Materialistic Monkeys

            I enjoy working at Math Monkey, or “The Monkey” as the cool kids say, for a variety of reasons, but the main perk lies in the plethora of relatively humorous stories I now have in my repertoire. For instance, just yesterday, when I asked what president is on the nickel, a child replied “Oak Obama?” (pronounced oh-bam-a).Somehow this sparked a light in another kid who then shouted “MITT ROMNEY.” So close. Or I can always fall back on the kid who peed his pants the last four weeks in a row, despite his mom’s forced bathroom trips before class. A little bit sad, but I always find humor in these situations. Though I generally find these stories solely amusing, one of the students I tutor allowed me to greater understand The Great Gatsby and empathize with its characters (except Jordan Baker, I still hate her). Allow me to set the scene: I assist a sixth-grader who has a great personality and appears very intelligent, but really reveals the woes of a modern preteen. This Tuesday, she entered, no, strutted into the tutoring room wearing a thick coat of glitter pink eye shadow and mascara, and I let a subtle look of confusion slip due to the fact that I struggle to wear basic make-up on a daily basis as a senior in high school. I then noted her iPhone 4s, emphasis on the s, she does not mess around with any old iPhone 4, that she had contained in a giant silicon bunny case, tail and everything (for a visual). I could not retain my curiosity and inquired about when she first received a cell-phone, and she promptly informed me she acquired it in fourth grade. At this point, I started to feel a little old as I relayed the classic “When I was your age” routine. With the thought of Daisy in the back of my mind, I immediately became critical of the girl’s apparent materialism, despite enjoying her character and intellect. However, I soon realized I would have, and still do, act the same, just in different ways. This forced me to note the similarities between myself and all of Fitzgerald’s characters. I think we all contain at least of touch of materialism and sense of entitlement, but, when observing our own flaws, we often criticize without recognizing the commonalities. Some may argue that the booming economy and celebratory attitude of the 20s instilled much of the character’s greediness, but did our society not create the Hummer Stretch Limo? We all always want more, and neither I, nor my tutee, nor Daisy, nor any of the characters in The Great Gatsby, act any different.

Combating the Common Cold

            I would like to take this opportunity to formally apologize to everyone who had the misfortune of sharing a class with me during these past few weeks. The constant sniffling, coughing and nose blowing surely annoyed you as it does me. I interrupt my every attempt to speak with an extreme cough or, at the very least, a minor sniffle. To give you an idea of the scale of my struggle, I attempted to count my sniffles during a ten minute period and had to give up when I reached 146. It is a little difficult to make an impressive, analytical argument that people will take serious when your sentences sound like this: "I *sniff* think that *sniff* the green light *series of coughs* acts as a *sniff* symbol of hope *cough* can I get a tissue?" Just a bit annoying. To the extent of my knowledge, I never experienced a true cold prior to Thanksgiving, but I have definitely complained about others’ sicknesses. Sorry, but we all can admit blowing your nose is not cute. My experiences with this terrible entity have forced me to realize I must try to act like more of a Nick Carraway when I inevitably become the healthy one forced to listen to the nasal wars of others. Although I originally scuffed at his idea of "reserving judgments" to a point, my vexing virus has taught me that I truly do not know the extent of everyone else's issues, and I cannot judge until, excuse the trite, I have walked a mile in their shoes (2). I absolutely abhor having a cold and hope I never have to experience it again, but I definitely learned a lot from it. On top of the gained empathy for those battling illnesses, I feel my sickness allows me to relate to those who have to excuse themselves to cough or sneeze as well. As Fitzgerald notes, the division between the sick and the well proves the most fundamental separation and one of the few that appears exempt from all other factors. It does not matter if I have not spoken to someone in years or talk to them daily, I will still have a great conversation with them as we approach the tissue box at the same time or reach for the Purell in unison or even provide medicine for each other (shout out to Jessica Walker for the Tylenol). So, to my fellow sicklings, I finally feel for you. And to those fortunate to have an immune system comparable to Fort Knox, I know the coughing annoys you, but I guarantee you will experience the same one day so do not hate on the sniffles.

