Toast

            Today, I'm going to evict my roommate.

            I mean, it's not that he's a terrible guy, exactly. He makes me toast every morning, which is nice, and he's never objected to any of the people I've dragged to our apartment. He's usually a rather quiet fellow, and when he's got something interesting to say he waits until the right moment. But, well...we've had an argument.

            It was sort of about the toast, actually. It didn't come out right the other morning, too lightly done, and I explained this to my roommate as nicely as I could. He seemed apologetic, and gave it another try, but this time the bread came out burnt to a crisp.

            Well, I told him he'd just have to do it again, with fresh bread. He did it, of course, but this time it was accompanied by interminable groaning. As if making toast were so much work! He doesn't even have a job! And to further annoy me, the toast came out burnt again! Ridiculous!

            I informed him that he obviously had no idea what he was doing as I shoved another piece of bread at him. He became...very irritated. Irate, you might say. Not only did he burn my toast for the third time that morning, but when I went to take it from him, he burned my hand! Said it was an accident, or suggested it, anyway, but I didn't trust him. I told him I could make my own toast, thank you, and was about to do just that—when he shocked me! An electrical shock, I mean, not like he started stripping in the middle of the kitchen with the window open.

            Well, I said, if he was so offended by my making my own toast, then he had better do it right this time. But to no avail; he burned it again. Throwing the bread in the trash, I noticed that it needed emptying, so I took it out back. When I returned, what should I find but my roommate smoking in the kitchen! That was the last straw, I felt, and I got a bit carried away in my anger—I admit I punched him.

            Since then he has been sullen, sulky, refusing to toast anything at all and producing terrible groans when I ask anything of him. This morning I took him to a specialist, who told me there was nothing to be done.

            It seems I'm going to have to buy a new toaster.

Mistakes

A year ago I started writing a novel called Malt. It centered around a superhero, Maxwell Malt, who worked solely in a small town a couple of hours' drive from New York City (called Eastport, and apparently actually exists) without the use of actual superpowers, and living in terror of having his secret identity discovered. Other main characters were Wilfred Jenkins, a reporter seeking just that information about Max, and October and Ferret, two very weird surname-less sisters, one of whom Max was supposed to fall in love with. (How I intended to write this last after years of shunning romance, I have no idea.)

Malt eventually failed, for various reasons. First of all, it had no real plot. Wilfred was supposed to hunt down Max and his secret identity and whatnot, eventually finding out who he was, with the occasional bizarre event tossed in. At one point they were supposed to end up on a boat, at another in a taxi in New York City. Max was going to get drunk at an unspecified time. As previously mentioned, he was also supposed to fall in love with October. This is the entire outline of my planning.

The second issue was that I tried to write the universe without magic. The problem with this was that, if you have superheroes, even powerless ones, you have to have supervillains. Those usually require some form of magic. When I do rewrite Malt, although Max will still get by with purely human ability, the universe will have magic in such strength that it is incorporated into the government; in the same continuity will be another novel involving a government official and a professional magician/bodyguard, yet to be titled.

Finally, I was not very good at characterization. Max is painfully insecure. It's why he became a superhero, why he hides his identity, why he's terrified of being exposed (as he thinks of it). It dictates most of the decisions he makes--or at least, it should. Unfortunately, my characterization at the time was either terribly ham-handed or completely absent, and I'm not sure which instances read better. Wilfred's motivations, too, were unclear, and October was pretty much a weirdo to save me from assigning her any real character traits.

I do intend to rewrite Malt, once I've worked out what the plot actually is. Wilfred, October and Ferret may be entirely absent. I have no idea. But hopefully it'll be better than the first attempt.

Ralph

Anyone remember William? He has a friend. He's good at that.

---

    William was eight years old when he met Ralph. The other boy was two years older, although slightly shorter, and spent a lot of time around the rivers, which was probably why William hadn’t met him sooner. On this particular day, the older boy was crouched barefoot in the mud on the riverbank nearest William’s family farm, untamed blond hair falling into his face as he stared into the swirling water. He was trying to contact an aquean, one of the semi-human creatures that lived in the stream; one of them had spoken to him a week or so ago, and he wanted to see if he could initiate contact.

