The chapter Speaking of Courage is referring to the fortitude it takes for one to wake up every morning and realize they’re at war; and then to conduct themselves accordingly for their survival, and that of those around them. And, due to this difficult situation of performing strenuous tasks at war (or some might even consider hell) the young men are forced to dissemble their emotions. In this way, hiding their cowardice is considered courage; but to even wholeheartedly understand this, it seems impossible as for the lack of experience, and the taciturn unarticulated remaining soldiers. But, occasionally when that esoteric spinelessness surfaces, it scars those who are accompanied to its familiarity with guilt. Now to them, life away from the war seems utopian; and their efforts in trying to adjust back to the mundane is feckless as searching for a needle in hay.
To delineate this is very difficult, therefore O’Brien adds fallacies where he finds it germane, in order to relate to the naïve readers. Even so with the reader’s disconnect from “reality,” all the soldiers can think about is home, along with the past. Take for instance Curt Lemon who still held on to his fear of dentists while in the middle of war. The difference between the young men fighting and us, is that we cannot comprehend even if we sincerely wanted to, and that they choose to eschew the truth that is being thrown at them. As for O’Brien’s betrayal of courage, I have still yet to congeal an opinion; right now my thoughts are scattered with no string to piece them together into anything nearly coherent.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Memoir
“ ‘But, do you know what I am the most proud of?” I shake my head. “Throughout my life I loved to help people, and whatever I did to them they poured back to me. And I can always remember those who were so poor, but still reached out to give me clothes, advice, money, lodging…anything. This pureness of humanity is so important, so powerful. This is how you truly measure success.” ’
All in all, a memoir wouldn’t be a memoir without a great story; which is why this one appeals the most to me. Of course we could pick any other piece of writing and glorify it due to all of the diction, and awesome writing style, but honestly, it isn’t worth the read if it’s not communicating anything. The whole point of writing is to correspond a certain aspect, and hope that aspect reaches the reader; but, if it doesn’t bring anything of intellectual substance or new perspective, it’s just beautiful jargon. The author of this memoir, Emily W., incorporates not only an interesting writing technique, but a great plot; successfully defining the very purpose of a memoir in itself. She has the storytelling down pat, along with the realistic dialogue that adds to the aura of the story. While reading I actually took something away from it, which unfortunately I cannot say about most of the stuff I read. I mean, I read lots of works and completely like them, but that’s all, nothing more; but with this memoir I felt as if I was learning alongside the writer… and it was amazing. She also “shows and not tells” very well, manipulating a range of vocabulary which I find to be perfectly acceptable.
All in all, a memoir wouldn’t be a memoir without a great story; which is why this one appeals the most to me. Of course we could pick any other piece of writing and glorify it due to all of the diction, and awesome writing style, but honestly, it isn’t worth the read if it’s not communicating anything. The whole point of writing is to correspond a certain aspect, and hope that aspect reaches the reader; but, if it doesn’t bring anything of intellectual substance or new perspective, it’s just beautiful jargon. The author of this memoir, Emily W., incorporates not only an interesting writing technique, but a great plot; successfully defining the very purpose of a memoir in itself. She has the storytelling down pat, along with the realistic dialogue that adds to the aura of the story. While reading I actually took something away from it, which unfortunately I cannot say about most of the stuff I read. I mean, I read lots of works and completely like them, but that’s all, nothing more; but with this memoir I felt as if I was learning alongside the writer… and it was amazing. She also “shows and not tells” very well, manipulating a range of vocabulary which I find to be perfectly acceptable.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Vietnam War Blog
I already know much of everything about America’s mediation in the Vietnam War, so this is going to be more opinionated than anything. Be prepared because this is a whole reminiscence of my 8th grade year.
Communism to the United States is one of the principle threats against the American ideology of democracy. Therefore we label it as evil. There isn’t even much to be said among the topic because most are not even willing to listen, and this is clearly exhibited by the Vietnam War. On the logic of the “Domino Theory” we, as the great world power position that is presumed, believe that we have the right to intervene in another’s country affairs to prevent their ‘ill-nature’ from spreading to infection to us and others. Much like an epidemic. Of course this only makes sense if one stands in the bias that communism is a virus in the first place. Oddly enough although, this theory was formed after our involvement in the war; which of course makes it sound like we’re full of it. America has a history of placing itself in situations where it doesn’t belong, and avoid issues within its own boundaries that look for addressing. There are only two obvious reasons why we would force our participation, need they even be said. Money and expansion, and expansion only because it leads to money, and money to power. We are capitalists, this is just what we do, and what was prescribed in our constitution when we manifested Manifest Destiny.
