Farewell.

As most good literature is, Flannery O'Connor's "A Good Man is Hard to Find" was, at best, confusing. Racking my mind during our class discussion for a good comment to make was difficult because, frankly, I don't think I am even close to understanding the true meaning behind her work. Perhaps the most confusing part of her short story was the Misfit. Sure, it was surprising that a seemingly normal family of six could go out on a family vacation together and get shot to death after having an accident on the road, but the Misfit's role in this tragedy was more confusing.
In class, many of my peers argued that the Misfit was either an Angel of Death figure, similar to the Devil, or a Christ figure. And while I usually can agree with most any comments that come my way--I have a knack of being able to change my perspective to support any claim(s) I hear--I just couldn't see it this time. I didn't see the Misfit as a Christ character at all. Sure, salvation and a "coming to Jesus" was an integral part of the grandmother's death, but I just couldn't see the Misfit as a Christ figure. On the other hand, however, he didn't seem a Devil figure to me either. You see, the Misfit seemed to know more about life than the other characters in the story. In a way, he is a type of Messiah, allowing the family members, particularly the grandmother, to see the wrongs of her life and achieve a type of salvation.
I found it interesting that the Misfit seemed to know and understand his own shortcomings. I feel that O'Connor felt that his only credentials for being able to take someone else's life in his own hands, for killing the grandmother, was because he understood life better than her and understood what it would take to help her reach a certain potential as a human before her death. The grandmother was not, by society's standards, technically evil. There are so many self-absorbed people in society, especially today, that the grandmother's selfishness--and blatant ignorance of it--does not seem a grave evil. In fact, I don't even believe that her self-absorption was her greatest, biggest sin. Rather, I see her belief that she is perfect and is therefore worthy of judging others as her tragic flaw, the sin that leads to her death. Perhaps O'Connor was trying to drive the point home that everything in life is a matter of perception, that no one else has any right at all to judge another.
This will be my last blog post for this blog, ever. I feel that reading "A Good Man is Hard to Find" as the last thing we will read in AP Lit proper because of its unsure view of life. Sure, I have looked forward to graduating for so long, and this year in particular has felt like trying to run through a swamp, I truly don't really know where I am going. Well, in terms of my life. I have my life planned out, just as the grandmother had--I'm going to college at Northwestern University, where I have always wanted to go; I'm going to be studying Psychology, something that has always interested me--but I still don't know my tragic flaw. I don't understand the meaning of life. I don't know where my future will take me. I'm so unsure. I need a Misfit to help me guide my way, though I hope the road I take won't lead to a premature death.
AP Lit, it's been good, but it's time to move on.

The Importance of Being E(a)rnest

I loved The Importance of Being Earnest. Perhaps it was because I actually understand what Wilde was trying to satirize. Or perhaps it was because I was comparing TIOBE to my Lit Circle book, Catch-22. Although I have mentioned this before, I did not like Catch-22 at all. Sure, I liked certain parts of the novel that I could actually understand and laugh at, but the overall structure of the novel confused me too much for me to completely understand Heller's satire. However, Wilde's style and structure, much more straightforward, was much easier to understand.
Something I wanted to comment on in TIOBE was Wilde's portrayal of women. There were four female characters throughout the play, whereas there were three male characters. That there were more female characters than male characters seems somewhat significant in that it emphasizes the contrast in power between the male and female characters throughout the play. The 4:3 ratio of women to men is significant in that the men, at first glance, seem to have more power over the women. After all, the play is set in Victorian society, a time when manners were king and men ruled over women. Both Jack and Algy seem to have power over Cecily and Gwendolen, at closer examination, the women have more power over their men than it initially seems. It is the women who persuade their men to even get another christening, who influence both Jack and Algy to become and remain Ernest, even if it means leading a double life and lying to both themselves and the women they love. Both women make the initial offers of marriage, acts that seem somewhat backwards in such a proper society as Victorian England. Cecily's imaginative stories in her diary--of her and Algy's engagement on Valentine's Day and of their broken and reformed engagement--serve to emphasize her power in her relationship with Algy. In hearing of her fantasy-filled stories, Algy does nothing but wholeheartedly agree with her, as if he takes her fantasy as truth.
I found it interesting that Lady Bracknell seems to also exude much power, particularly over Miss Prism. The two characters coming face-to-face surprised me a bit. Although Miss Prism seemed to have much power over Cecily in teaching her her lessons, she almost cowers in fear when Lady Bracknell enters the scene. Though this could be because of Miss Prism's past, I found it interesting that Lady Bracknell could have such a big effect on Miss Prism's disposition simply by being around her.
Although Algy often seems to take command of the scene in his blatantly true sarcasm, he almost cowers back into a shell when Cecily enters the scene. Though he maintains a certain wit, much of it transfers to Cecily as she playfully taunts him and he is unable to respond. He seems most comfortable around only Jack, as he freezes up when Lady Bracknell enters the scene as well.
Perhaps Wilde was commenting that men do not have as much as they seem to have...

