Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Literary Writing Prompts: Les Misérables


Writers often highlight the values of a culture/society by using characters who are alienated from that culture/society due to gender/race/class/creed. Choose a play or novel in which such a character plays a significant role and show how that character’s alienation reveals the surrounding society’s assumptions/moral values.
In the book Les Miserables by Victor Hugo, Jean Valjean, an ex-convict, was just trying to get through his unfortunate life. Nineteen years he was in prison, for one measly little act of unselfish desperation; Valjean attempted to steal a loaf of bread from a bakery to feed his sister and her seven starving children. Finally, he was set free, but his past was like a cloud always hanging over him. Valjean’s yellow passport was the only way people knew who he was, but that passport was always inquired wherever he went. Society recoiled from him, and he felt eternally dejected.
This alienation was what shaped Jean Valjean throughout his life. He always had to pretend he was someone else for people to actually accept him. When seen as a convict, Valjean was thrown out of taverns and rejected from restaurants. He was a homeless, helpless wanderer detested by society. But by change of name and establishment of himself, he became a very loved and successful man, the most generous and kind-hearted anyone knew.
This act shows one simple thing: the judgemental, subjective mind of society. Referring to society in a whole, as one single body, it jumps to conclusions about the way things look or appear to be. Naturally, one would retract from a ragged old convict and be drawn toward this wealthy, charitable man. But they are the same person; it’s all in the way things appear to be. Don’t judge a book by its cover? Don’t judge a man by his dress.

Choose a complex/important character in a novel/play of recognized literary merit who might be considered evil or immoral. Explain both how and why the full presentation of the character in the work makes us react more sympathetically than we otherwise might.
Jean Valjean, in Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables, as first perceived seemed to be the bad guy: he stole bread from a baker, he stole silver from a bishop, he stole money from a child. But as Valjean evolved and grew and developed as a character, he only wanted to run from that life. It was his past, he longed for his future – a new future, to escape from his darkness. He flourished into an implausibly generous and forgiving man, beyond the extent of the average man. Nevertheless he could never fully escape his murky past.
Javert, the police inspector, caused the most trouble for Jean Valjean. From the very beginning in the galleys at Toulon, Javert had been a guard, and upon Valjean’s numerous efforts of escape, Javert had grown to loathe him. Upon discharge of the galleys, with still a cloudy mind, Valjean inconsequently fell back into his old ways. Evidently, Javert was right on top of this. As Valjean’s life progressed, Inspector Javert seemed to be part of the police force in every town Jean Valjean hid in; he continued to hunt Valjean down, even after becoming a clean new man. Disguised name or not, Javert knew his face anywhere, and the endless game of hide and seek kept Valjean on his toes.
As the reader, we begin to sympathize for poor Jean Valjean. Everywhere he went, he started a new life for himself, and everywhere he went, his past tracked him down. Jean Valjean redeemed himself time and time again: he rescued an old man from underneath a fallen carriage, he took in and raised poor frozen Cosette – an orphan servant of but eight years old – and he saved the life of Marius Pontmercy – Cosette’s subsequent lover –who Valjean looked upon only with hatred. We, the readers, love Jean Valjean, for he is a good man with only a regrettable past.

Monday, October 22, 2012

This I Believe Essay


I believe that music can change the way one feels in an instant.
               