The Great... Gabe?

            No one can escape rumors, but extended absences leave one particularly vulnerable to the power of fallacies. We all spread them and hear them about ourselves, yet they consistently vary in interpretation. You have your Gatsby’s, for instance, who live for the mystery and love staying elusive. They enjoy the extensive stories swirling around their name and only reveal truths when absolutely necessary. Although you sometimes have the temptation to hit them in the jugular, you continue to facilitate the stories and secretly find pleasure in the drama. Whenever you feel tired of these Gatsby’s, search for the Gabe’s in your life. He misses a few days of school for a family vacation and suddenly our class determines he needed to fly to Mexico in order to inspect his sector of the drug cartel. But in reality, he did not even visit Mexico. He went to Florida. Bland ol’ Florida. Nevertheless, upon his return, he exhibited nonchalance and did not act the least bit restrained when clarifying the truth. Score. Our class experienced all the fun of drama and mystery without the frustration of a character such as Gatsby. Not everyone lucks out like first period, and the complexity of rumors never ceases to amaze me. Any mystery or source of speculation causes rumors and gossip, so, really, Gatsby’s reserved nature and Gabe’s vacation to “Florida” do not have too many differences. I guess the only question that remains is when will you start throwing the massive ragers, Gabe?

Myrtle Wilson: the Original Black Friday Enthusiast

            After a day dedicated to giving thanks for one’s possessions, Americans believe the only logical follow-up involves trampling one another in order to nab the last marked-down Wii U on the second biggest shopping day of the year. Although my food coma consistently prevents me from experiencing the phenomenon of Black Friday, or anything involving movement, the affair never ceases to fascinate me. The dedication of hardcore shoppers who wait hours on end and put themselves in potentially life-threatening situations rivals that of Olympians, and I cannot resist reading about the ramifications of their quests.  Despite the humor these consumers provide, the repulsion for such extreme consumerism remains. However, with some attempted sympathy and after noting the similarities between Myrtle Wilson from The Great Gatsby and the Black Friday heroes, I began to understand their positions. Though both the shoppers and Myrtle appear very materialistic, their reasoning does not prove that illogical. The shoppers wait for hours and risk harm in order to save money. Myrtle cheats on her husband to achieve higher social status and have a wealthier life. Does anyone disagree with wanting wealth and social promise? The paths Myrtle and the extremist buyers take seems corrupt and excessive, their logic proves reasonable. For instance, during Tom and Myrtle’s party, the adulteress describes her extensive list of items she needs to purchase while with Tom (36). The novelist presents situational irony as Myrtle generally remains superficial, yet her decision to utilize Tom’s money, rather than her own, remains wise, but immoral. Although I do not condone Myrtle’s behavior in anyway, I recognize that the benefits and rewards of her risk prove worth it for her. Both parties, Myrtle and the deal seekers, put themselves in danger in order to achieve monetary benefits, and I have to respect their efforts. I differ in values from them, but I, too, have made extreme sacrifices for various items or circumstances I wanted acquire. I advocate that we all have a bit of Myrtle and the intense consumers within ourselves, we just need to look past our original moral judgments.

