The Lionlady of His Soul

I will admit I was a bit cynical in my last blog entry. After reading further into the novel, I have discovered that, as crazy and unrealistic as it may be, Florentino truly does love Fermina. For fifty years, he remains emotionally faithful to her and believes that he has maintained his fidelity. Like Fermina, I feel pity for Florentino, but for different reasons than she does. Yes, his behavior is, at times, reminiscent of a sexual predator, but his blind love for Fermina prevents him from having any healthy relationships. The most tragic of these “could-have-been” affairs is Florentino’s friendship with Leona Cassiani.

Leona, the black Personal Assistant of Uncle Leo, is “the true woman in his life although neither of them ever knew is and they never made love” (182). It is Florentino’s obsession with Fermina that deters him from having a fully loving relationship with Leona even though she is clearly his soul mate, the “lionlady” of his soul (187). They have all of the components of a love match. First, Florentino is clearly attracted to Leona physically, describing her as “pretty” when he first mistakes her for a prostitute. Leona is also Florentino’s intellectual equal, as is apparent from her restructuring of part of the River Company of the Caribbean bureaucracy. She helps Florentino to achieve his vocational goals by clearing “the ladder at any cost, with blood if necessary, so that Florentino Ariza could move up to the position he had proposed for himself without calculating his own strength very well” (186). The potential for a real relationship with Leona is most obvious when we are told that “Florentino Ariza had not a moment of inner peace as he confronted the fascinating spectacle of that fierce black woman” (187). Unlike his other relationships that he can break off at any time, Florentino is constantly at battle with himself in regards to Leona.

Leona and Florentino become very close friends. So close, in fact, that Leona refuses to sleep with Florentino because she would feel as though she were going to bed with the son she never had (188). The one point about which the pair cannot discuss freely is Fermina. Florentino concedes that Leona is worthy of sharing burden of his love, but he still cannot tell her. Although his inability to share his most intimate secret with Leona is a roadblock in their relationship, the two are already, as the movie Just Friends would put it, “in the friend zone.” Leona’s deep involvement in Florentino’s schemes, that stem from his attempts to distract himself from Fermina, has prevented them from having a romantic relationship.

Leona Cassiani is the closest thing that Florentino has to finding true love beyond Fermina. Ironically, he does not ever sleep with her, furthering demonstrating his belief that physical and emotional loves are completely unconnected. His 622 physical relationships are simply that: temporary loves based only on corporeal pleasures. With Leona, he has the potential to have a relationship that encompasses the many types of love, but his attachment to Fermina prevents him from pursuing it. (516)

Stalker in the Time of Cholera (and other thoughts)

Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza’s love affair in Love in the Time of Cholera is doomed from the beginning. The two lovers completely idealize the relationship and only when they meet can Fermina see it for what it really is: an illusion.

The novel should really be called Stalker in the Time of Cholera. The relationship’s strange beginnings are the first sign that it will fail. Florentino Ariza, the steadfast lover, exhibits behavior that is characteristic more of a stalker than a man in love. Not to mention, Fermina is only thirteen years old when Florentino first sees her. I first would say that he is creepy pedophile, but the novel more eloquently describes him as a “solitary hunter” (56). After his first glimpse, Florentino becomes consumed with Fermina, watching her walk to school and embroider with her aunt. He notices the most miniscule details of her stance, her walk, her hair, and writes her a love letter that consists of “sixty pages written on both sides” (57). He is completely obsessed but in reality, knows very little about Fermina.

My biggest issue with the relationship between the two lovers is that they never actually meet for more than a few seconds. Of course, the social restrictions of the Catholic society forbid them from meeting in person, but that they know each other only through a regular correspondence of letters and telegrams that allows them, especially Fermina, to romanticize their relationship. Because she does not know him beyond his writing, Fermina thinks of Florentino as the forlorn and intense violinist and poet with glacial eyes, but she is unaware of the extent to which his intensity reaches. It is not until she meets him face to face after having grown up herself that she realizes the mistake she has made.

The scene in which Florentino and the young boy seek the treasure of the sunken galleon is foreshadowing of the imminent downfall of the relationship. Florentino spends numerous weeks searching for the boat, in the same way he spent months watching for a sign from Fermina. Then he finally finds something, much like when he and Fermina have their correspondence, but is later is betrayed by the young boy who steals the jewelry. Florentino’s failure to procure the legendary treasure of the sunken galleon is a forewarning of his failed relationship with Fermina after finally “finding” her when they meet in the marketplace.