Catch-22 Ponderings

So, now to discuss all of the things I didn't have time to discuss in my measly, short timed writing on Catch-22. Overall, I didn't like this novel at all. Sure, there were some times where I chuckled to myself as I read it, and other times that I truly did get to think about life, it was too confusing and sporadic, too cynical for me to actually enjoy.
The ending of the novel took me completely by surprise. No, actually, it didn't. Heller had set Yossarian up to be a coward since the beginning of the novel, and by the time the novel was about to end, I had already suspected a kind of backed-off ending. The ending, to me, kind of symbolizes Heller's take on life. No, scratch that; the novel itself was a huge rant by Heller of his view of life. That Yossarian runs away, leaving his place of supposed responsibility and honor in the army, is significant in that first off, Yossarian, by escaping his place in the army, also escapes the corruption and hypocrisy that surrounds his position and life as a solider (more specifically, a captain). Not only does he run away from the "sure" and yet unsure death that life as a soldier offers him, he also runs away from a position of power into nothingness. As part of the army, Yossarian had only one sure thing: that he would die someday. However, he was unsure as to how he would die, something he hates about death. In running away from that unsurety and uncertainty, Yossarian defies society and the ideals that society puts forth about death. Death has always been and always be a mystery; Yossarian's wishes to know the uncertain and unknown distinguishes him from the rest of society, almost outcasting him at times. It seems that Heller wanted to--through Yossarian--point out society's ways of outcasting someone who does not conform, is not like the others. Although Yossarian is arguably the main character of the novel--after all, it does begin and end with him and centers a great deal around him--he is not necessarily the hero of the novel.
The ending of the novel seems to symbolize one's ability to walk away from one's current life in search of a new one. Much of the novel is concerned with identity--and often, a lack thereof. Yossarian seems at times to be a sort of an adolescent, angsty teen figure in that he doesn't really seem to know who he is. He wanders around causing trouble, be it getting the chaplain in trouble for signing Washington Irving or messing up the entire war by moving the bomb line, Yossarian seems to cause trouble in search for himself, in search for his own identity.
I didn't like the novel because it was confusing. But then again, life itself is confusing. Does that mean I don't like life?

22 Ponderings

So, Catch-22...a paradoxical, ironic, sarcastic, hilarious novel that seems superfluous on the outside but really has much substance within it. I've actually really enjoyed it so far. I had first been hooked by the knee-slapping humor in the first few chapters of the novel, but as I began to turn on my AP Lit thinking, I realized I didn't really understand the whole purpose of the chapters so far. Everything just seemed disjointed in a connected way--paradoxical yet funny at the same time. It was only after I had read through the ten chapters we had assigned for reading twice that I realized the (seemingly) random jumps from character to character and from time to time were intentional, to subtly tell the reader something. Sure, I believe the novel will be a great read even if I don't take the time to figure out the author's real meaning behind it all. The novel has a unique way of storytelling that really seems to captivate me. I'm not sure why, because I usually dislike books with only mainly male characters, and on top of that, this is a war novel. I hate war, war novels, war...anything, really. Oh, I can stand gore, and blood, and murder, and other gruesome things. It's just that the subject of war...eh. I've never understood war, why two countries have to fight each other, losing the lives of innocent men in the process. Why killing is deemed "okay" during a war, why soldiers have to suffer so much in patriotism. And I guess, in that sense, I'm kind of like Yossarian. He can't seem to understand the reason for the war, and I love the way that he tries to get out of everything. I found it interesting that Yossarian is the main character of the novel--and then he's not. We are introduced to him first in the novel, and I just assumed he would be the main character, as he is the one with the most action, the most thought processes lined out, the most development...And yet, he's not exactly the main character. We don't really get any of his background, whereas we do for the other characters. Each chapter focuses on a different character--all but Yossarian (at least so far). And thinking back on this, I feel like Heller was trying to tell us something. War is, with no doubt, a joint effort. No one man is significantly more important than the other man, and I feel like Heller was trying to tell the reader that in death, nothing else is really more significant than life. As Yossarian points out in almost every chapter, the men in the war are so close to death. Each of them deals with it in his own way, namely Dunbar, who tries to make time slow down so that he may die later. Though Yossarian seems the cowardly, overly sarcastic and overly worried character in the novel, maybe he has a point in his seeming cowardice. He actually understands that his life is in danger, that his life is precious. In admitting that he wants to save his own life, he is brave, not cowardly; he is a paradox. Life is a paradox in itself.