Pondering Purposes

       For an unknown reason, my dreams become something out of a Lewis Carroll novel whenever I try to conclude a stressful day with an afternoon nap. Yesterday’s dream proved no different: my mind concocted an alternate universe in which all of the AP English 12 students lived in a small cottage on a secluded island off the coast of Australia with Ms. Serensky as our housemother. I kid you not. I could not make this up if I wanted to. In this crazy world, Ms. Serensky would leave us at home alone each day to work on our short story worksheets; however, one this particular morning, we discovered a quidditch set and decided to orchestrate a tournament rather than analyze the significance of stealing thirty Big Macs. In the midst of the first match, a man, who bared a striking resemblance to the Misfit in “Black Hearts Bleed Red,” infiltrated our home and claimed the new quidditch set as his own. In this unrealistic universe, I stood up to the man and, in return, he shot me just to gain a quaffle, two bludgers and a snitch. Although, I have to admit, the snitch seemed pretty high-quality. Obviously, I woke up extremely confused and, as Ms. Serensky has taught me, began to look for a purpose or meaning in my imagination’s creation. Although I do not possess the amazing talents of Sigmund Freud, I still managed to come up with a variety of possible meanings, yet none seemed right. I found myself further empathizing with the public in “The Balloon,” we all stand searching for something that may or may not exist. A world of conceivable answers remains, but one can never know for sure. The author of the short story, Donald Barthelme, notes “all… motions… were within one's possibilities” in regards to the citizen’s reactions, highlighting the claim that the balloon can receive many different interpretations (2). Although the narrator hints of a purpose, he never reveals the true meaning behind the balloon, just as I will never know the reasoning for my in-depth death by quidditch. Furthermore, Barthelme states that the most important result of the balloon proved what people felt standing under it (3). This declaration uncovers the writer’s assertion that our personal interpretations of the world create the vital or uneventful impact of happenings. Through these ideas, “The Balloon” exemplifies the belief that all meaning proves constructed meaning, a thought that stands central to my personal ideals. We decide what matters and we instill these items or, in my case, dreams with significance. Although I can pinpoint a variety of interpretations of my strange dream as well as Barthelme’s balloon, I will never know whether these connections proved correct or incorrect. However, these constructed purposes can still have a monumental impact on my life. Perhaps the writer did not intend the balloon as a symbol of art, this connection still allows me to evaluate the role of arts and literature in my own life and grow from that thought exchange. Moreover, if I ponder the possibility that my dream means my civic duty stands as risking my health for literature, then I can use this connection to deeply evaluate my interest in writings and how important they remain to my being. Just as Barthelme depicts the limitless understandings of an event, I affirm that every occurrence has infinite purposes. As well, I advocate that the deeper analysis and questioning of the world enhances our lives, regardless of whether our conclusion proves the “right” or “wrong” answer.

The Klausner Within Us All

            As I scrolled down my Twitter feed yesterday, I could resist letting out a yelp of triumph upon reading the school cancellation announcement. However, my joy soon disintegrated as I thumbed down to the next tweet: “Death toll rises, thousands without power.” A wave of guilt swept over me as literal waves crushed homes just a few hours away; who knew such powerful juxtapositions existed outside of literary world? As Hurricane Sandy tore up more and more of the coast, my frustration increased proportionally. Reading posts about how great a hurricane seemed solely because it caused a school cancellation proved extremely irritating, and I found myself wanting to lash out at anyone praising the storm. But I never did. I realized the issue and never did anything about it until it proved too late. Consequently, while watching “the Sound Machine” today, it occurred to me that Klausner and I share this trait. Klausner acknowledges the plants’ pain, but continues to wound them and ruins the potential of his machine before it can truly make an impact. Moreover, I discovered a clear connection between the unsympathetic tweeters and the doctor. Both parties realize the pain and destruction; however, rather than acknowledging it, they choose to ignore the damage and focus on their own lives. As much I wanted to dismiss and judge Klausner and the doctor, I often act identically, and I assert that everyone does. The vast majority of humans prove guilty of this apathy and society even ignores this simple fact. Although I believe this issue necessitates amelioration, in reality, not all aspects of it stand as detrimental. Humans have inherently selfishness tendencies, and I believe the act of ignoring major issues exists as just another mechanism by which people allow for their own happiness. If everyone could feel the terrible pains of others, society would reduce to shambles. Generally, humans have the deepest and most intense reactions to the events that directly affect them or that they directly caused. Similarly, the most influential of the plants’ cries proves the one Klausner internationally generates. Yes, he sympathizes with roses cut by his neighbor, but the tree he stabs himself evokes unavoidable guilt and devastation. Not only does Dahl’s work highlight society’s tendencies to ignore its effects on the earth, it illuminates the overall tendency of people to disregard other’s issues for the sake of their own contentment. As with all generalizations, exceptions do occur, and I believe everyone needs to become one of these exceptions in order to truly sympathize with one’s neighbors. However, the troubles of the world recognized by all would lead to destruction and mass devastation. 