The relationship between Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza in Love in the Time of Cholera is destined to fail. The two characters come from completely different social classes, a dissimilarity that greatly impacted relationships at the time in which the novel is set. It is the fear of social impropriety and of Lorenzo Daza that causes them to fall in love from a distance, using letters as a way of communication and a way of idealizing their relationship. In the end, Fermina finally realizes the illusion of love in which she has been living and ends the charade. (504)

"Once a Bitch Always a Bitch"

There is very little about Jason Compson that is redeeming. He is racist, misogynistic, power hungry, corrupt, bitter, and Anti-Semitic. He is definitely NOT my favorite character; however, there is one character whom I like even less than Jason: Caroline Compson, a.k.a. “Mother.” Not only is she selfish, nagging, hypochondriacal, and has a serious martyr complex, but also is responsible for the way that Jason has turned out in life.

Since they were very young, the Compson children have been a divided group. On Father’s side there is Benjy, Caddy, and Quentin. Although they turn out to be the biggest “failures” (Benjy has mental problems, Caddy disgraces her family, and Quentin commits suicide) in the family, they experience the unconditional love of their doting father. Jason, on the other hand, is truly his mother’s son. He is his mother’s favorite and was spoiled and adored by Damuddy, his maternal grandmother. In the end, he becomes selfish like his mother and is the one child who stays with her and manages the Compson family. Mother furthers the division between the children when she makes comments naming Jason as a Bascomb and the other children as Compsons: “[Jason] is the only one of my children with any practical sense you can thank me for that he takes after my people the others are all Compson” (94), and “let me have Jason and you keep the others they’re not my flesh and blood like he is strangers nothing of mine and I am afraid of them I can take Jason” (104).

Mother constantly puts pressure on Jason, even from a young age. Whether or not she is aware of it, her stating that only Jason loves her and is there for her and is her child turns Jason into the bitter person that he is. He both loves and resents his mother and is the only one who calls her on her nagging. When mother, in her martyrly way, says, “I know I’m just a trouble and a burden to you,” Jason responds, “I ought to know it….You’ve been telling me hat for thirty years” (181). This retort is Jason’s best moment.

Jason’s attitude towards other characters in the book parallel that of his mother. From the Benjy section, we can see that Mother considers Benjy to be a burden, a punishment for her sins (103). Similarly, Jason complains about his having to provide for Benjy and cynically suggests to “rent him out to a sideshow; there must be folks somewhere that would pay a dime to see him” (196). Mother’s feelings toward Caddy after she becomes pregnant are made clear the night the Compsons take Quentin in. Mother does not want to put Quentin in Caddy’s old room because it is “contaminated,” and demands that Caddy’s name never be said in front of Quentin (199). Jason’s opinion of Caddy is obvious right at the beginning of his section when he says, “Once a bitch always a bitch” (180). He is just plain mean to her in all of their interactions, taking advantage of her at every opportunity. Clearly, Mother’s constant demeaning of Benjy and Caddy has influenced Jason.

I certainly am not vindicating Jason. He is still a despicable human being who is unnecessarily mean. However, his attitudes and actions are not surprising considering the parent with whom he spends the most time and to whom he relates the most. (568 words)

There Once Was a Novel by Faulkner...