http://www.learnhistory.org.uk/vietnam/reasons.htm
Read more in-depth? : http://www.vvaw.org/about/warhistory.php
Communism to the United States is one of the principle threats against the American ideology of democracy. Therefore we label it as evil. There isn’t even much to be said among the topic because most are not even willing to listen, and this is clearly exhibited by the Vietnam War. On the logic of the “Domino Theory” we, as the great world power position that is presumed, believe that we have the right to intervene in another’s country affairs to prevent their ‘ill-nature’ from spreading to infection to us and others. Much like an epidemic. Of course this only makes sense if one stands in the bias that communism is a virus in the first place. Oddly enough although, this theory was formed after our involvement in the war; which of course makes it sound like we’re full of it. America has a history of placing itself in situations where it doesn’t belong, and avoid issues within its own boundaries that look for addressing. There are only two obvious reasons why we would force our participation, need they even be said. Money and expansion, and expansion only because it leads to money, and money to power. We are capitalists, this is just what we do, and what was prescribed in our constitution when we manifested Manifest Destiny.
http://www.learnhistory.org.uk/vietnam/reasons.htm
Read more in-depth? : http://www.vvaw.org/about/warhistory.php
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Hughes Poem
Hughes describes America as being divided by the rich, who the American dream is very much alive for, and the poor, who have unjustly been excluded. Even more so, to make matters worse, the poor aren’t just exempt from the luxuries wealth brings, but are treated inhumane on the equivalence of dirt. He believes America is a made home for the rich, and a resting for those invisibly labeled by the ‘servant tag.’
The doctrine of freedom that the pioneers once preached is dead to him, or perhaps, never existed in the first place. Freedom can only bear its name if all are free, not just the select few who have the power and means to purchase it. Hughes wants equal opportunities –or not even that, just a fair chance to succeed. The elite constantly are bearing their weight on the thousands who have to support it; yet those holding them in their high pedestal cannot even experience as taste of relief that they have resting.
The tone of this poem is very sarcastic, and as it continues, the mocking nature of it grows stronger and more evident, allowing the disdain to form in to pleading where the writer sounds almost desperate and angry for salvation. Hughes is criticizing the trickery used in raising America to being what it is; they promise the birth of your dream, which seems to be everyone’s in this ‘liberated land’: all of my hard work will account to ease, success, happiness. As in The Great Gatsby, Mr. Gatz brought life to part of his dream, but wasn’t able to complete it. When he aspired to making it whole, he died failing. All of this meaning that the dream is an impossible goal to reach, due to it already lying six feet under.
As for me, I am pretty dead about the American dream. I mean, believe it or not, America has other problems to address; concerning the way it is ruled, all of its corrupt conduct, the disappearing middle class, the school system, the thousands of broken homes, the decline in economy, et. cetera. One thing we must understand is that our constitution is manmade, and absolutely won’t be perfect. The problem lies where we don’t want to address the loop holes and empty fillings our Bill of Rights -and so on, till the point where our great system has inevitably failed. Furthermore, we are moving away from the constitution completely, which most Americans are unfortunately, unaware of. Things change; it’s just a matter of controlling it.
The doctrine of freedom that the pioneers once preached is dead to him, or perhaps, never existed in the first place. Freedom can only bear its name if all are free, not just the select few who have the power and means to purchase it. Hughes wants equal opportunities –or not even that, just a fair chance to succeed. The elite constantly are bearing their weight on the thousands who have to support it; yet those holding them in their high pedestal cannot even experience as taste of relief that they have resting.
The tone of this poem is very sarcastic, and as it continues, the mocking nature of it grows stronger and more evident, allowing the disdain to form in to pleading where the writer sounds almost desperate and angry for salvation. Hughes is criticizing the trickery used in raising America to being what it is; they promise the birth of your dream, which seems to be everyone’s in this ‘liberated land’: all of my hard work will account to ease, success, happiness. As in The Great Gatsby, Mr. Gatz brought life to part of his dream, but wasn’t able to complete it. When he aspired to making it whole, he died failing. All of this meaning that the dream is an impossible goal to reach, due to it already lying six feet under.
As for me, I am pretty dead about the American dream. I mean, believe it or not, America has other problems to address; concerning the way it is ruled, all of its corrupt conduct, the disappearing middle class, the school system, the thousands of broken homes, the decline in economy, et. cetera. One thing we must understand is that our constitution is manmade, and absolutely won’t be perfect. The problem lies where we don’t want to address the loop holes and empty fillings our Bill of Rights -and so on, till the point where our great system has inevitably failed. Furthermore, we are moving away from the constitution completely, which most Americans are unfortunately, unaware of. Things change; it’s just a matter of controlling it.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
If Gatsby was our Narrator
Page 47
The music was feverishly vibrating through walls, almost like the light, and I suppose I should’ve known the guests who were listening. There is nothing much to throwing a party you know. In the beginning it all seemed more than it was, as I felt that I should be acquainted with the strangers in my home. Until I realized I didn’t have to, all that was needed was my name, and the letters would spread like the wine being passed. I don’t mind the popularity –but need it rather. They should all know of me, even if their language is off tangent; perhaps the right person would hear and interest would arise. So much as it would lead them to my wealth and I. Perhaps Daisy.