Insightful Olive

            Books offer readers a unique opportunity to see inside someone else’s head and live a different life, unveiling insights one may have never considered. Such is the case in the novel Olive Kitteridge by award-winning author Elizabeth Strout. Strout tells the chronicle of Olive Kitteridge through thirteen short stories focusing on various residents of Crosby, Maine as well as Olive herself at varying ages. The tales focusing on the Kitteridges at an older age especially resonated with me and taught me valuable lessons. After losing both of my grandmothers, I had never taken the time to truly comprehend their passing’s effect on my grandfathers, only how it impacted me. Through Strout’s depiction of Olive losing her husband, Henry, I began to genuinely understand and sympathize with my grandpas. For instance, after Olive’s friend and widower, Jack Kennison, declares that his wife had recently passed away, Olive states “Then, you’re in hell,” (55). Her short syntax and simple statement evokes pathos, generating empathy from those who have lost a loved one. Personally, Olive’s facile declaration allowed me to understand what my grandfathers have to deal with on a daily basis: a living hell. Moreover, Olive noted how young people do not understand that “aged… bodies were as needy as theirs,” (270). Through this simile, Strout asserts that humans, especially the youth, tend to forget that all people stand as equal and have the same needs, regardless of age; we all want to love and be loved. Admittedly, I have forgotten this more than once, but Olive’s cogitation combined with the portrayal of her loneliness allowed me to understand how important a thought it is. Throughout the novel, I would think back to the times where I would not stay home for a family dinner with one of grandfathers because I had plans to hang out with my friends and felt immense guilt. I used to treat outings with my friends as more important, despite seeing them every day, but Olive taught me to treat those you love equally as just that: equals. I believe Strout writes to people like me who did not take time to fully understand the struggles of aging in order to illustrate how much the elderly value companionship and that one should cherish each moment spent with loved ones.

Olives Have Layers

                Elizabeth Strout, a New York Times bestselling author, combines thirteen short stories about the residents of Crosby, Maine in order to tell the complex story of the title character in her 2008 novel, Olive Kitteridge. Written in modern-day America, where many have questioned if society has become progressively crueler, Strout depicts the growth of Olive Kitteridge and her struggle to overcome her husband’s stroke. Although I sympathize with Olive, her attitude in the first half of the novel appalled me. For instance, prior to his stroke, Henry solemnly noted how Olive has “’never once apologized. For anything,’” (123). Henry acts as a synecdoche of those who have experienced Olive’s cold personality and his defeated tone, implied through his short syntax, illustrates how frustrated Olive can make people, including her own husband. Strout evokes pathos by having Olive discourage Henry, who people repeatedly call a “’nice man;’” readers, including myself, who sympathize with kind, innocent men like Henry feel shocked by Olive’s harsh treatment of him (149). She mistreats various other characters throughout the novel’s first half; ergo, I did not feel particularly fond of Olive, despite my extreme compassion for her struggles. However, as the novel progressed, and especially after Henry’s stroke, Olive learned to contain her adverse thoughts, and I began to enjoy her character more. Olive even volunteers to help at a funeral because she knows Henry would have wanted to if he had the ability. At the event, she offers “’Put me to work, Molly’” (167). The novelist’s overall juxtaposition of Olive’s bossy past-self and her helpful, submissive self illustrates her attitude shift. Although Olive did not become an instant saint and still had negative thoughts, her efforts to act outwardly kind impressed me. My sympathy for her remained constant throughout the novel, but my overall opinion of Olive became progressively more positive as she began to internalize her criticism and assist others. I advise those who dislike Olive to acknowledge her difficult life and appreciate her efforts to become kindhearted. Furthermore, I encourage those who found themselves relating to Olive’s actions in the novel’s first half to mirror her attempt to increase her compassion.