In reading The Sound and the Fury thus far, the only thing that I am sure of is that it is a very confusing book. Either William Faulkner was an absolute genius or absolutely insane. It’s not to say that I haven’t been enjoying the book. I especially look forward to those “ah-ha!” moments when something in the story begins to make sense. Faulkner is especially astute at revealing the actions, thoughts, and feelings of his characters, beyond those of the narrator, through the consciousnesses of Benjy and Quentin.
In the first part of the novel, Faulkner divulges Caddy’s fate through Benjy’s memories. From early on in the novel, we can tell that Caddy, a character who is central to Benjy’s earlier memories, has disappeared at some point during Benjy’s adolescence. She is no longer present in the current action, but is referenced on several occasions, though not right out. The novel itself opens with Benjy staring through the “curling flower spaces” out on to a golf course (1). We later discover that the fence is where he used to stand to wait for Caddy to come home from school. For example, in one of Benjy’s earlier memories, Benjy is standing, holding on to the “ahun” (iron) gate, watching for Caddy. When she finally arrives, she says, “Did you come to meet me….Did you come to meet Caddy” (6). We are first able to determine that Caddy has disappeared from Benjy’s life, and that he is upset by it, when the golfers’ calling their “caddies” causes Benjy to cry and moan. We later discover that Caddy did not leave on good terms with the family because, as Roskus points out, “they aint no luck going be on no place where one of they own chillen's name aint never spoke” (?). Because of his lowered mental state, Benjy does not completely understand Caddy’s disappearance and fate; however, we are able to deduce what has happened to Caddy through the clues in Benjy’s memories. Faulkner’s genius lies in his ability to reveal details slowly.
Perhaps the defining scene is Quentin’s section is when he and Caddy are sitting at the branch. This scene is chock-full of sexual innuendoes reflecting Quentin’s association of sex with death, as sex has destroyed his sister’s and his lives by forcing her to marry. However, this part of the novel is as revealing of Caddy as it is of Quentin. It is in this scene when we learn of Caddy’s true feelings towards the man to whom she has lost her virginity. She says she does not love him; however, her heart begins to pound when she speaks of him. She repeatedly says, “Poor Quentin,” revealing the pity she feels toward her brother that stems from the fact that she does not love him as he loves her. Additionally, when Quentin proposes that they commit suicide, Caddy agrees, but will not aid in her own killing. She clearly wants Quentin to be the one to make the decision over her life, revealing the sense of futility that Caddy feels. This sentiment is also demonstrated when she says that she wants to become sick.
In both Benjy’s and Quentin’s sections of the novel, Faulkner reveals other characters’ actions, thoughts and feelings, especially those of Caddy, through the consciousnesses of Benjy and Quentin. (544 words)

And now, I’ve decided to write limericks about some of the characters in the novel:

There once was a boy named Benjy
His caretakers’ numbers were many
A three year old mind
But thirty-three to our eyes
He waited for his sister endlessly.

There once was a girl named Caddy,
Benjy certainly needed her badly
Against the Compson name
She played a promiscuous game
Now her daughter has no mommy or daddy

There once was a boy named Quentin
Smart and proper, not to mention,
Was in love with his sis
Now he’s in a fix
From the Charles he sent himself to heaven.

The once was a mother named Caroline
She worried her son was never fine
Attention-seeking and nagging
Her spirits were sagging
When husband and son went off and died.

There once were three servant men
There job never seemed to end
To watch over a man,
Whose speech they couldn’t understand,
Versh, T.J. and Luster must tend.

A Picture of Henry Wotton

As of right now, my favorite character in The Picture of Dorian Gray is Lord Henry Wotton. His sarcastic comments regarding artists, poets, philanthropists, Americans, the British, the aristocracy, and pretty much every other group imaginable lend humor to the novel and give the reader insight into the satirical, although generally accurate, lens through which Lord Henry views the world. His witty and charismatic exterior allows him to manipulate Dorian Gray and shapes much of Dorian’s perceptions.

When we are first introduced to Dorian by Basil’s description, “he has a simple and beautiful nature.” Basil warns Lord Henry, “Don’t spoil him. Don’t try to influence him. Your influence would be bad” (16). It is as thought Basil can see the corrupting power Lord Henry will soon possess over Dorian. Lord Henry himself is aware of the control he will be able to have over Dorian: “to influence a person is to give him one’s own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions….He becomes an echo of someone else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him” (20). It is at Lord Henry’s suggestion that Dorian begins to obsess over preserving his youth when Lord Henry says, “youth is the one thing worth having,” and that “Beauty is a form of Genius—is higher, indeed, than Genius, as it needs no explanation” (24). Lord Henry plants in Dorian’s head the idea of his beauty as being wasted by time.

Lord Henry’s power over Dorian stems from his intellectual magnetism and appearance. His voice alone (which is “low” and musical”) is enough to get inside Dorian’s head, and his mannerisms when speaking (a “graceful wave of the hand”) likewise exude a sense of confidence (21). Dorian is also very fond of and interested in Lord Henry’s appearance: in his “romantic olive-coloured face and worn expression…[and] his cool, white flower-like hands” (23).