The Catch...22

The literature-lover in me is itching to get into Catch-22, arguably one of the best war novels of the twentieth century. I read the introduction to the novel yesterday, and I was struck by the absurdity of the logic of the Catch-22 itself. A Catch-22 is a situation in which a man is considered insane if he willingly puts himself in danger, but is considered sane if he takes himself out of danger. The catch is that if he is considered sane, he is ineligible to be relieved from service. I've always loved paradoxes, and I'm sure that I'll love this one as well. Scanning the first few pages of the war novel, I was intrigued when Yossarian says that he fell in love with the chaplain. A chaplain is defined as a member of the clergy attached to a private chapel, institution, ship, or a branch of the armed forces. The chaplain seems to be a male figure...what exactly is going on?
I already love the style of the novel. Heller writes in a style that is very active and sarcastic, and I imagine his character Yossarian, who is narrating the novel, to be the same way. I can understand why Yossarian would be slightly crabby and sarcastic, as he is fighting a war he doesn't want to fight, and in order to avoid his predestined fate, must remain cramped up in a hospital room feigning sick.
I found it interesting that Yossarian had to pretend to be sick in order to evade the war. Though I understand that the premise of the Catch-22 is that Yossarian has no choice but to remain in the hospital, I feel like the theme of seems vs. is will be prevalent throughout the novel. Yossarian obviously has a fun-loving and interesting personality, and I am excited to see how he handles the monotony of the hospital and faking his illness and whether he will even be able to stay in the hospital for the duration of the war.
One major idea that I came across even in reading the first few pages was whether or not Yossarian is a coward. At this point in the novel, I feel like he is a bit of a coward. True, I don't know his entire story, of why he even needs to get away from the war in the first place. But I believe, as a man, he should live up to his own masculinity and stop the Catch-22 madness. I mean, isn't that what all male heroes do in war novels? Fight to the death against the enemy, win, and go back home to his true love? Yet, I'm getting a good feeling about the anti-fairy tale this novel has taken on.

Little Love Songs: Gaming Version (In Spenser Terms)

I think I'm in love. With sonnets, that is. Oh, the irony. And while I love the beautiful imagery and double-meaning words the poet weaves into each little song, I cannot seem to understand why poets--Spenser specifically--would want to describe his woman as "the hunt," "the game," or any other animal-like name. I understand that love is a game. And the poet feels like a hunter. And the lady runs away, like a deer. Or flies away like a bird. I really get it, I do. But does courtship always have to be a hunt? A chase? One person pursuing and the other fleeing? I know this was the 15th and 16th century, when men called on beautiful women, but for some reason, it just doesn't feel right hearing woman continuously being called--to be frank--an animal.
An animal is defined as a multicellular organism part of the kingdom Animalia, a person who behaves in a bestial or brutish manner, a person considered with respect to the physical nature, a person having a specified aptitude or set of interests, or relating to human instinct. I don't know...most 16th century women just don't seem very "brutish" to me...
Now to Spenser. I found it interesting that his Sonnet 67, like that of Wyatt, described "the hunt" of the fair lady. He describes himself as a "huntsman after a weary chase," and I couldn't help but wonder, 'Why chase, then?' I have to applaud Spenser for his (assumed figurative) long and weary chase, even though he could have never imagined that the "gentle deer" would behold him with a "milder look" and let herself go with him.
But what is Spenser trying to comment about women? Even though he describes woman as a deer, the doe being associated with woodland goddesses, gentle, caring, and intelligent, is Spenser trying to say that even if a woman has these wonderful qualities, at the end of the day, she is still an animal? If that is the case, perhaps the doe's "own will beguiled" was her succumbing to the chase, allowing herself to be led by the man because that is her instinct: to submit herself to a man--any man--in order to be protecting from future hunters. I'm really not sure, just posing questions and answering...myself.
What I found even more interesting was that Spenser remains a human throughout the sonnet. While the woman oscillates in description, from being described as a deer to someone with hands, to something that can fly, Spenser remains the huntsman. From a feminist lens, Spenser could be commenting that woman can change personas and attitudes so quickly; woman is easily influenced.
Other than this discrepancy, I really enjoyed the sonnet as a whole. What really hooked me about this sonnet was the use of the word "game" in so many different contexts. Like a game, so many things in life and love can change in an instant. But what remains constant? Love will always be a game.

