it not one person going through a disaster; they are one of many, and the only way for the coast to come back to life is for them to come together, just as the poem was put together. By fusing together the stories of Katrina into a poem Trethewey was able to create a stronger personal connection to the tragedy and the people. Although she did this with the use of a poetic license, it does take away from the autobiography; this is due to the personification intensify the main point that Trethewey was trying to express: the returning of the coast. This was all able to be portrayed with the use of figurative language and a multi-genre text.

It has become routine to view the genre of non-fiction as just a straight list of facts, with no creative depth to enhance the telling of the author’s story, but in many cases this is untrue. A story can be told in many ways, and there is no set formula on how to express a given fact. In N. Scott Momaday’s memoir, The Names, the use of photographs and captions are used in a way that incorporates an imaginative interpretation of his life. In addition, Natasha Trethewey’s novel, Beyond Katrina, includes the use of poetry in her story on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, were she begins to personify the Gulf Coast as a person. In both stories, the idea of imagination is used alongside autobiography, resulting in a stronger personal connect between the author and their readers. This was all made possible through the use of multimedia and multi-genre in the texts.

Work Cited

Momaday, N. Scott. The Names: a Memoir. New York: Harper & Row, 1976. Print.

Trethewey, Natasha D. Beyond Katrina: a Meditation on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Athens: University of Georgia, 2010. Print.

Sophie Kerr Weekend:Natasha Trethewey (Extra Credit) April 11, 2011

The event took place during Sophie Kerr Weekend on April 1, 2011. During this event Natasha Trethewey discussed her work, her life, and her writing process. Going into the event I had an idea about what I was going to hear. After reading her book Beyond Katarina I felt like I understood why she wrote. To me it seemed like her work was a way to coop with what happened to her and her family before and after hurricane Katarina. I found this to be false, in a way. While describing her writing she talked about how she does not have a strait road that she follows when writing, in fact it just comes out when it wants to. Through this process of writing she describes it less as cooping and more towards a road to discover. One thing that stuck out to me was how she stated that she never realized that she never wrote her bother until she began writing this book. I learned that writing is not a straight plan and more of a free flowing of thoughts that help you uncover things about yourself that you might have not known before. Hearing this it made me think of my own writing. Sometimes I struggle to plan out what I want to say that I get completely frustrated with the paper all together. I feel like I showed practice more free writing. I need to stop thinking so much and just write and in the end I might find something I never would have thought of.

The Works of the Mind April 8, 2011

I Hear:

As Momaday begins his autobiography one can see a great difference in how he presents his life story. From the very beginning it seems as if he is focusing on others that were in his life and not himself at all. When Momaday describes his autobiography he says

“In general my narrative is an autobiographical account. Specifically it is an act of the imagination” (Momday).

As I began to read on in the autobiography I was able to repeatedly see this style of writing.

I Notice:

The first time I noticed his imagination came when he wrote

“Some of my mother’s memories have become my own. This is the real burden of the blood; this is immortality. I remember my mother was very young, four or five years old” (Momaday 22).

What sticks out to me in this particular moment is his use of words. In the being he states that some of his mother’s memories have became my own. From this statement it can be inferred that a story has been told to him (most likely from his mother) many times, fusing it into his memory, making it immortal. The thing I find interesting his how he says “I remember” almost as if this memory happened right in front of, when we know this cannot be true, due to his mother being four years old at the time. But instead of saying my mother told me or I remember this story my mother told me he says “ I remember”. After reading this statement it immediately drew me back to the words from the being, “imagination”.

In most cases the word imagination is not used in the genre of autobiographies; words like fact and truth are typically used. I find this interesting because when you think back on your life it is almost impossible to remember everything you have done. Things are forgotten or you beginning to say you did things when in reality you never did. You are not lying it is just a flaw in the human memory.

To me it seems like Momaday recognizes this flaw and uses it in his own autobiography. Reporting things as if they are facts, like in the example with his four year old mother. Later  on in the novel Momaday sums up this style of writing beautifully saying

“They are not stories in that sense, but they are story like, mythic, never evolved but evolving ever. There are such things in the world: it is in their nature to be believed; it is not necessarily in them to be understood….If I were to remember other things, I should be someone else” (Momday 63).

Although this book seems strange in what is being told to use, this is how made Momaday who he is. It does not matter if it is made up in some way; the only thing that matters is how he remembers them.

I Wonder:

Was Momaday, in some way, trying to prove a point with this type of writing? What inspired him to stray away from the normal, factual way of writing? Why did he include photography? (Photography is so concrete it is no form of imagination, but it seems that his writing is forced a great deal on how the mind stores memory) Are the notes at the bottom of the photos (The one of his mother, saying she looked Asian or Russian) trying to bring out his imaginative thoughts?