Powerful Parallels

            Elizabeth Strout tells the story of Olive and Henry Kitteridge through delicately woven chapters, each resembling a short story, in her 2008 novel, Olive Kitteridge. Written in modern-day America where over 40% of marriages end in divorce or separation, the small tales mostly feature various relationships in the shared the setting of Portland, Maine, a small-town similar to the one Strout grew up in. The novelist’s reoccurring parallels between the various chapters appeal to me due to their unique way of both telling and showing Strout’s assertions. For instance, in “The Piano Player,” Angie O’Meara receives a visit from her vindictive ex-boyfriend, Simon. After Simon degrades Angie in order to compensate for his lost dreams, Angie describes his actions as “thin milk” (58). By comparing Simon’s actions to nutritionally insufficient thin milk, the author asserts that people rarely gain genuine salvation through vengeful actions. Rather, one achieves a temporary satisfaction that fails to eradicate the true source of their dismay. In the next narrative, the first of Olive’s own stories entitled “A little Burst,” Strout reverses her narrative position and illustrates the assaulting perspective through Olive. After her son Christopher’s wedding, Olive overhears her new daughter-in-law, Suzanne, criticizing her mother-in-law’s dress and the already agitated Olive reacts strongly. Olive resolves to steal a few of Suzanne’s clothing items and draw a black streak on Suzanne’s sweater; when looking back of her actions, Olive reckons “It does not help much,” (73). Strout juxtaposes the two chapters in order to demonstrate that neither side benefits from spiteful reactions, and the repetition of this idea emphasizes the assertion’s prominence. Furthermore, Strout anticipates the possible judgments of readers and, thus, positions Simon’s outburst prior to Olive’s in order to prevent overzealous criticisms of Olive as almost all of society has had a vengeful impulse. Although I believe these kneejerk reactions often prove unpreventable, I encourage excessively hostile readers to recognize the uselessness of their actions. Moreover, I advise victims to acknowledge instances where they have done the victimizing and understand the trivial nature of their assailant’s actions.

So It Goes

            What will the world’s end bring? Humans have pondered this colossal question since the beginning of time and Kurt Vonnegut chooses to tackle the ambitious topic in his 1963 novel, Cat’s Cradle. Vonnegut, who fought in World War II and experienced the massive bombing of Dresden, creates an apocalyptic tale on the island of San Lorenzo. The novel, which received publication during the Cold War, ends in a slightly open-ended fashion and, as a fan of ambiguous finales, I enjoyed Vonnegut’s culmination. Towards the end of the novel, the narrator, John, finds what he feels stands as his life purpose: to climb San Lorenzo’s largest mountain, Mount McCabe. Although John knows he must climb the mountain, he does not know what to bring with him. At one point, the protagonist cries out “’what… would the right symbol be?’” in distress (285). John’s struggle to find a symbol acts as a synecdoche of man’s quest for the meaning of life, and his lost hope parallels the lost faith in humanity the religious leader, Bokonon, felt at the world’s nadir. However, unlike the pursuit of life’s purpose, John eventually finds his answer. Vonnegut closes the novel with the final thoughts of Bokonon who expresses his desire to climb Mount McCabe and make a stature of himself “thumbing my nose at You Know Who” (287). The scholar’s purposeful omission of the word “God” illustrates his indignation and sneering view of the deity; Bokonon’s ideal final act serves to mock God and his creation of mankind, his supposed most prized design. I enjoyed Vonnegut’s choice as it asserts that humans often reveal their true values in times of crisis and panic. Thus, the last quote reveals how Bokonon stands as just another ordinary man. This idea reflects the central theme that nothing has meaning until humans construct it, as the citizens of San Lorenzo did with Bokonon. Moreover, I commend the novelist for his vague ending. Vonnegut’s deliberate lack of closure reflects his consistent claim regarding the insignificance of the human race.  I admire the author’s denouement as it accurately reflects human tendencies during catastrophes and depicts a similar view to my own in regards to the reaction to the end of the world. After reading Vonnegut’s ending, I advocate those stressing over their purpose in life to accept that the truth will never reveal itself. Although I want to also advise humans to learn from Vonnegut’s portrayal, what can we really learn? No one can anticipate how the world will end and, even if one could, would it really matter?