Sonnet 73.

Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. 

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

I wanted to analyze a soliloquy for this week's blog, seeing as I haven't been exposed to many. 
This sonnet breaks my heart; there is an overwhelming feeling of loneliness and an acceptance of death; the speaker has an existential tone, embracing death and his future loneliness without his love. The "yellow leaves, or none, or few," that the speaker describes highlight his loneliness even further. The yellow color of the leaves have both positive and negative connotations, symbolizing the duality of the man's love for the woman to whom he writes. Yellow often symbolizes sunshine or happiness, alluding to summer joy and delight. However, though the color yellow symbolizes summer and life, the "none, or few" leaves on the trees indicate that the season is fall, when the leaves change colors. In a way, the speaker alludes to a transition in life, the maturation of his love and his life from fall to winter. He feels his death is imminent, as the leaves on the branches of the trees are turning different colors, just about to fall off. While the yellow colors of the leaves symbolize a passionate, living love, they also represent a darker image of decay, once again reminding the reader of the speaker's imminent death. So heartbreaking. 

The number of leaves on the trees is obscure; it could be either none...or just a few left, dangling, hanging on for dear life. It's as if the speaker is afraid his death will hurt his lover too much, and is intentionally pulling back from her, slowly but surely, to let her forget about him even after he is gone from her world. Just as the "sunset fadeth in the west," he will fade from her life. 

The speaker's discussion of death is perhaps the overarching theme of the poem. His discussion of death is interesting in that I am unsure as to what he wants to get across by his discussion of death. Does he mean that his love for his lover is soon to die when his body deteriorates? Or is he insinuating that their love will rather survive the death of his physical body? The line that struck me as interesting was the line concerning "death's second self." Who? If Death has a second self, what would that be? Suffering? Life? Sorrow? Shakespeare's language seems even more cryptic in this sonnet than in his other writing, perhaps to underline the uncertainty of death. The speaker cannot be sure what will happen after his death, whether his lover will continue to long for him or will be able to forget him and move on. Perhaps Death's second self is uncertainty, as nothing in life is ever truly certain or uncertain...that is, but love.


And even love is somewhat uncertain, just as the dangling leaves on the tree. The speaker can't tell when they will fall off, and how many will fall off at one time. Sure, he could pluck them off, but that would be like trying to control the future, changing a fate. The sun will set and rise again, but there is no telling whether it the next day will be rainy or sunny. Love is changing, death is imminent. 


Life.

Hamlet Ponderings II

I think Ophelia committed suicide. The biggest question that I have is why. I know that she probably couldn't handle the stress and grief of learning that she was just a pawn in Cladius and Polonius' game, that Hamlet murdered her father, that her father is dead. But I just cannot seem to understand why she would commit suicide, all the same. Or why she would drown herself. As opposed to...for example, stabbing herself to death. Or asking Hamlet to kill her. Something more dramatic.

So, is Ophelia ultimately weak or strong? I'm sure that some people probably believe that Ophelia's suicide represents her strength, and I guess I can see why she could be seen as strong. In a way, her suicide is one of the only decisions she makes in the play. It is not revealed as to who first started the relationship between Ophelia and Hamlet--if it could even qualify as a real "relationship"--and seeing snippets of Ophelia and Hamlet's exchanges during the nunnery scene, the only scene in which Hamlet and Ophelia directly speak to each other and are alone in the play, Hamlet seems to have a certain dominance over Ophelia. Sure, in the time period in which Shakespeare wrote his play, it would be normal for the man to have the power in the relationship. However, that does not necessarily mean that the woman should be weak--she just simply had to be weaker than the man. So I can see why some would say that the fact that Ophelia made the decision to commit suicide, although it might have been an undesirable decision, was a decision, a show of strength. A frustrated "hey men of my world, I can decide what to do with myself too" cry.