Henry’s sharp wit and clear intelligence additionally hypnotize Dorian. He is able to speak words that have a “subtle magic” (22) in them, that “bewilder” Dorian, and touch “some secret chord that had never been touched before (21). Lord Henry’s intelligence can be seen in his subtle mockery of the human race. He makes fun of intellectuals in saying that “beauty, real beauty, ends where intellectual expression begins….Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How Perfectly hideous they are!” (6-7). He then goes on to satirize the church: “in the Church they don’t think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen…” (7). He even goes so far as to ridicule philanthropists, saying “philanthropic people lost all sense of humanity. It is their distinguishing characteristic” (37). Even though his criticisms seem harsh, many, in fact, contain some truth. For example, the “philanthropists” with whom Lord Henry is acquainted often give for the wrong reasons, hoping to keep up appearances rather than aid others for purely benevolent motives.

Lord Henry Wotton is extremely perceptive and uses his intellectual prowess to control those around him. As he is so astute at getting inside Dorian’s head, he is able to greatly influence Dorian’s thoughts and actions. I would predict that his original broaching of the idea of the transient nature of beauty is what eventually leads Dorian to obsess over his youth and the painting. (574)

An O'Harrison Ending (Like an "O'Henry" ending. But it's "Harrison Bergeron." Get it...?)

I would say that this was a good week in English. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I enjoyed all the stories ("Battle Royal" was disturbing to say the least), but I had no problem getting through them all (while in previous weeks, *cough* Flannery O’Connor *cough,* it was more of a challenge). "Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonnegut was by far my favorite. While it was at times frustrating to read because of the utterly pathetic existence the characters lead, it raises a good point (true “equality" has its flaws) and keeps the reader engaged until the very the end.

In the story, the futuristic society is virtually dominated by Diana Moon Glompers, the “Handicapper General” who enforces laws that guarantee that all citizens are equal in every possible way. In this country, "nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. No one was stronger or quicker than anybody else" (1). Glompers's methods of leveling society are painful at best. The handicaps that George Bergeron, a man who is considered to be above average both mentally and physically, are required to wear include forty-seven pounds of birdshot in a bag around his next and a mental handicap radio in his ear that scramble his thoughts by emitting loud and irritating sounds every twenty seconds. Hazel Bergeron, George’s wife who is incapable of thinking “about anything except in short bursts” (3), represents the “average” person as shown by her lack of handicaps. In today’s society, Hazel’s attention span would be comparable to that of someone with untreated ADD. She is a nice person, sympathetic towards the handicaps that have been placed on her husband, but completely clueless. She confides that she is jealous of not being able to hear all the interesting sounds that those with mental handicaps can hear, even though George constantly expresses how painful the sounds are. Unlike George, who has the capacity to realize the injustice of his situation but who is prevented from doing so by his radio, she is simply too dull to do anything. For example, when the characters begin to question the rigid governmental regulations, they are unable to get very far because George’s radio and Hazel’s stupidity get in the way. Perhaps the most frustrating fact is that the people of this fictional country chose their own fate: the “equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Ammendments to the Constiution,” meaning that the people themselves must have voted on the laws.

Even though the story is somewhat maddening, as readers, we have a hard time putting it down. Vonnegut keeps us completely enthralled using hope, a clever method indeed. He follows each pitiable description of the character’s existence with an occurrence or conversation that makes us think that their situation will get better, only to follow it with another downward plunge. Following the initial introduction of the characters and their lives, George begins to think about his son (raising the reader’s sense of hope), only to have the sound of a “twenty-one-gun salute” erupt in his ears (20). However, Hazel then begins to express sympathy for her husband, and suggests that he remove some of the lead balls from his physical handicap. George goes on to ask, “The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to society?” (31). As readers, we are extremely excited at this point, anticipating a real break through and, to the optimistic reader, a potential underground uprising. But we are once again disappointed as the sound of a siren fills George’s ears and he forgets the conversation.

The ultimate let down comes at the climax of the story. Harrison Bergeron, an extraordinary boy who has been swathed in every handicap imaginable, stages an uprising on national television. He rips off his burdens, frees one of the ballerinas to become his Empress, instructs the musicians to play their best, and declares himself the Emperor. As the Emperor and his Empress dance and fly and kiss, Diana Moon Glompers (the Handicapper General) enters onto the scene and shoots and kills the Emperor and the Empress. As readers, we stop and think “what?! That is NOT how it was supposed to end!” But by this point, the story is pretty much over so it’s too late to stop reading.