Suitable Satire

              In the 1963 novel, Cat’s Cradle, by the veteran-turned-novelist, Kurt Vonnegut, the writer discusses issues such as religion, the meaning of life and politics through the eyes of the protagonist, John. Published in the midst of the Cold War, the book emphasizes John’s quest to discover more about the fictional, father of the atom bomb, Frank Hoenikker, and his family. The narrator’s research leads him to the small, poverty-stricken country of San Lorenzo where Vonnegut continues his sarcastic and satiric examination of society. As I have often received criticism for acting overly sarcastic, the novelist’s cunning tone, especially in regards to the Hundred Martyrs to Democracy, appeals to me. I believe Vonnegut’s satire holds a mirror up to humanity and his particular mockery of the Hundred Martyrs of Democracy illustrates his views on military enterprises and heroism. When John arrives on San Lorenzo with Newt and Angela Hoenikker, the President, “Papa” Monzano, informs the group that they arrived the day before San Lorenzo’s “greatest national holiday,” (142). While most people consider a religious holiday their most important, the adulating diction of “greatest” illustrates how much importance the Hundred Martyrs to Democracy Day has to the citizens of San Lorenzo. However, as Vonnegut reveals more about the holiday, this exaltation begins to hold situational irony. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, San Lorenzo sent a “hundred men” to the United States for training and “to fight… [for] democracy” (149). Before their arrival, the ship sunk and, since then, the country has celebrated their efforts on the anniversary of the martyrs’ deaths. By stating that San Lorenzo sent a “hundred men,” Vonnegut’s data exposes how little of an impact the untrained, unarmed, conscripted soldiers would have had in the scale of World War II. Moreover, the entire idea of San Lorenzo sending men to fight for democracy stands as ludicrous because the country only claims to have democratic values when truly it acts more like a dictatorship. Vonnegut slowly exposes the illegitimate roots of the “greatest national holiday” in order to utilize the illogical holiday as a synecdoche of the hope humans construct out of foolish events, alluding to the central idea of a cat’s cradle and its unreasonable meaning. The novelist’s ironic anecdote and satirical style exposes his critical views on military endeavors by pointing out the futility and inevitable wastefulness of military effort. Although I do believe war can prove necessary and constructive, I agree with Vonnegut in that many military efforts stand as unnecessary and counterproductive. I advise those offended by Vonnegut’s black humor to allow themselves to acknowledge their own faults and the faults of modern society as many of his convictions stand as true.