Life As They Knew It April 1, 2011

I Hear: In her novel, Beyond Katrina, Trethewey tries to document the events that took place before and after hurricane Katrina. Within her documentation of the events, her family and others are mentioned, all there to help portray what life used to be and life as they knew it now. Reading through these events, the word “cleansing” continued to pop into my mind, remembering the waiter at the restaurant, ever time Trethewey mentioned the empty lots, the eviction signs, and even her own brother’s incarceration.

I Notice: Although it is a very short segment in the novel and is not mentioned again, the episode with the waiter is heavily weighted through Beyond Katrina. The scene begins with the young waiter expressing his opinion about the hurricane, saying,

“What’s different now is that the new generation respects the hurricanes, unlike the folks before. It needed to happen, to teach us something, a cleaning, that’s what it was” (page 27).

Trethewey replays to his way of thinking by writing,

“ I feel uncomfortable thinking about what he might have meant, particularly after hearing some people opine about New Orleans and who are turned out: the poorer, working class-overwhelmingly African American- all lumped together with supposed criminals that the city would rather not see return” (page 27).

As I continued to read, I found out that her brother owned many houses   and it was looking like he would be successful in this business, just like his uncle. After Katrina we see a lot of focus on the houses that used to be there and how many people could not afford to rebuild or even to demolish their own house. It was almost like it was made impossible to for anyone to rebuild from the tragedy that wasn’t part of the higher class of society. Including, Joe, Trethewey’s bother. So instead of the reconstruction that was supposed to be happening, houses were being torn down and boards were getting put up on the windows.

Another moment that sticks out is when Joe is sent to jail for trafficking cocaine. To me Joe was focused to resort to that type of life style due to the lake of opportunity that was available to him at the time. For instance, in this portion of his life he thought he was going to begin to start his life, by renting his houses and starting a successful career. Instead, Katrina resulting in him losing everything he ever had and no job or money to rebuild. An easy 4,000 dollars seemed like the only way out at the time.

Going back to the original quote from the waiter one begins to think more about what is said on this half a page of text. Although it is a very brief part of the novel I feel that the way Trethewey responds plays a huge part in the way the novel was structured and put together. She never quite says this, but to me it seems like her brother and other stories were told to help people see how everyone was forgotten and no one was cared about. The city wanted to get rid of what they saw was a bearded, not allowing them to move into their houses or making it impossible to rebuild. While in jail Joe found more people in jail that were there do to Katrina. It is almost like they were trying to make these people leave or locking them up so that they were not able to come back. It was all part of the cleansing process.

Craft wise, I feel that this was very cleaver. Trethewey was able to show people how badly the people of the Gulf were treated without even saying it. For example, she never outright says that the actions that were taken against these people were only put there to harm the locate people. Instead she used what the waiter said to get her point across and by just stating the facts.

I Wonder: I would still like to focus on the idea of cleansing some more. Do you think Joe’s time at prison and his reflection on himself was a back fire to the cleansing process? Did the author intentionally not mention the cleansing processes again?

Finding Strength from Pain March 25, 2011

 

With every turn of the page I was drugged deeper and deeper into Jeannette Walls world. Her memoir, The Glass Castle, took me on a ride of unbelievable emotions that I have never felt from a novel, in the end leaving me to contemplate about her life as well as my own.

The memoir begins with Jeannette as an adult driving in a taxi through New York, when suddenly she sees her mother digging through a trash can on the side of the road. From this many thoughts being to run through Jeannette’s head, mostly related to how embarrassed she felt. In her mind she would lose everything (house, friends, job) if someone would find out who she really was, so a few weeks later she had a talk with her mother. In this conversation Walls tells her mother the feeling she has about her and her past. Jeannette says, “And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?” Her mother’s response, “Just the truth. That’s simple enough”.

The reader is then launched into the story of moving from state to state, as their father searched for gold, never keeping a real job for more than few months. Instead he took to drinking as his full time job, the mother sat at home and painting, insisting she would become a famous artist. Jeannette and her three siblings went without food most of the novel, leading them to wait for children at school to though away food so they could eat lunch as well. Every house that was lived in was a dump, some with no water or electricity, causing them to be dirty most of the time.

From the brief overview of her life one would believe that you would grow to hate Jeannette’s parents. It is only logical. Jeannette’s parents would frequently acquire money, but it would quickly be spend. Towards the end of the novel it is learned that as they leaved in harsh conditions the mother had a piece of land with a value of one million dollars (she refused to sell or live on the land). At the end of the novel it is evident that the struggles that Jeannette and her siblings went through were completely avoidable, their parents just had to put a little work into it. But, I do not hate them; I almost grow to love her parents. Although her mother was completely crazy she made her children strong with the simple advice she gave her children. One example, begin the quote from the beginning, telling her to just tell the truth.  Leading her to write the novel. In addition, her father was a drunk that stole and lied to her most of her life, but at his death I cried.