    “Aren’t you worried about getting that nice cloak of yours dirty?”

    Ralph spun around, as if about to deliver a witty comeback, although in fact he had yet to think of one. There was a kid sitting there, grinning in a way that wasn’t insolent but seemed like it should have been. He was barefoot too, and appeared to have been wading in mud, since the hems of his breeches were filthy, although the rest of his clothing was clean; brown vest, white shirt unsullied by a single scrap of dirt. His black hair was offensively neat when compared to Ralph’s own mess, and there was a laugh in his blue eyes.

    When Ralph failed to respond, the kid persisted. “Well, aren’t you?”

    “Are you suggesting I’m a sissy?” Ralph looked him over suspiciously. Many of the other boys in the surrounding farms had accused him of this very thing because of all the time he spent staring into reflective waters. This kid, though, just looked affronted.

    “Of course not. Why would I say something like that? But it’s an awfully nice cloak, and it seemed a shame to get it all muddy.” He sounded sincere, but there was still something in his expression, something that seemed like he was laughing at Ralph.

    “Well…yeah.” The kid was right, in a way: it was a nice cloak, the way it cascaded long and red over his shoulders. He suspected that his parents had gotten it for him to make him look more heroic, but it was hard to do that when you were ankle-deep in mud, and he didn’t care all that much about keeping the cloak itself clean. He grabbed the edge and brought it up to his face. Yep, covered in what his mother often referred to as “unspeakable filth” (particularly when he forgot to wipe his feet). After a few moments’ contemplation, he let the offending hem drop into the river.

    “So…what are you doing?” Ralph flinched; the mysterious kid was suddenly kneeling right next to him, staring eagerly into the water as if expecting to find some hidden truth there. It threw him off, the way the kid just seemed to assume that Ralph would talk to him. Sure, he hadn’t made any mocking comments about vanity or whatever yet, and he seemed genuinely interested in what Ralph was doing, but…

    “Look, kid. I don’t even know you—”

    “I’m William Chauncey. And you?”

    “Uh, Ralph. Ralph Gibbs. But—”

    “Oh, I’ve heard about you!” William tilted his head, apparently surprised. “I get the idea that people don’t like you much. I’m not really sure why.”

    “Yeah, I know.” So nice to be reminded of that. Again. He was getting tired of having reasons to dwell on it. “Listen, Will—”

    “William. I’m not a Will.” He sounded slightly offended, as if being “a Will” were something negative.

    “Okay, William. If you’re here to make fun of me or something, you needn’t bother. I know what you’re going to say. Although…” Ralph paused. “What did you mean, you’ve heard about me? I would think everyone around here knows me by sight, by now. Not for any good reason, but even so…are you new around here or something?”

    “No. I’ve lived here all my life, but I’ve never seen you before. I don’t spend a lot of time by the river.”

    “But…you’re all muddy.”

    “I was helping a dream toad.” William grinned. “She got stuck up a tree after she gave some ravens nightmares, and although I have nothing against the ravens most of the time, they can be awfully vindictive.”

    “Dream toads talk to you?”

    “Well, yes. They’re very social creatures.” He said this as if it was common knowledge. “Is that what you’re looking for, then? I know where a colony of them lives.”

    “You do?” Ralph blinked, shook his head. “This is some kind of trick, isn’t it?”

    “Er…no. Why should it be? You haven’t given me any reason to dislike you. Is there something I don’t know about?” William seemed honestly at a loss. But he’d heard about Ralph from the other kids around here, hadn’t he? He couldn’t have heard anything good.

    “In case you’d missed it, I’m not very popular around here.”

    “Oh, I know. But I don’t actually know you, so I don’t have any excuse not to like you. Except, of course, that you still haven’t told me why you’ve been staring into the river like that.” Pause. “That’s a joke,” he added hastily. “But I do want to know.”

    “Er…” Ralph was running out of reasons not to trust the kid. Hang on, was that what he’d been doing? That seemed kind of self-destructive, now that he thought about it. William had appeared out of nowhere and started talking to him as if they’d known each other for years, and was worryingly persistent, but there was something about him Ralph liked. “I’ve been looking for aqueans. I met one recently and she said she’d talk to me again, but she hasn’t so far.”