Music. Music. It is such a powerful word, yet so underappreciated  It isn't one of those words that when you look at it, you think, “Wow, what a great word. What a beautiful, harmonious word.” I think that that is because there are so many genres of music in so many different styles; no one is going to like all music. And practically everyone listens to, or has some affiliation, with music, and if you are like me and have reservations about a lot of people, well, that can put a damper on the word as well. By this I mean only that I have annoying memories of annoying people when I look at the word. But let’s get past that word, music. Let’s go inside of it.
                There is this feeling that I get, it is such a charismatic, eerie, marvelous feeling, when certain music comes on. I cannot pinpoint what music exactly it is, because it is never just one kind. But many times, if the situation is just right, and the music is just spellbinding enough, I feel like I am in a movie. That also can get a negative vibe, “I feel like I’m in a movie.” Let’s change that word. I feel like I am part of some independent film that never made its way into theatres because it wasn't supported by some big-name company, but it should have been because it was so much better than Twilight. For example, I was on the beach at night in a sweater, the same night I was star-gazing. My friends and I were walking through the sand as the cool wind whipped through our hair and the portable radio was playing some song, which I have yet to forget, but it was such a great song, and we just walked and listened and felt. I felt magical. It didn't feel real. Hence the movie vibe. I felt like I was in that reoccurring scene of Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind when the couple are on the beach in the snow. I didn't ever want that moment to be over; I just wanted to keep walking, keep listening, keep feeling. Forever.
                This unreal feeling has happened to me on multiple occasions, and hopefully it happens to other people too. Partly because if not then you have no idea what I am talking about, and partly because I wish other people could experience this too. That is, without the help of some narcotic. I must assure you that there was no use of drugs on my part, because every ignorant person thinks that they need drugs to be able to have a moment like this. You really don’t, just something that you love emphatically.
                Music can do wonders, and it can change the mood or feeling of anything. Maybe your dog just ran away, and then “Who Let the Dogs Out?” comes on. It’s a stupid song, but because of your current situation, it probably makes you upset. But say your day just sucks, and your road rage is on a dangerous level. So you jab that radio button with all the pressure in your angry little thumb, and something incredibly beautiful floods your car, and suddenly, you slow down fifteen miles and lighten your grip on the wheel. You feel better instantly. Music.

Book Project: Insert Identity Here

  •     Jean Valjean poses as Monsieur Madeleine, the mayor of M—sur m— and becomes very rich and successful.
  •     Jean Valjean poses as Ultimate Fauchelevent, the brother on Father Fauvent (Fauchelevent), working as a gardener in the Convent of Petit Picpus.
  •     Jean Valjean, still Monsieur Fauchelevent, but also nicknamed Monsieur Leblanc, pretends to be the low-lying old father of the beautiful young Cosette. 




Essentially, as it is seen, Jean Valjean is always on the run from the police (Inspector Javert) and can never reveal his identity as Jean Valjean and must therefore always be someone else. This picture relates to that because the man here has no face, only "Insert Identity Here"; he can be whoever he feels like being whenever he feels like it. 

Original work by Sophie Haulman, 2012

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Quotes

Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do. – Voltaire
I feel like this quote is saying that of all of the opportunities we get in our lives to do good, how many do we actually take? There is at least one opportunity to do something good for someone every single day, and most of the time we don’t take that opportunity, because we—the human race—are selfish. This, therefore, makes us guilty. 
I chose this quote because I am guilty of this. I try to be a nice person, as most people do, and do good on a regular basis. But no one takes every opportunity to be altruistic, and neither do I. This is a philosophy that should be taken by everyone, but obviously isn’t.


Our life is frittered away by detail….Simplify, simplify.  –Henry David Thoreau
This quote means that everyone’s life is always so busy and so full and so detailed, and that isn’t good. Life can be lived simply and happily without all of the clutter and chaos in it; it can really be lived better, more smoothly. Simple.
I chose this quote because my life is full of chaos and details and is very overwhelming. Living life simple sounds great, and I wish that I could. But because no one actually lives their lives simply, it effects everyone else, like me, which causes me to not be able to lead a simple life either
—domino effect.

 
Don’t tell me worrying doesn’t do any good.  Half the things I worry about never even happen. –Twain

Friday, October 19, 2012

Favorite Video: Strange Light




This is the promotion video for a performance called “Strange Light”. It features the collaboration of dance, music, and original poetry written and recited by Derrick Brown. “Strange Light” is a performance about living through life as it is from childhood fears to adult regrets that can hold one back from embracing that life.
            I chose this video for its pure art. Derrick Brown is an ingenious poet who lives for and through his work, and I admire him. As for the accompaniment of dancers, as I am one, I just thoroughly appreciated it. I also agree with his outlook on life in this piece, that in order to embrace it, you must get past its’ many hindrances.  