To me it seemed like Walls started her story to tell the world all the hardships she went through, but in the end it was completely different. Instead of feeling sorrow for this woman it was almost like I became her. I could understand why every time her dad stole from her she forgave him. I did want to yell and scream telling her not to go bad to him, but when she did I knew I would have done the same thing. Just like every person in the world, Jeannette’s parents had bad and good qualities. By the end of the book I began to se Wall’s parents as she did. That is just how they are and I except and love them, because for all the bad they have done they still have done some good.

The format that Wall presents her memoir is from age three to the present. With this self-life writing style, I feel that Walls developed her story in a strong way. For instance, starting at a young age we can see the hate that she feels for both her parents, but as the novel develops it slowly disappears. I believe that due to her writing style it made it possible to become Walls in some ways, feeling the emotions that she felt from youth to adulthood. From this the feeling that I developed toward her parents makes scenes. I went through the process of hate to acceptance in the same way Jeannette did herself. In te end allowing me to understand her parents and her way of thinking.

Although this is called a memoir I would relate this story more towards a narrative. The story was very structure and included elements that were interrelated to one another. It also covers almost her entire life, while a memoir only focuses on a portion of someone’s life. Although I believe this book focused more on how she came to terms with how her parents were, I also see this story as a story of strength.  Jeanette and her siblings were forced on leaving their parents and they did with constant working and saving. In the end she and her sister even went to college. This is also a story about finding strength from pain.

Comparing this novel with the others that we have read in class so fair, it relates to This Boy’s Life the most. It can be seen that both deal with a hard child hood, but each person dealt with this in different ways. For example, Wolff became a delinquent, while Jeannette had straight A’s. They stories were also written in the same fashion. They were both episodic in how there would be a jump in paragraphs talking about two different events. Although I did not mind this in Wolff’s story, I felt Walls did not achieve this as well as Wolff. For instance, while reading she would bring up a topic that I felt should have been mentioned before. At one part in the story she mentioned that she had been married three year by that time. I was surprised by this and felt like it should have been mentioned in chronological order, but she also might have no spent much time on this because she got a devoice.

After reading this novel I am to a conclusion about my own autobiography. I want to make at least one person feel the way I felt when I read The Glass Castle.  With my own story I want to focus on the environment that I group up with as well. Like Walls I would like to have the reader, not feel sorry for me, (because in reality I am where I came from and I would never want to change) I would like them to relate to me, feel what I feel.  Just as I felt what Jeannette felt.

 

Dazed and Confused March 4, 2011

I Hear:

Cary begins to tell her story as a young black girl that has just gotten into a prep school. At the beginning one predicts this story it to be about her struggles as a black girl in a predominantly rich white school, and how she will adjust to this new life style. This is not the case. Although the story does focus on the school and the new environment she is in, the events that happen in the book are rather boring( in around chapter 6). It almost seems like the author is whining about the events that have happened to her, and always relates it back to the fact that she is black. At first this was annoying, but as the book continued her acts became interesting and in some ways confusing.

I Noticed:

“…my old girl reported that a hundred dollars had been burgles from her room. That, I thought, was real stealing, done , no doubt, by some rich kleptomaniac, the same one who had probably eaten my cheese and crackers the week before” (Cary 113).

At this moment in the story we have seen Cary stealing from her other classmates, but from this quote we see that she doesn’t see it stealing at all. I found this moment interesting because Cary repeated it several times in the novel that she wanted to do better than what the white students and faulty thought she could do. So I find it interesting that as we see Cary going down a path of stealing and doing poorly at school, she fails to recognize it at all. She is neglecting the fact that she is turning into what the white people expected (although the white people never said she would not succeed, Cary came up on this on her own). I just found it interesting how she does not see what she is doing as stealing. It is almost like she is saying that real stealing can only be done by rich white kleptomaniacs. Cary is classifying rich white people into a group and that everyone in the group is the same. This is ironic because throughout the novel we also see Cary talking about how white people do this same thing to poor black people. It seems like Cary is beginning to become what she tried to avoid and she is also adapting the attitude that she believe white people have for black people, but vice versa.To some this up, it doesn’t make sense.

I Wonder:

At this moment in the novel I am confused. I do not understand the main character or were she will go in the book. I want to know why Cary acts the way she does(the actions that were described in the I Notice section)? Why is she so confusing? What will the story bring (at this moment I have no idea)? Will she finally realize that she is becoming the person she did not want to be?