But personally, I find Ophelia weak. Sure, I understand that Ophelia has a "duty" to her father, and certainly to the king. But I don't find that enough reason to allow yourself to participate in your father and your lover's stepfather's conniving plots, especially without protest. Come on. If you really loved Hamlet as much as you said you did, shouldn't you be a little more reluctant about lying straight to his face? Of deceiving him? Of allowing yourself to become a small pawn in a plan? I don't know, Ophelia, but your passivity just about killed me. But what was most passive? The greatest show of your weakness? Your suicide. I see Ophelia's suicide as her way of escaping the madness that surrounds her, not only in her own mind but also in the people around her. She obviously becomes crazy after learning about the death of her father, presumably learning about Polonius' death by Hamlet, and ultimately decides to end her life to escape it.

I guess Shakespeare is attempting to illustrate the frailty of woman in Ophelia. She escapes conflict rather than facing it. Hamlet decides to take revenge for his father. Though he takes no action, he makes long speeches about being conflicted and wanting to make sure that his uncle really did murder his father before acting on anything. But, I mean, at least he has all the "right" intentions and doesn't give up on his life, though he does have some bouts of existentialism and depression--see "quintessence of dust" speech--he doesn't commit suicide.

Frailty, thy name is woman Ophelia.

Hamlet Ponderings

Whoa there, Hamlet. Ease up on the sexual innuendo, please.
Just kidding; it only gives us more to analyze.

I was a bit taken aback by Hamlet's sudden outbursts both during the "nunnery" and the "play within a play" scenes, but I assume that Shakespeare was trying to remind the audience of the previously mentioned prostitution imagery. What made me really think about Shakespeare's use of prostitution imagery and Hamlet's lashing out at Ophelia in Act III was how prostitution is connected to the whole play.

I keep seeing prostitution in the light of betrayal, a direct contrast to the duty that is described so often throughout the play. A prostitute would be "faithful" to many different people; this confused sense of duty seems to correspond to a lot of the characters in the play, most markedly Ophelia. If we interpret her and Hamlet's relationship as a once loving and intimate relationship--I, for one, do believe that their relationship was very passionate and intense at one point in time--then Hamlet's feelings of betrayal are understandable. However, I feel at times that he is a bit too much of, pardon my language, a drama queen about Ophelia and her actions. If Hamlet and Ophelia had such an intimate and caring relationship, I would feel that it would only be just for her to be called a "prostitute" if she had cheated on him with another man. His outright feelings of betrayal at her actions don't seem to correspond to their relationship. After all, I believe she should have a higher sense of duty to her father than to her lover. As Laertes insinuated, Hamlet would most probably not be able to marry Ophelia anyways because she is not of royal lineage. Therefore, it would stand that Hamlet and Ophelia were most likely going to be girlfriend/boyfriend and stay girlfriend/boyfriend. If they were not engaged or going to be engaged, I certainly hope that she felt a higher sense of duty to her father--although I do understand if she did not initially feel as loyal to her father because of his mistreatment of her, but that is beside the point--rather than to her lover, Hamlet. I guess what I am trying to say is that Hamlet really doesn't have that much of a right to continue to talk to Ophelia in such vulgar terms and feel so betrayed by her part in the plot to spy on him as he does. Just a thought...or maybe it's my inner feminist coming out trying to defend Ophelia.
Perhaps Shakespeare has made Hamlet into this hurt, sneering animal for another reason, and knowing old William, he probably has. I would like to think that in Act IV, the prostitution and betrayal themes would be more developed as Hamlet starts to understand and take in the situation more clearly. Perhaps, in the end, Hamlet will be a "prostitute" in his own sense to his father's ghost and memory.

With Shakespeare, anything is possible, and everything has another interpretation.

Thoughts on Hamlet

Prostitution is everywhere in Hamlet, and I feel that it probably has a higher purpose than to simply illustrate the dirty minds of men. In fact, it sometimes seems as if Hamlet himself is a prostitute. Hamlet comments in his final soliloquy of Act II that Hamlet must, "like a whore, unpack [his] heart with words." I thought of his comment as likening himself to a prostitute in that he must not get emotionally attached to anyone or anything on his quest. Prostitutes cannot allow themselves to get attached to any of their "clients," and must fill their hearts with a hardness that leaves them almost incapable to love in order to achieve their goals. Similarly, Hamlet must harden his heart on his quest for his father's revenge. That is, if his father even needs revenge. He must fill his heart with words instead of of love or even soul, and his attempts to fill himself with words explain his conversation earlier in the scene with Polonius.