    “What’s an aquean?” If William leaned any closer to the water, he’d fall in.

    Ralph laughed. “You’ve heard of dream toads but not aqueans?”

    “I’m a land-based wizard,” William said defensively. “You can’t expect everyone to understand what you do just because you’re a waterworker.”

    “A what? Wait, you’re a wizard?”

    “Oh, yes.”

    “Aren’t you supposed to be…older? Or more imposing? Or something? And I don’t see a wand.”

    Now it was William’s turn to laugh, although it sounded not at all mocking. “I hear that a lot. But no, it seems I can be a wizard and a kid. And I’ve learned enough control by now that I don’t need a channelling object.”

    “I’ve never met a wizard before.”

    “I can tell.”

    “But what was that about me being a waterworker? What does that even mean?”

    “You’ve heard of wizards but not waterworkers?” Apparently William could get away with laughing at his own jokes. “A waterworker is someone with a natural talent for water-based magic. Usually it manifests as being able to communicate with water creatures, like your aqueans.” He turned to peer into Ralph’s eyes, a somewhat disconcerting gesture. “You didn’t know that?”

    “No.” Ralph absently trailed one hand in the river. “I never thought of it as magic, anyway. It’s just…a thing I do.”

    “Well, at least you know what your ‘thing’ is. ‘Wizard’ is a very broad term. I may never know the full extent of my abilities.” He frowned briefly, but his grin quickly returned. “So are you going to tell me what an aquean is or not?”

    “Oh. Right.” Ralph tried to make his explanation as brief as possible: an aquean was a humanoid water-dweller, with a certain range of colour-changing ability and webbed hands and feet. They tended to be rather small, large-rat-sized, and rather aloof. No, they couldn’t change their size. Yes, their colours were limited to those naturally occurring in water. No, they didn’t change colour based on emotions, like chameleons. He wasn’t even sure they had emotions. The one he’d met had been very distant. He’d intended to keep his description of them short, but William appeared genuinely interested, and every time Ralph stopped William would prompt him to continue. He wasn’t really very knowledgeable about aqueans, though, and eventually he ran out of information. When he finished, William nodded and got to his feet. “Where are you going?”

    “These aqueans of yours sound very interesting, of course, and I hold nothing against them,” he replied. “But I don’t see much of a point in pining after them. It’s all very well to talk with magical creatures—quite exciting, at times—but if you can’t convince them to do so, there’s nothing to be done. Have you been trying to find them since you talked to the first one?” He looked unsurprised when Ralph nodded. “Then there isn’t much point in spending any longer crouched here, I think. Still want to see some dream toads?”

    “Of course!”

    “Let’s do that, then. It’ll be much more interesting.” William reached out, and Ralph allowed the other boy to pull him to his feet. The wizard suddenly took off at a run, calling over his shoulder for Ralph to follow, which he did with great enthusiasm, his cloak streaming out behind him.

    Something occurred to him. “Hey,” he yelled. “Would you be interested in a secondhand cloak?”

    William let out another laugh. “Of course!”

    And that, as far as they were concerned, settled it.

Defining Philosophies

(To anyone who is confused: No, this is not my final.)

It is a given that most people, at some point in their lives, develop some kind of philosophy which guides their actions to some degree. Some people do this by borrowing their philosophy from others and never really changing it; this is often considered to display a lack of imagination, particularly if they parrot the ideas without understanding them. Some people start by borrowing a philosophy, but they then move bits around and add and delete things until they have their own set of values; this is pretty much what I've done, as do many adolescents, using their parents as a starting point. It is my opinion that the best kind of philosophy is one which has a basis in an existing idea, which you understand thoroughly, and which has been altered by your own changing perceptions.

Everyone starts out following their parents' line of thinking, like it or not. If your parents believe something, positive or negative, they are going to raise you on that belief because they are convinced that it is the right one. And, at least to begin with, you are going to share their conviction. This is something we know. Young children are impressionable, and the very foundation of their lives is the certainty that their parents know all. No matter how hard we try to teach free thought--whatever it may be--we have to accept that a five-year-old is not going to start formulating her own opinions about nuclear weapons or what have you. She is going to believe what her parents tell her. It's a survival-instinct-type thing which remains solid as long as the child is mainly in contact with her parents.