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Persuasive Essay: Human Trafficking



To the Unaware, Misinformed Party,
Human trafficking: the act of ownership over another person for the use of forced physical labor and/or sexual exploitation. Up to 27 million innocent men, women, and children are trafficked around the world every year (Lea). Most of these victims never experience freedom again.
            Human trafficking looks casual to observers and even to police, but it is dark and wicked underneath (Lea). Almost no one does anything about it. People choose the path “Ignorance is bliss.” And remain naïve to the ugly truth. They don’t want to know about it or look it in the face, because the truth is, simply stated, disturbing. But say someone does decide to step up and reach out. This is such a large, widespread issue, how can one person make a difference? It’s quite simple really: one person, then another, and another. It’s like voting – it all adds up and makes a point.
            Human trafficking is a low-risk, high-profit business, and the slave markets are rising. Victims are sucked in in many ways: job offers, kidnapping, deception, or immigration across borders (Lea). Anyone can be a victim, no matter your circumstances. Last summer during an awareness event in downtown Wilmington, a woman drove by in her car and we heard her say to her daughter, “Look, that’s what happened to your cousin.”
            Many people sucked into human trafficking, usually girls and young women, are deceived and brainwashed. They are beaten or raped by their pimp/owner and then rewarded with something they love or by being comforted and told they are loved. I heard a story about a girl who was brainwashed this way for a bag of cheese puffs. This confusion is part of the psychological torture the victims endure. But it is the only act of love and care they are shown, so the girls grasp on to it and don’t want to let it go. They begin to fall in love with their wrong-doers despite the physical torture those men put them through. This is a large excuse as to why most victims of human trafficking never escape – they forget that they want to. However, the larger portion is killed brutally.
            All of this happens right under our noses. Prostitutes, for example, can be arrested and convicted of crime, when in fact large quantities of them are doing so for the profit of their owner. In many countries, men have the hunger for women that they can be violent to (Lea). Prostitution provides that, and the victims are again physically, mentally, and psychologically tortured.
            So why then are people entirely avoiding this issue? The human race is selfish and cowardly, it’s part of our natural state. This topic is heavy, and it takes a brave soul to stand up and say, “This is not okay.” And you can be that person, if you are willing. Even here in Wilmington there are safe houses for rescued victims that you can donate to, there are movies and documentaries being made, even I am part of something. Staff from my dance studio put together “The Story Collective”, a performance about human trafficking in which all of our proceeds go to support an organization called Love 146. You too can do something to help eliminate human trafficking. The real question is – will you?



 Works Cited
Lea, Allie. "Human Trafficking: I Am Not for Sale." Teen Ink. Emerson Media, n.d. Web. 20    Sept. 2012. <http://www.teenink.com/hot_topics/all/article/434742/Human-Trafficking-I-Am-Not-For-Sale/>.

Salisbury, Kaylie D. "Human Trafficking." Teen Ink. Emerson Media, n.d. Web. Sept. 2012. <http://teenink.com/opinion/current_events_politics/article/471711/Human-Trafficking/>.