Vonnegut's Views on the Realm of Religion

        In Kurt Vonnegut’s 1963 novel, Cat’s Cradle, which he published in the wake of the Cuban missile crisis, the novelist discusses multiple issues such as the effects of advanced science on the world and the eternal subject of religion. Vonnegut, a self-proclaimed Humanist, takes a satirical approach to the unwavering religious devotion of the narrator, John, to the denomination of Bokononism. As an agnostic, I agree with many of the writer’s views on faith. For instance, when first introducing Bokononism, John cites the opening sentence of The Book of Bokonon: “’all the true things… are shameless lies’” (5). The contradictory juxtaposition of “’true’” and “’lies’” illustrates the bold nature of Bokonon. This boldness, along with the brazen diction of “’shameless,’” creates an interesting contrast of Bokonon to other deities.  Unlike other divine beings that leave their beliefs to faith, Vonnegut purposefully devises a god to foil this. I admire Vonnegut’s choice as I feel it allows readers the unique opportunity to question their own beliefs—does it really matter if the Bible, Koran etc. exist as the truth or not? I contend that fallacies play essential roles in our lives; fictional novels have inspired me countless times and have even changed my life, yet these books technically remain as untrue. Moreover, I defend Vonnegut’s views on the socialization of religion. One specific encounter John has with Hazel Crosby parallels this. After discovering their shared Alma mater, Crosby because instantaneously fervent and demands John to refer to her as mom. John then wonders about the “seeming team that was meaningless… a granfalloon,” (91). Although I do not feel that close-knit religious communities reside as “meaningless” in the slightest, I do feel that, considering the opposing views within religious denominations, one cannot have an intense connection with someone just based on a worldwide religion. Also, Vonnegut’s use of incomprehensible diction such as “granfallon” reflects another criticism Vonnegut and I share: religion has become over-complex and intricate. Vonnegut asserts through his cynical tone that religion has become worn and often remains as merely a social gathering, both of these take away from the essential values religions advocate. I contend with many of Vonnegut’s opinions, but not always to the same extent. I advocate that those offended by Vonnegut’s ideals use their indignation to strengthen their own faith. In contrast, those who, like me, often agree with the novelist, do so in a less belligerent fashion than Vonnegut.

A Birthday For Larry

                In the novel Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter the author, Tom Franklin, communicates the interknit lives of Larry Ott and Silas Jones as both children and adults.  The novelist discusses a variety of controversies such as intolerance and racism that seem to follow the protagonists everywhere they go. The book rotates between the boys’ lives as adolescents in the “peaceful” 1970s and their adult stories twenty-five years later. I constantly found myself sympathizing and relating to child and adult Larry; thus, I would jump at the opportunity to present him with two gifts. At the end of the novel, Franklin does not fully reveal how Larry’s story ends and if he can ever fully escape his reputation. The novelist simply narrates Larry’s thoughts of the future and overcoming his alienation: “wondering…if it was really over” (267). Franklin evokes pathos from empathetic readers who have compassion for Larry and want the best for him. As I stand as one of these readers, I would love the opportunity to give Larry the gift of a surprise party. Since his surrounding deprived him of twenty-five years of his life, having the ability to provide him with a normal experience that many people take for granted would bring me extreme joy. Also, the party would allow me to find out if the town of Chabot ever truly overcomes their past unreasonable judgments of Larry. Furthermore, I would like to provide him with a dog for a companion. While reflecting on his past two friendships, Larry feels he “was wrong about the word friend” (236). Through his use of italics, Franklin asserts that after receiving betrayal after betrayal, one becomes skeptical of companions and their worth. I hope that following the novel, Larry learns to regain his trust in people and true friendships; however, in the meantime, I believe a dog would ameliorate his severely lonely life and help protect him from any possible skeptics as well. I constantly empathized with Larry’s feelings of solitude and, consequently, hope to improve his social skills and relationships through my gifts. The author ends the novel with a hopeful tone towards Larry’s future in order to provide those ostracized on false assumptions a sense of hope. I agree with Franklin’s contention and hope my gifts would assist Larry with fulfilling his expectations for the future.