When school starts, things begin to change. The hypothetical child is exposed to the influence of many others and may be forced to question what her parents have said. During elementary school this is a gradual buildup of sorts. She starts out defending her parents' ideas at all costs, at least as soon as these things begin to matter; third grade is usually the dividing line in more than one sense. As time passes, two things can happen: the child can become ever more certain of what she has been taught, refusing to accept other viewpoints (I regret to say that this happened to me for a while); or her ideas will begin to change under the influence of her peers. Yes, peer pressure is often a cause of changing philosophies. A child's ideas do not change because she is a fierce individualist and refuses to conform, at least to begin with; they change because her peers show her that there are some merits to other points of view.

Next we have middle school, which is either hellish or fantastic by turns, and sometimes both. Obviously there are multiple ways the philosophy can go, because of the two directions the child's ideas may take in earlier years. Let's take as an example the one who has an iron certainty that her parents are right, since I have more experience in this. Our hypothetical preteen will now take her initial philosophy to extremes: I know what's right. Nobody understands. Now, I don't mean to discourage free thought--I approve of it in most forms--but being overzealously individual is just as bad as unquestioning conformity. A person cannot be successful if she automatically rejects anything she thinks is "too mainstream" or "a symbol of conformity". Oh, did she like these clothes or that band? Too bad; she can't accept them because--gasp--"normals" also like them. No, she must be unique in every possible way! Obviously, this does not work. At all. Ever. Not to over-emphasize the point or anything. The massively individualist philosophy rarely gets anyone anywhere.

The other option for middle school works best if you have already been opened up to others' ideas. Your philosophy will continue to grow and change, in some ways very much like a living creature. The acceptance of additions to your beliefs, however, is not necessarily entirely positive. It will allow you to develop yourself, true. The thing is, everyone has specific people whose ideas they listen to. If all your influences are racist, well. Pretty obvious where that'll go. If all your influences want to live in peace and harmony with nature (which is really, really difficult, by the way), then you're going to latch on to those same ideas. This continues the development of your personal philosophy, based on what your parents initially taught you and altered by your friends and your own changing views of the world. You're well on your way to having a fixed philosophy, one that works for you.

The final stage of the developing philosophy is when it solidifies into something definite. This can happen at any time, assuming the necessary preliminaries (detailed above) have been met. You may not know when it happens; all that is certain is that your values are no longer in flux. You know what philosophy you will live your life by. Some adolescents have already reached this point; some adults still haven't. There is no judgment to be passed on someone who takes a while to put their philosophy together; they might just be putting more thought into it than you did. Or they're indecisive. It doesn't matter. They will come to a decision eventually.

I don't know that my personal philosophy is settled, but this is what I've figured out so far: Everyone is free to their own opinions, as long as their opinions do not stifle those of others. Have your defining philosophy. It's okay if it's different from mine. Discuss it with me, whatever. But don't try to force me to agree with you; don't shout that everyone who disagrees is wrong. Reasoned debate is fine. I will not tolerate a war of opinions where one tries to subdue the other. That is not respect for society, and it does not help anyone.

So how's your philosophy coming along? And will it be helpful in the long run?

How Not to Write Vignettes

    Over the time that I’ve been posting on this blog, I’ve mostly put up writing which was, if not stupendous, then at least not horrendous. Recently my posts have been mostly those which are given as assignments. Several of the assigned posts could be improved somewhat, but the most poorly-written (in my opinion) is the vignette post.
    The instructions for this post were to write four to six vignettes, not necessarily about real events, as part of our in-class reading of The House On Mango Street. I am stunningly pathetic when it comes to writing about real life, or so I have often thought, so I proceeded to conjure up a character by the name of Madison and write about her instead. I enjoy medieval-ish settings because I read many, many fantasy novels, so that was the environment I devised. The imagined country was called Alnia, and was provided with a cast of a few characters who were not interesting enough to allow their absence of actual character. Don’t believe me? Read this: “[...] Addie said politely, because she's more worried about offending people than anyone should be.” This is all the characterization this character gets, and she’s the protagonist’s sister. Madison herself doesn’t get much to individualize her either, and she’s the first-person narrator. If you’ve read my blog recently, you know that I consider the mark of a good first-person writer to be characterizing narration; reading the vignette post will tell you that I am most definitely not a good first-person writer. I mean, look at this:

The thing about castles is that they do have secret passages, even if there aren't enough of them. Ours has three, and I know exactly where each of them is and where it goes and how to get the bricks out so you can see what's going on. I like all of them, of course, and I use them frequently, but my favourite is the twisty one that goes under the northeast tower and coils like a snake once or twice before slithering off to the stables.

Apart from the use of simile, which is contrived at best, what does this tell you about Madison? She likes secret passages, okay, but you know that because she just told you. What does the style of narration tell you about her? Absolutely nothing. Well, maybe it tells you she’s very precise, but that’s a trait which isn’t at all consistent in the narration. She uses simile, which could be an indication of character, if you were to look at it in the right light. Apart from that, not much. The same notable absence of character is everywhere in the vignettes, and I think I’ve figured out why: all of the vignettes, except the first one, are about other characters.
    The three vignettes following Madison’s complaint about castles have been given the eponymous titles of “Backwards Quellen”, “The Vest of Feliciano Montgard”, and “Jester’s Mule”. Each of these, as you may have guessed, centers around the titular character (the jester, in the case of the last, since the mule is just a mule) and Madison’s experience of them. This might not seem like a bad thing; it’s characterizing to see how a character reacts to others, isn’t it? Well, yes--but only if you know what you’re doing. I clearly do not, because Madison is as flat in these encounters as she is everywhere else. I focused much too much on developing the other characters (and how well I did there is up for debate), which meant that I wasn’t paying too much attention to making the narration interesting or at least connected to the character’s personality. Obviously this is a problem that needs solving if I ever hope to be a successful first-person writer--which I don’t, but for the sake of explanation we’ll pretend I do--so what’s the source of the problem? Once again, it can be traced to Madison’s character: she’s so flat and boring that even I’m not interested in writing her.
    In order to be able to write from a character’s point of view, whether in first or third person, the writer must find the character interesting. For me, this is usually not a problem, because it’s hard for me to even come up with a character who bores me to death. In the vignettes, though, I seem to have managed it. “Castles”, which consists of Madison whining about how much she hates the titular buildings, was the first thing I wrote from her point of view. I disliked the piece from the beginning, both because it could probably be written better and because the character came off as an ungrateful teenager with no other defining character traits:

The one we're in is a horrible thing, musty and full of old tapestry and without enough secret passages, which are the only good reason for living in a castle anyway. But we have to stay because it's ancestral, just like all that furniture in the southwest tower that we're not allowed to sit on, and if we moved out it would go to some cousin in the north. I tell my parents he can have it if he wants it, I don't care, but they never listen.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: Why write four vignettes about a character you can’t stand? The short answer: Because I lack foresight. But I suppose you’ll want a longer explanation than that.
    The thing is, I was still hesitant to write about my actual experiences, because I’ve had such failures with that in the past and because I can’t think of interesting memories on demand--I envy those of you who can. I didn’t want to have to come up with another character, because I was afraid that the new character would be just as thoroughly uninteresting as Madison. I suppose I could have used an existing character, but the one I was focused on at the time would have been difficult: I had only written about him third-person from the point of view of others, so I wasn’t far enough inside his head to write in the first person. I have a plethora of other characters at my command, but by the time I realized how hideously dull Madison was, it was too late to try to come up with life histories for them. That takes time, you know, and most of them were already involved in a plot, so I couldn’t just drop them in new settings at their current stage of development and watch what happened. In the end, I ended up writing about Madison because I couldn’t think of anything else to do; in other words, because I lack foresight.
    Fortunately, it’s easy to learn from a mistake as monstrous as this one. Never again will I write first-person from the point of view of a character I don’t like. If I do ever choose to write first-person, I’ll pay a lot more attention to what I’m doing. In the meantime, “Daughter of Alnia” will stand as a testament to the need for proper characterization.