Speaking of Polonius, he is a kind of prostitute in one sense. He doesn't seem to have a strong sense of loyalty, rather changing sides whenever it benefits him most. Hamlet even alludes that he is like a dog, but a dead dog at that one. Hamlet hints that Polonius doesn't even have enough loyalty that he can be classified as a dog, and will eventually die, and maggots will come out of Polonius' dead, decaying, corrupted body. What a beautiful image. Polonius is also related to prostitution in a different way. He is a "fishmonger," someone trying to sell his own daughter in order to gain the favor of the king. Salesmen always try to boost up the image of the product they are trying to sell, usually lying in the process. However, Polonius is almost worse than the normal salesman; he is not only trying to sell a person, but trying to trick not only Hamlet but also Ophelia and, in some ways, even Claudius.

On an unrelated tangent, I wanted to discuss my views of Hamlet's relationship with the other characters. Now that we've watched the Kenneth Branagh version of Hamlet, I can't imagine Hamlet and Ophelia's relationship as anything more innocent. If Hamlet is as old as he seems, and as passionate and emotional as Hamlet is in his soliloquies, I can't help but imagine the only love Hamlet will have as fiery and completely passionate. He doesn't strike me as the type to slowly approach Ophelia to wait for her hand in marriage; rather, in his irrationality, he probably did open her chaste treasure.

Although I can understand Hamlet's feelings of betrayal towards his mother, I feel like he often takes his father's side a bit too much. If his mother had married anyone but his uncle, I wonder, would he be as upset and appalled? I really wonder what Hamlet's relationship with Claudius was before King Hamlet died/was murdered. It might help explain Hamlet's confusing attitude.

Keeping up Appearances

"'Seems,' madam? Nay, it is. I know not 'seems.'"
"Do you believe his 'tenders,' as you call them?"
"Ay, 'fashion,' you may call it."


When I imagine Hamlet in real life--because I usually visualize what I'm reading in my head--I see a lot of people faking things. It seems to me that pretty much everything has a double meaning, which, yes, makes things a bit more interesting, but also makes it much more complicated for my simple brain to understand. Sure, I love that most of Shakespeare's words could be interpreted in two or three or even four different ways, but I don't like that Hamlet could be acting crazily either because he is madly in love with Ophelia and needs her love, or because he just saw his father's ghost, or because he's still mourning for his father's death. Or all three.
Maybe I actually love the complicated-ness.
But it does make my head hurt, regardless. It's kind of like deciphering my grandmother's words of wisdom: whenever she feels the need to impart some of her wise advice to me, she speaks in Korean proverbs only.

What struck me so much about all of these double meanings is the sense of a type of betrayal. It seems ironic in the sense that I've always found lying and having different facades to be a type of betrayal, not only to oneself, but to the people around the dishonest person. And although the characters all speak of some kind of duty to one person or another, all have different faces they do not wish to reveal. Pretty much all the characters are lying. Tsk, tsk. Undutiful.

The women in the play strike me the most as deceitful backstabbers. Gertrude, for her to have married Claudius so quickly after her late husband's death, must have had a relationship going on with her brother-in-law before King Hamlet's death. Although her betrayal may have been more understandable if she had been mistreated as Queen Hamlet, but as Hamlet describes, his father would have blocked the wind so that it wouldn't hit her face too harshly. That's definitely a deep love. It is obvious from Hamlet's disgust and utter flabbergastedness that he too cannot understand his mother. Though I'm not sure whether or not he knew about the affair (if there was one in the first place), but I think that if he had, he would have been a bit less surprised and angry at his mother's actions. Ophelia too surprises me. Although she doesn't seem as two-faced as Gertrude, her almost-hidden relationship with Hamlet seems quite naughty for a woman in her days.
The line "Frailty, thy name is woman," seems to be Shakespeare's way of mocking society, as the women in this play are not exactly "frail"; they both have their secrets and deceitful lies.


I have a feeling that Hamlet will be betrayed by somebody, though I have absolutely no evidence for that statement; it's just a gut feeling. With all of these double appearances and lies circling the country of Denmark, something truly is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Hamlet, Hunger Games, (un)Happiness.

I was completely blown away by Hamlet yesterday in class. Who would have thought that "suit" would have so many deeper meanings?