"All Quiet on the Western Front" Essay Test

Paul says at the end, “I am so alone and so without hope…” (295). Show the major events that caused Paul to view himself this way. Why did he feel this way? ...
            For several years, Paul Baumer has evolved with the war: a fresh, exhilarating start full of hope and enthusiasm that slowly dwindled down to a single spark of light, and eventually, that went out too. Paul begins his journey, “[I am] satisfied and at peace,” (1) but this is a war, and that will not last. The way Paul evolves is simultaneous and parallel to the evolution of the war: enthusiasm and hope to trials and struggles to loss of hope to destruction and surrender.
            From the very beginning, Paul’s close friend Franz Kemmerich experiences the consequences of war face to face and so begins the long line of loss Paul will experience. This initiates the hardening of his heart, to build up his stone cold emotionless wall. Paul experiences a new feeling of grief. He writes, “My feet begin to move forward in my boots, I go quicker, I run…I give him the boots. We go in and he tries them on. They fit well. He roots among his supplies and offers me a fine piece of saveloy. With it goes hot tea and rum.” (33) Away with Paul’s emotions, away with his feelings, or coping with the war will be impossible.
            Battle after battle, front after front, trenches, rats, starvation, blood. Day after day the soldiers’ youth is grinded out of them. They are “forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial – I believe we are lost.” (123) And with that are lost the human-like characteristics of passion and feeling; Paul becomes much like a puppet of war.
            One may not think this is such a bad thing. Paul is strong inside and out, he can cope better, survive longer. That is true. But comes the day his sister calls, “Mother, mother, Paul is here,” (157) the wall crumbles like stale bread. The feelings return in tsunamis and Paul cannot even support himself. His mother is sick – one more loss. But a soldier can not dwell on such things if he wants to survive. It will destroy him.
            Paul returns to war. Paul loses more friends, and with them, hope. All he has left is Kat – his single dwindling light. Nonetheless, “…it has sufficed. Kat is dead. Slowly I get up.” (291) And Paul has nothing left. “Let the months and years come, they can take nothing from me, they can take nothing more.” (295) Paul goes on with no hope, no love, no strength, no will. The war has engulfed and swallowed him; he drowns in the pit of its belly. So finally, Paul too falls, and is glad the end has come.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

This I Believe


Favorite "This I Believe" Essays:

Poem:

I believe that being cold is a very undesirable feeling;
warmth is the only thing I ever want to feel.
I believe in lying on a blanket under the stars in a sweater at night.
I believe that on certain cool mornings when the air is crisp,
it smells like snow.
I believe that certain situations accompanied by certain music can make one feel like they’re in a movie.
I believe in being entirely organized with everything I do because without organization
nothing would function properly.
I believe that whether or not you try to be, everyone is judgmental;
 judging is in the human nature.
I believe that whenever I am having a bad day
I can hide inside of a sweater and it makes the day at least 5% better.
I believe that being left-handed is better than being right-handed;
the rest of the world doesn't appreciate us.
I believe in adorning my hair with braids or dreads or colors
to make it not so boring.
I believe that the structures of bones are very
beautiful. 


Comparison/Contrast Essay: A Teacher or a Teacher


           Teachers: there are two types. The type that tell me what I need to know to get a grade that says, “You’re smart,” and the type that make me figure out what I need to know. Curriculums and play by play directions are always available to a teacher. Some of them scrape by giving the bare minimum of what is required, but others really want me to learn.
            Miss Lucas wants me to learn. She gets so excited about teaching that she doesn’t realize how much work she gives me; she loves to do work. Miss Lucas goes beyond what is required by the state and the curriculums; she pours herself into her job and she cares. She really grasps the need for understanding. But is it too much work? Miss Lucas gets carried away, so I let her know how overwhelmed I am, and she is very understanding. And of course all teachers say, “You need to understand this! Don’t you get what I am teaching you?” No, Miss Lucas says, “It’s okay to not understand, I want you to not understand. Let’s figure this out together.”
            Many teachers, after having spent year after year with disrespectful blockheads, are just fed up. They get bored and frustrated and stressed by their own workload, and they slack. They teach what the curriculum says to teach, step by step, in perfect formal order. They say, “Here’s what you have to do, here’s how to do it, this is when it’s due, now go.” But what if I don’t get it? Do they understand that I have a life? Other homework? Family matters? No, those teachers don’t care. It’s probably because many of them don’t have lives themselves.
            Miss Lucas is an individual teacher, one which is usually harder to find in a large public school where cares are thrown high into the air. Yet I have found my way into that left handed desk. In that desk I read and learn and dig and understand and don’t understand and then understand again and I fill myself up with the words on a page because Miss Lucas gives those words meaning. Now of course I’ve had, have, and will have teachers who basically just suck. The things they teach are boring and the kids in the class don’t care and so day after day I just read textbooks and do worksheets, which the teacher never makes up herself, and listen to her yell because none of us care. Miss Lucas has never done that a day in my life. I doubt that she ever will. The students in her class respect her because she gives life to the things that she teaches; it isn’t boring, generic.
            But as I sit here and I type this essay my mind is whirling with all I have to get done. Papers to write, books to read, extra credit to complete, grammar to learn, more, more, more to brand into my brain and retain. High school is a tiresome repetition of the same thing day after day and it will continue this way for two and a half more years and there’s nothing I can do about that. So I’m going to go read Les Miserables now, because Miss Lucas says it’s good.   