A Study in Mediocrity

     My most recent literary conquest--well, as it relates to school--is the novel I Am The Messenger, by Markus Zusak. Messenger begins with Ed Kennedy, underage cab driver and a study in mediocrity, and his explanation of his life so far. Well, actually it begins with a bank robbery, which he thwarts completely by accident, but after that it goes straight to his normal life. It's written in the first person, and from the start Ed makes it clear that he is not someone interesting things happen to, apart from this bank robbery business. That is, nothing interesting happens to him until soon afterward, when he receives the first ace in the mail. On it there are three addresses. At each of them, he has a task to perform.
    Now, I've previously mentioned one of the things I love about this book: the characterization present in the narration. Obviously some character is going to seep through, because it's a first-person novel, but there are plenty of authors who barely make it that far. Many either write in their own voice, or choose similar narrators in all of their books so they don't have to adapt too much. Zusak is different; the way the book is narrated is directly tied to Ed's perception of the world. Short paragraphs. Generally limited physical descriptions. Occasional dips into more descriptive language, but only if it's something Ed really cares about, like his dog, or Audrey (who is not his girlfriend, although this is not a fact he enjoys). I might not have noticed this if it had been the first book of Zusak's I had read, but this is not the case; I have also read and enjoyed The Book Thief, which takes place in Nazi Germany and tells of Liesel Meminger's life on Himmel Street (and, as you may have guessed, literary thievery). This book is also written in the first person, but not from the point of view of the protagonist, at least partly because she is a child at the time and can't make certain judgements which are necessary. The narrator is, instead, Death, who is weary of his job and tells the story of the book thief mostly because she interests him.
    Death's narration is very different from Ed's. He provides much longer paragraphs, more description. He is very reflective, understandably a bit morbid, and he tends to read more into things than Ed does. As an example, let's take Messenger's description of its protagonist--that is, Ed's physical description of himself:

"I have dark hair, half-tanned skin, coffee brown eyes. My muscles are hugely normal. I should stand straighter, but I don't. I stand with my hands in my pockets. My boots are falling apart, but I still wear them because I love and cherish them." (20)

And The Book Thief's protagonist:

"Upon her arrival, you could still see the bite marks of snow on her hands and the frosty blood on her fingers. Everything about her was undernourished. Wirelike shins. Coat hanger arms. She did not produce it easily, but when it came, she had a starving smile.
Her hair was a close enough brand of German blond, but she had dangerous eyes. Dark brown. You didn't really want brown eyes in Germany around that time. Perhaps she received them from her father, but she had no way of knowing, as she couldn't remember him." (31)

Quite a contrast, is it not? Another interesting observation: The Book Thief's narration continues in the same style, because Death, having existed for millenia, is a static character. Messenger's narration develops somewhat over the course of the novel. It's all still in Ed's voice, of course, but his perception of the world is changing, and it shows. He goes into a bit more detail about some tings; not a lot, but enough. He also begins to make observations about his and his friends' attitude toward life. At one point, he says, "[...] we don't give it a lot more thought. I guess we don't give many things a lot of thought." (217) Ed realizes that he's become complacent; he doesn't really want to be a mediocre underage cab driver for the rest of his life, but he's not ambitious enough to change it, and he sees that his friends are much the same way. This last observation becomes even more important when the last ace arrives...but that would be telling.
    There's another detail that I suppose counts as a difference, which is really quite fantastic if you like that sort of thing. Throughout the story Ed's work to fulfill the aces is generally aided by others, some of whom are a bit surly about it, who tell him somebody else gave them instructions to do what they're doing--and they don't know who's giving them the instructions. Of course, Ed doesn't know where his instructions are coming from either, and he notices the parallel. But where this really gets interesting is toward the end. Ed comes home to find a stranger sitting on his couch. The stranger is described briefly: "He has fairly short brown hair, stands a bit smaller than medium height, and wears a shirt, black jeans, and blue athletic shoes." (352)
    In case you can't already see where this is going, I present you with a picture of Markus Zusak (click for a link to its source):

     The stranger then gives Ed the following speech:

"I killed your father, Ed. I organized the bungled bank robbery for a time when you were there. I instructed that man to brutalize his wife [...] I did it all to you. I made you a less-than-competent taxi driver and got you to do all those things you thought you couldn't." (353)

Fine and dandy, you say. This guy's put Ed through a lot of crap, but so what? Well, first of all, there's the thing about making Ed what he is. It's implied that the guy is pretty young, but in order to have influenced Ed's life that much, he would have had to be an adult when Ed was a kid, or possibly even when he was born. Most striking, however, is the statement that he killed Ed's father. Pretty early in the book (page 19), Ed states that his father essentially drank himself to death; he died when his liver gave out. So the statement that this man killed Ed's father makes no sense.
     Unless...
     One more thing. After telling Ed why all this stuff has happened, the stranger gives Ed a folder. In it, written down, is everything that's happened so far in the book. Including the exact conversation that they're currently having.
    There are a couple of other indicators, after what I've told you, but I think I've already given away enough. Read I Am the Messenger yourself--it's definitely worth reading--if you want to know exactly how this all plays out.
     It's marvelous.

Reading Too Much Into Narration

Currently I am reading I Am The Messenger, a novel by Markus Zusak. I have read only one other book of his, The Book Thief, which takes place in Nazi Germany and tells the story of a girl who steals books (and, at one point, helps hide a Jew in the cellar). Clearly the two books are significantly different: Messenger is a bout the strange turn Ed Kennedy's mediocre life takes when he finds the ace of diamonds in his mailbox and follows the instructions written on it. The books are equally well-written, but the style and tone differ greatly between them, although sometimes for obvious reasons. The Book Thief has considerable overtones of death because of the setting, particularly in the second half, and many of the later lighthearted moments are full of the knowledge that they could end at any time. Messenger is altogether a less serious book; it has several serious events, but the humour in this book is much more common than in the other. Additionally, more of the serious events in the latter book have positive effects.

The changes in style between the two books, however, are quite notable. When reading The Book Thief, I had thought that it was simply written in the author's usual way. The narration was littered with moments of grimness and reflection, and contained amounts of visual description considered standard for most literature. Messenger has a style inconsistent with that of the other book. Physical description is less specific; the appearances of characters and objects are explained in broad strokes, like Ed's house, which is a "shack", or his friend Ritchie, who has a "man-boyish face". Some characters, like Marv, don't get any physical description and little of any other kind expositionally, despite importance to the story. The largest block of description of a person, apart from Ed's outline of his own character, is this:

"Audrey always sits opposite me, no matter where we play [cards]. She has yellow hair, wiry legs, the most beautiful crooked smile in the world, and lovely hips, and she watches a lot of movies." (15)

Compare that to The Book Thief's Liesel Meminger on her arrival on Himmel Street:

"Upon her arrival, you could still see the bite marks of snow on her hands and the frosty blood on her fingers. Everything about her was undernourished. Wirelike shins. Coat hanger arms. She did not produce it easily, but when it came, she had a starving smile.
Her hair was a close enough brand of German blond, but she had dangerous eyes. Dark brown. You didn't really want brown eyes in Germany around that time. Perhaps she received them from her father, but she had no way of knowing, as she couldn't remember him." (31)

Quite a contrast. The reason for this may seem unclear at first, because the narrator of The Book Thief is rarely present at events and easily forgotten. Both books are written in the first person; The Book Thief is narrated by Death himself, Messenger by Ed. Before I continue, I must tell you that I have read many first-person books where the style of narration was standard for the author, not specific to the character--or multiple books by one person where the author always chose the same kind of person to narrate. Zusak's books are different. They are told by very different people, recording the impressions of the character rather than the author--and, most importantly, characterize greatly with a thing as simple as how a person is described. Death, with good reason, sees a lot of things with the overtones of doom that serve as a constant undercurrent to his book. He does a lot of thinking in general, reflects on events and implications with great frequency and depth, and this is the way he talks about everything. Ed, on the other hand, doesn't really look deeply into things. Most of his description is surface impressions; the most in-depth description is of Audrey, who he later admits he's in (unreciprocated) love with, and even his discussion of his own character is fairly superficial. He accepts that his life is mediocre and unremarkable, he assumes that this will not change in the future, and he lives his life accordingly. He is, usually, a passive kind of person.