The big question is: why did Harrison, a boy with super-human strength, intelligence, and good looks, fail? Perhaps his biggest shortcoming was his own arrogance. In creating such a public uprising and simply declaring himself the Emperor in such a spectacular fashion, he almost guarantees his downfall. Even so, we reach the end of the story with a look of disbelief on our faces, as Vonnegut is able to play to our sense of hope until the very last part of the story. (806)

In Grocery Store of Societal Discord: A Look at Updike's "A & P"

John Updike’s “A & P” is not merely a descriptive piece about three teenager’s scandalous outing to a grocery store. In the tale, three indecently-dressed girls walk into the local A & P, outraging the “regulars” of the store; however, the story that unfolds contains a social commentary about societal norms and authority. Updike’s descriptions and portrayals of his characters give us insight into his opinions. Furthermore, his use of the first-person through the character Sammy gives us a relatively innocent lens through which to view the story.

The first characters we are introduced to in the novel are the three girls: there is “this chunky one, with the two-piece,” the tall one who has the kind of appearance of someone who “never quite makes it,” and the Queen with her “long white prima-donna legs” (2). These girls are the rebels in the novel. They break societal norms by walking in a grocery store wearing nothing but there bathing suits even though they are five miles from the beach. The chaos, by the standards of a small grocery story, that soon follows provides a setting in which the true colors of the characters come out.

Updike’s negative portrayal of the “regulars” in the store shows a disdain for the “masses.” He describes one of the shoppers in the story as, “one of these cash-register-watchers, a witch about fifty with rouge on her cheekbones and no eyebrows, and I know it made her day to trip me up” (1). Updike’s use of metaphor (“a witch of about fifty”) makes the character come alive and we can picture her exactly. She is not just an irritating, overly-made up, middle-aged woman, but a witch. Cash-register-watcher is our first glimpse into Updike’s opinion of the “regulars” in the store. He later describes them simply as “sheep pushing their carts down the aisle” (5), a possible reference to Orwell’s Animal Farm in which the masses on the farm are represented by sheep.

The description of Lengel, the store manager who is “pretty much dreary, teaches Sunday school and the rest, but he doesn’t miss that much” (12), shows a dislike of the power-hungry pseudo-authority figure who likes to throw his weight around. Lengel overreacts to the situation presented in the story and is unnecessarily rude to the girls. Although they should not have come into the store without clothing in the first place, Lengel’s behavior to them is overly harsh. He acts condescending, saying “we want you decently dressed when you come in here” (16). As readers, we can almost hear his voice dripping with aloofness. His treatment of the girls indicates a misuse of power in this situation.

From Sammy’s perspective, he is the hero of the story. He stands up for the girls by quitting his job after Lengel’s embarrassment of them. However, was his action really heroic? The girls have already been embarrassed at this point in the story; the damage has already been done. Sammy’s actions are more after-the-fact, and he has somewhat selfish motives: he wants the girls to notice him. He is representative of the social climber, going to drastic lengths (quitting his job) to be noticed. But at the end, the girls walk out of the store without even noticing his “heroic” act and give him little attention beyond paying for their herring snacks.

While Sammy is not necessarily the most reliable narrator (his opinions are clearly going to be told from the biased perspective of a teenage boy), he is a very astute observer, and his descriptions give us insight into the people he is describing, his own character, and the thoughts and opinions of John Updike. (610)

Interpreter of a MadLady (Expectations vs. Reality)

We have always been taught to “make a good first impression,” that the impression we make when first meeting someone will be their impression of us forever. However, Jhumpa Lahiri’s “Interpreter of Maladies” is an examination of the idea that lasting impressions can take time to cement. In the story, Mr. Kapasi’s and Mrs. Das’s views of each other go through a whirlwind transformation, and an entire relationship is formed, altered, and ended over the course of a few hours. The tale is a representation of how our impressions can change when founded not on reality, but rather on hopes.