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Who Am I?

"For whatever we've lost (like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea."
I love the way that I feel neck deep in the ocean on those calm, warm days when the crashing waves have ceased. I can float there and feel nothing and everything all at the same time. It's ethereal really...that's why those days are so hard to find.

My best friends
I laid on the beach in this cheap Goodwill sweater at night. It was cold but that was the least of my thoughts. My two best friends and I, we laid there under the clear sky with a portable radio playing the most perfect music it could have played, and in silence we watched the sky. I realized at that moment that I never wanted to leave; I wanted to stay right there on that blanket for the rest of my life. Obviously, I couldn't do that. But I feel like I found myself.

Those are the things that I love: beautiful, memorable moments. And concerts and music and cats. All of those things combined perhaps. I really adore music - like I need to hear it all the time. I listen - LISTEN - to the music, so I know that it's real. Concerts are an opportunity to be inside that music, become one with the sounds and their maker. I find concerts...powerful. 


I guess that everything I like ties in with each other in some way. I love music. I dance to music. Dance is an art form. I am an artist. Artists usually think more, dip deeper, to find the meaning in things. I like that. I like to experience and feel and understand. 


People sometimes (or usually) people think I'm boring and quiet. I'm really just thinking a lot. I listen and absorb and retain what goes on around me. I'm an observer. And I never know what expression my face is making.



Gabi's cat

I really want a cat but my brother is allergic so instead I have a dog that thinks she is a human. For my cat-lack, I have Gabi's cat. I am her god mother and she loves me (I think). Also sweaters are really nice, it's like walking around inside of a blanket all the time. 

At this point in my essay, I'm going to assume you think I'm a hipster. Cats, sweaters, star gazing, concerts, let's all drink tea and forget the world irrationality. Unfortunately, I meet just about every quota for that. And then I say, "Don't call me a hipster. I'm not a hipster!" which I guess is what all hipsters say? So whatever, call me a hipster if you want to. But that really just disgusts me. I don't know what I am. I just like what I like and do what I do because that's what I want to like and do. 

I was once referred to as being kind of like Emily Dickinson - she knew and understood so much that she had never really experienced herself. I guess that's hypocritical in a sense though. I really haven't experienced all that much in my life, but I take from others' experiences and I try to understand them. I like to know things. 

^ No that doesn't mean I live for learning and school and all that. I mean things about life that you really don't know unless you personally experienced them. But I try to understand them nonetheless.


Alice Glass
My brother has ADD or ADHD or something and he is fairly difficult to manage. My human-dog doesn't know how to bark properly. I had a clown fish for five years which is ancient for a fish I think. My parents are divorced, but aren't every one's  nowadays? My thumbs are double jointed. I can't snap or whistle. I have an obsession with clothing and shoes. I like to lay in the shower. I like to lay on the floor. I love Alice Glass. My dad owns a restaurant. I've never been out of the country. I like glitter. I basically only drink water. My favorite color is yellow. I don't know how to scream. Christmas makes me happy.