I must admit that I went into Hamlet prejudiced against Shakespeare's works. I'd always viewed his writing as convoluted, wordy, pretentious, and, most of all, boring. But I am proud to say that yesterday's discussion in class completely overturned my previous opinion of Shakespeare. Now, on to analysis.

Hamlet's character is extremely interesting, as he obviously has very strong morals and opinions, especially about his mother's life. His sarcasm seems appropriate for the situation, yet at times, the drama of the situation seems almost comedic to me. Strange, I know, but perhaps it is because I could not ever imagine my mother marrying my father's brother, my uncle. I'm rather excited to see how Hamlet's character will be developed, and how he will respond to that famous quote, "To be or not to be. That is the question."

It was interesting to observe the various cultural and societal aspects of Shakespeare's writing. What was most interesting to me was Claudius' comment of "'Tis unmanly grief'" to Hamlet's explanation of his true grief (Act I Scene II, line 94). I have found that in most cultures, a man's tears are considered a huge weakness, a sign of cowardice and almost femininity. However, Hamlet seems almost proud of his tears, considering them a show of his true inner self, of his true grieving and true emotions. I applauded him for realizing that his grief and sadness were not signs of his weakness as a man, but he has yet to show his true inner strength. If Hamlet can remain strong even when his heart has been wrenched and twisted, I can only imagine his strength when he stands up to Claudius. I can't wait.

I am currently reading the Hunger Games series, and I found a certain parallel in the characters of Katniss and Hamlet. I must admit, they really are not that similar. Hamlet is a prince, while Katniss is almost the exact opposite, a poor girl who must feed her entire family single handedly. However, both have a certain specific inner strength and anger at society and the world that make them somewhat similar. They both have a fight ahead of them--Katniss has the Hunger Games, and Hamlet most probably has a fight against Claudius (either for the throne or for power)--that allow them to keep on, to prevail and persist. But what makes the two similar in my mind is their abandonment of happiness. It seems to me as if the two have, in a way, accepted the unhappiness of their lives and are willing to take it on, but not necessarily to gain happiness later in their lives. I'm a pessimist, so obviously, I assume that both will ultimately not find the happiness of fairytale endings but will end up failing in a way. But then, life's unpredictable.

New Year's Ponderings.

It's a new beginning. A new start. A new year.
Fresh. New. Infantile. Eager. Anticipating. Timidity.

We've finally started a new year, and the only thing we've really done in class so far is discuss the past--the final exam, that is--and the future. I guess it is up to me to discuss the present.

I'll start by making a confession. I'm surprised.
Pleasantly surprised, that is. I went into AP Lit thinking it would be like my previous Language Arts classes, save AP Lang: confining, way too focused on grammar, and way way too much emphasis on analysis of literature...even the thought repulsed me. But as we began our class discussion of All the King's Men, I was hooked. I never knew writing could be that beautiful. That a few words on a white page could give so much more meaning to life.
Now, I'm proud to say I'm hooked on literature.

As I was frantically attempting to finish my college application essays over winter break--I'm still not done--I was often frustrated by my writing, as I often am during timed writings. Sometimes I can't find the right words, sometimes it's that my sentences sound awkward. I've edited and rewritten, used my backspace button until it it is much easier to press than the other keys on my keyboard, and yet my writing never seems to be perfect. As I reread some of my favorite works: Invisible Man, My Sister's Keeper, and A Tale of Two Cities, over the break, I began envying the writers' abilities. How each one could--in such differing styles--create plots so interesting, characters so alive, and sentences so riveting?

I guess my goal for the new semester is not only to better my skills as a writer, but to take more pride in my writing, to love what I have done rather than hate what I haven't. For it seems that all good writers seem to love their style of writing, seem to love their uniqueness. Perhaps what I view as my weaknesses as a writer could someday turn into my best strengths.

I've read many books to which I was indifferent of the plot, but fell in love with the writing. I want my writing to be like that. Even if I am writing about cultivating goats, I want readers to be able to completely be enamored by my writing.

I read Ishmael once again over the winter break, and I was completely immersed in the novel once again. Not only is the subject interesting--a man talking to a gorilla about the end of the world--but the writing is so beautifully engaging yet concise and clear.

My goal this school year, and the school years to come, is to become a better writer. A stronger writer. A confident writer. I want my writing to convey my ideas, but do much more. I want to be able to change others' lives the way Rowling's writing pushed me to value friendship and loyalty, the way Kingsolver influenced me to weight the pros and cons before acting.

A new year and a new hope.