The story’s use of a third-person narrator that allows us into the mind of Mr. Kapasi helps to magnify the gap between Mr. Kapasi’s expectations and the reality. Through his eyes, we see Mrs. Das as an Americanized Indian woman: wearing American clothes, a boyish haircut, and large pink-tinted sunglasses. She is both familiar and foreign at the same time. He notices that her accent sounds “just like the ones… [he] heard on American television programs” (49), and is confused by her use of English colloquialisms, unsure of how to respond to the word “neat” (70). At the beginning of the story, Mr. Kapasi is simply an observer of the lives of the Das family, a transient companion, if even that. His observations depict a woman who is somewhat indifferent to her children and husband, as Mrs. Das seems bored by her surroundings. She smiles at Mr. Kapasi “without displaying any interest in him” (2), paints her nails while ignoring her daughter’s request to participate (34), and stares absently out of the window and at the sky (51). The relationship between the two characters is professional at best, and virtually nonexistent.

Mr. Kapasi’s hopes for a relationship with Mrs. Das begin to form when Mrs. Das shows an interest in his work as an interpreter in a doctor’s office. At this point in the story, we do not know why Mrs. Das is so interested in Mr. Kapasi’s profession, only that she continues to ask for more and more details and calls the job “romantic” (61). Her use of the word “romantic,” a sentiment that is so clearly lacking in Mr. and Mrs. Das’s relationship, triggers Mr. Kapasi’s internal monologue of his failing relationship with his wife. Though Mrs. Das clearly wants something, Mr. Kapasi’s own expectations, founded on his desperation for a fulfilling relationship, lead him to take his fantasy of having a meaningful correspondence with Mrs. Das much farther than what is realistic. This section of the story marks the beginning of the height of the connection between the characters. Because their “relationship,” as Mr. Kapasi views it, is based solely on hope, it is easily destroyed only a few hours later when reality sets in.

The final downfall of the relationship occurs when Mrs. Das decides to confide in Mr. Kapasi, and Mr. Kapasi’s expectations are shattered. During Mrs. Das’s story, Mr. Kapasi cannot look her in the eye and is confused as to why she is telling him this information (145). Clearly, his hopes are very different from her intentions. He is disturbed “to learn that she thought of him as a parent,” making him feel self conscious and causing his feelings for her to continue to evaporate (147). The reason for Mrs. Das’s confession becomes clear when she explains that Mr. Kapasi’s job as an interpreter includes suggesting a remedy for her problems. He feels insulted “that Mrs. Das should ask him to interpret her common, trivial little secret” (161). Their opinions of one another are finally on a similar plane when Mr. Kapasi asks, “Is it really pain you feel, Mrs. Das, or is it guilt?” (161). At this stage, they both finally understand the reality of their situation, and that their expectations and hopes for one another were not at all similar: Mr. Kapasi wanted companionship, while Mrs. Das wanted a way to curb her feelings of guilt.

Mr. Kapasi’s lasting impression of Mrs. Das is finally cemented after learning the realities of her life. His indifference towards Mrs. Das’s losing of his address, her obtaining of which was one of the causes of his infatuation in the first place, is a symbol of his transition from indifference to intoxication to disillusionment. Perhaps in the case of Mrs. Das, Mr. Kapasi’s first impression was not far off. (737)

The Lovely Bones As a Coming-of-Age Story

Although the protagonist of The Lovely Bones is Susie Salmon, a girl who is murdered in the first chapter of the novel and tells the rest of her account from heaven, the story’s most compelling character is Susie’s sister, Lindsey. From heaven, Susie is able to gain insights into her sister’s life that she would not otherwise have, making the novel as much a coming-of-age story for Lindsey as a family’s search for justice. This examination of Lindsey’s responses to Susie’s death and her development into adulthood are used by the author to examine such essentially human traits as emotional preservation, the need for companionship, and formation of ones own identity.

Lindsey’s first reaction after Susie’s death is to cut herself off emotionally from the world. She “hardens” herself and makes “herself small like a stone” (29). She acts belligerent to those who try to help her, like her principal, and distant towards anyone who can get close to her, like her teachers the Dewitts: “My sister did not look at Mrs. Dewitt when she was speaking. She was perfecting the art of talking to someone while looking through them…My sister liked the Dewitts, but that morning she began looking into the eyes of only those people she could fight against” (30). Her behavior is a defense mechanism, a way of keeping herself together while her family is falling apart. It contrasts with a very different emotional response: her mother’s breakdown and eventual leaving of the family. Rather than running away, Lindsey takes an active role in her family and in the finding of Susie’s murderer, venturing into Mr. Harvey’s house and discovering the blueprints for the structure in which Susie was killed. Her initial and instinctual reaction, however, is to act out of emotional self defense and behave in an almost hostile manner towards those who try to get close to her.