Curiosity is all that I want to give for now. And a party. And so Nick came, as one of the few guests I actually invited. Although he’s my neighbor, I rarely came in contact with him, but I know he knows of my existence. I’ve waited for time to reveal itself, but all that speaks to me is the past; and now it’s become easy for me to speak of it also. “Your face is familiar,” were first the words of reminisce, and second of intrigue.
“Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” I said innocently. Reality is plenty different from the plot, but much has gone my way, so I choose to plot again. “Why, yes. I was in the ninth machine-gun battalion.” Right he was. “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” Right I knew. Later on I invited him for a ride in my hydroplane; I also told him that I lived in my house.This house. I told him I lived in this house... which now I suppose was rather vague. Then he said something rather…embarrassing. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there-” Then he directed his hand toward something and continued “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” I couldn’t hide my expression and just replied “I’m Gatsby.”
The music was feverishly vibrating through walls, almost like the light, and I suppose I should’ve known the guests who were listening. There is nothing much to throwing a party you know. In the beginning it all seemed more than it was, as I felt that I should be acquainted with the strangers in my home. Until I realized I didn’t have to, all that was needed was my name, and the letters would spread like the wine being passed. I don’t mind the popularity –but need it rather. They should all know of me, even if their language is off tangent; perhaps the right person would hear and interest would arise. So much as it would lead them to my wealth and I. Perhaps Daisy.
Curiosity is all that I want to give for now. And a party. And so Nick came, as one of the few guests I actually invited. Although he’s my neighbor, I rarely came in contact with him, but I know he knows of my existence. I’ve waited for time to reveal itself, but all that speaks to me is the past; and now it’s become easy for me to speak of it also. “Your face is familiar,” were first the words of reminisce, and second of intrigue.
“Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” I said innocently. Reality is plenty different from the plot, but much has gone my way, so I choose to plot again. “Why, yes. I was in the ninth machine-gun battalion.” Right he was. “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” Right I knew. Later on I invited him for a ride in my hydroplane; I also told him that I lived in my house.This house. I told him I lived in this house... which now I suppose was rather vague. Then he said something rather…embarrassing. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there-” Then he directed his hand toward something and continued “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” I couldn’t hide my expression and just replied “I’m Gatsby.”
If Gatsby was our Narrator
The music was feverishly vibrating through walls, almost like the light, and I suppose I should’ve known the guests who were listening. There is nothing much to throwing a party you know. In the beginning it all seemed more than it was, as I felt that I should be acquainted with the strangers in my home. Until I realized I didn’t have to, all that was needed was my name, and the letters would spread like the wine being passed. I don’t mind the popularity –but need it rather. They should all know of me, even if their language is off tangent; perhaps the right person would hear and interest would arise. So much as it would lead them to my wealth and I. Perhaps Daisy.
Curiosity is all that I want to give for now. And a party. And so Nick came, as one of the few guests I actually invited. Although he’s my neighbor, I rarely came in contact with him, but I know he knows of my existence. I’ve waited for time to reveal itself, but all that speaks to me is the past; and now it’s become easy for me to speak of it also. “Your face is familiar,” were first the words of reminisce, and second of intrigue.
“Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” Reality is plenty different from the plot, but much has gone my way, so I choose to plot again. “Why, yes. I was in the ninth machine-gun battalion.” Right he was. “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” Right I knew. Later on I invited him for a ride in my hydroplane; I also told him that I lived here. Then he said something rather…embarrassing. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there-” Then he directed his hand toward something and continued “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” I couldn’t hide my expression and just replied “I’m Gatsby.”
Curiosity is all that I want to give for now. And a party. And so Nick came, as one of the few guests I actually invited. Although he’s my neighbor, I rarely came in contact with him, but I know he knows of my existence. I’ve waited for time to reveal itself, but all that speaks to me is the past; and now it’s become easy for me to speak of it also. “Your face is familiar,” were first the words of reminisce, and second of intrigue.
“Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” Reality is plenty different from the plot, but much has gone my way, so I choose to plot again. “Why, yes. I was in the ninth machine-gun battalion.” Right he was. “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” Right I knew. Later on I invited him for a ride in my hydroplane; I also told him that I lived here. Then he said something rather…embarrassing. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there-” Then he directed his hand toward something and continued “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” I couldn’t hide my expression and just replied “I’m Gatsby.”
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