Intervening in Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter

            The eternal issues of racism and murder seem impossible to eradicate; however, on a smaller scale, I believe that one can ameliorate the concerns. For instance, I contend that my direct intervention in the novel Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter could have reduced tensions dealing with both these controversies. The author, Tom Franklin, discusses both discrimination and homicide in his narration of the intertwining lives of Larry Ott, a lonely, white mechanic, and Silas Jones, an African American, childhood baseball prodigy. The novelist rotates time periods between the late 1970s and modern-day America. This juxtaposition exemplifies that although racism and murder has decreased since the ‘70s, both issues still remain seemingly everlasting. If I had the opportunity to interfere in the story of Larry and Silas, I would hope to reduce controversy surrounding both timeless problems by revealing to the boys their half-kinship. I affirm that the boy’s shared father, Carl Ott, causes much of the angst in their relationship, and I believe having a common bond of dislike towards their paternal figure could have assisted the pair in their younger years. For instance, after Silas voluntarily did Larry’s chore of mowing the grass, Carl commends Larry, whom he thought did the work. Silas repeats the words “Good work, boy” multiple times and states that he will never forget the feeling of paternal approval, even if it stood as indirect (152). Silas’ repetition indirectly characterizes his yearn for a father figure, leading to his envy of Larry. Had Carl revealed himself as Silas’ father, the friends would not have had their underlying tension and they duo could have shared the intense commonality of brotherhood. However, Carl had too many reservations about disclosing his adulterous relationship with a black woman. Moreover, had Silas and Larry known about their blood relation, Carl may not have forced the boys into the fight that would ultimately end their friendship. During their dispute, Larry stutters out “’n-n-n-nigger’” at Silas, the true stake in their childhood alliance (90). Larry’s stuttering creates a reluctant tone and illustrates his unwillingness to hurt Silas. I contend that had the pair known about their relation they could have overcome the feud, if it even occurred. I have had many disputes with my own siblings, but we have always overcome them, and I trust that Silas and Larry could have done the same had they known their bond. Although I have no way to know for sure if revealing the truth to Silas and Larry would help keep their friendship alive, I feel it would have definitely strengthen their companionship. Larry’s alienation from society creates many problems in his future life and intertwines with many murders; however, had Silas and Larry stayed friends, this may not have occurred. Franklin writes to siblings with struggling relationships in order to encourage them to value each other and keep their bond alive. I agree with the author and advocate the same for family-like friendships; one does not truly value their relationships until they disappear. 

Anguish Over Lost Amity

          Although most modern citizens ignore the issue, racism still stands as a prevalent controversy in the contemporary United States where nearly fifty percent of African Americans identified it as a "very serious problem." Tom Franklin contributes to this concern in his newfangled novel, Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter. The novel focuses on the present day as well as the 1970s, a time period with a significantly more traumatic racism problem, especially in the "Deep South" where Franklin set the book. The writer discusses multiple ghastly racial disputes that evoke extreme anguish; however, one instance proved particularly conspicuous to me and induced intense agony. In said conflict, the father of Larry, one of the two salient characters, forces his son to quarrel with his best, and only, friend, Silas.  Larry's father, Carl, drunkenly repeats the command "'fight'" five times before the boys truly began to battle (89-90). His repetition proves the boys' adamant reluctance, but after so many mandates and threats of abuse, the pair has no other option. Their utter disinclination creates pathos and generates extremely disheartening reactions, especially to those who, like me, have a seemingly inseparable friendship. My pain further intensified when Carl revealed his true intentions behind the coerced fight; while contriving the battle, he states, “’fight it out…White to colored,’” (89). Through the alcoholic’s juxtaposition of ‘’white’’ and “’black,’” he quickly heightens the tension by turning it into a racial dispute. The novelist appeals to both youth and elderly readers by including dialogue regarding the eternal issue of racism. After a brief joust, it appears clear that Silas, the African American contender, stands victorious; however, when Larry pleads for Silas to release his grip, “Silas held on,” (90). The author’s use of short syntax illustrates Silas’ unwavering intention to harm Larry and asserts that people can often hurt those close to them when provoked.  I truly felt like crying as I sensed the shift in their relationship as Silas became more vehement during the fight. When Silas further tightens his hold on Larry, the helpless boy stammers out a racial slur, definitively ending not only the fight, but also the duo’s intimate friendship. The novelist had previously depicted the intense bond and necessity of the boys’ companionship, thus I found myself extremely disgruntled at the result. Franklin appeals specifically to those with integral friendships and generates anguish in order to encourage them to not allow outside forces to heavily impact their bonds. I advocate a similar philosophy; however, I acknowledge that it often proves impossible to fully disregard external views, especially in cases similar to Larry and Silas's.