Lindsey continues to conduct herself in a petulant manner to those around her until she begins her relationship with Samuel, the boy who melts her heart by coming to visit her on Christmas day. He is the first person she lets in after Susie’s death, but she is not completely comfortable at first. Her discomfort is told from Susie’s perspective when Susie observes, “I could see it happen: Lindsey’s body began to knot. She was working hard keeping everyone out, everyone, but she found Samuel Heckler cute” (67). Through her relationship with Samuel, the author examines the human need for companionship. Samuel acts as Lindsey’s support system through the novel, her understanding partner who tries both to protect her and give her space. His visible presence in Lindsey’s life that begins so soon after Susie’s death is what creates such a strong bond between the pair.

After forming her relationship with Samuel, Lindsey truly begins to come of age. With the help of her grandmother, she discovers make-up and begins to look like an adult who can take care of herself. She is then left with the challenge of forming her own identity as distinct from her sister’s death. She is a victim of “Walking Dead Syndrome – when other people see the dead person and don’t see you” (59). At her summer camp, Lindsey does not put her last name on her nametag and draws a fish instead. She “hoped to meet a few kids from the surrounding schools who didn’t know the story of… [Susie’s] death or at least wouldn’t connect her to it” (115). Lindsey is struggling to create her own distinct identity, a vital part of growing up; however, she must additionally battle the constant reminder of her sister’s death that colors others’ impressions of her.

Lindsey, the sister who is left behind, is the embodiment of essentially human characteristics in the novel. Through her coping with her sister’s death, her family’s breakdown, and her own growth as a person, the author is able to convey the resilience of the individual and the coming-of-age of a girl despite her family’s grief. (668)

My Reading and Writing History

Dear Mr. Coon,

I first fell in love with books when I was two years old. The book was Goodnight Moon, the bedtime story that my parents read to me almost every night. However, shortly after learning to read on my own, I became dissatisfied with picture books, and was hungry for something more. I accredit my current passion for reading to The Phantom Tollbooth, one of the first novels that I was able to get my hands on. The fantastical journey of Milo and Tock through the Doldrums, Dictionopolis, Digitopolis, and the Valley of Discord, first exposed me to the power of books to transport the reader.

These days, I use my summers and vacations to do the bulk of my pleasure reading. Unfortunately, the amount of homework I have during the school year does not leave room for much more than “junk food reading” to unwind before bed. But in the summers, I have the time to read as much “meat” (as Dr. Allison would call it) as I want. I love reading books that make me think: stories with unexpected plot twists, complex characters, intertwining storylines, and moral lessons to be learned.

This past summer, one of the books I read was Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. My mother (the person on whom I often depend to recommend a good read) had given the book to me sometime before exams started during the school year, and it sat on my bedside table as a reminder of what the summer months would bring. I started it on the night of my last exam. I do not want to ruin the ending of the novel, but, much to the alarm of my younger sister who stumbled upon me as I was finishing the book, I cried through the whole last chapter. That’s one of the scary and wonderful things about reading: the words have the ability to make us both laugh and cry.

My writing abilities, like my passion for reading, have developed overtime. I hope that I am a stronger writer today than when I first struggled with spelling in elementary school (My biggest problem was with the world “government.” I always forgot the “n.”) But some things have remained the same: from the one-page vignettes that my friends and I wrote in second grade, to the novel I wrote for my eighth-grade English final, to the more intensive writing in high school, I have always loved telling stories. My biggest writing accomplishments have come in the form of articles and journals. In recent years, I have become a journalist in the formal sense, writing for newspapers and publications both in and outside the school. However, I have always been somewhat of a personal journalist, recording my thoughts and memories to look back on later in life. I have diaries and journals from trips from when I was seven years old, a log I kept during the year leading up to my Bat Mitzvah, and a book that I faithfully wrote in every day for six weeks while traveling in Spain and Germany last summer. Right now, I am working on becoming a more adventurous writer. One of my weaknesses as a writer is my fear of taking risks. I am, at times, overly conscientious of the reader, and forget to push the boundaries of my skills.

Other times, I am less conscientious of the reader, and write blog entries that far exceed the word requirements. (579)