Of course, at this point I am only halfway into the book, and I do not know that this state of affairs will continue. Ed's life becomes much more interesting when the first ace shows up in the mail, disrupting his pleasantly average existence. Perhaps as the book continues and he follows the instructions on all the aces, his observations of his surroundings will gain more depth. But even without certainty of this happening, it remains clear that Zusak tailors his writing to the views of his characters to a greater degree than is usually seen.

Collectively Unfortunate Impressions

(My writing may sound slightly "off" in this post; I apologize.)

As the reader may or may not be aware, the vignettes that I posted were part of a project assigned to my entire class, though I was one of the few who chose to write fiction. Looking over those vignettes posted by my classmates, I notice a recurring theme: events that were painful, in both the physical and emotional senses. I think I understand the reason for this, actually; the discussion of pain both helps to alleviate it in itself, and allows for commiseration, which also helps. (It also makes for a depressing read in some instances, but let's not go into that.) I take as my first example a vignette by Kathryn Douglas:

"Then my best friend Lex, wasn’t my best friend anymore either. We got into an argument cuz she thought I’d be a good idea to make me jealous of her, but it didn’t turn out too well. They made fun of me, really made me feel like nothing."

Losing friends is an experience common to, I would think, all people, though to avoid making a generalization I'll go with "most". It is generally agreed that said experience is not a pleasant one. Rare is the friendship that drifts apart peacefully; it is more common for them to end in screaming fights, or mockery like that mentioned above. I hesitate to use the word "traumatizing", because it is a rather strong term, but it is definite that the end of a friendship is a painful event. It is also one that tends to imprint itself on one's memory, making it easier to weave a story out of, although this may or may not be a positive thing. An event that might be likened to this one, though the similarities may not be obvious at first, is detailed in Ebone Qualls's first vignette. There she discusses the death of her cousin from cancer, due to that part of the family's rejection of standard cancer treatments. It may seem a bit callous to say that losing a friend through taunts is similar to the death of a relative from cancer, but the labels are in fact only surface identification. The resultant pain of the events is actually quite similar, in that it comes from losing someone close to the author of the vignette.

To further demonstrate my point, let us take a look at the more physical side. The following excerpt comes from the blog of Tony Lin.

"I heard a loud snap, and a second later, I felt like I was just shot with a gun [...] The pain was unbearable it felt as if someone was taking a nail and hammering it into my femur. My leg was throbbing and that wasn’t the worst part."

This, again, is a very memorable event; pain tends to leave an impression which often leads to very detailed memories of events surrounding it. That is probably another reason for this recurring theme; everyone has experienced some sort of pain at some point in their lives. This last example is not greatly similar to the first two, since it does not really point out a loss, apart from a temporary loss of functionality in the aforementioned limb. However, it deserves mention as a demonstration of the general theme of pain going on here.

Another, similar theme, which I have not gone into such detail on, is fear. There is a relationship between pain and fear, not just because they tend to occur close together. They are both extremely memorable, of course, and serve as good sources of anecdotes. In addition to this, fear, like pain, often becomes less of a problem when it can be shared. It doesn't just go away, of course, but at least it gets a little better.

And thus concludes my shoddy analysis.

A Farewell to Mangoes

    The House on Mango Street ends on a hopeful note, with Esperanza saying that though she will leave, she will return someday to help those she left behind. Some interesting ideas about her meaning have arisen, including that the book itself is meant to help those still stuck on Mango Street, and I have to say that it sounds plausible. Partly, of course, there's the fact that she talks about writing poetry, and in combination with the writing style it's easy to see it as a collection of events Esperanza recorded while living on Mango Street, later to share them with the world. And there are also hints (or sometimes more than hints) of her views on the social constraints that exist on this street, and probably elsewhere. Readers (you know, all two of you), I put it to you that this book is indeed what Esperanza has given to help those who cannot leave Mango Street, and to change the unfair social "rules" which still control lives there.
    One of the better examples of this is the very brief vignette "Those Who Don't". It deals with unfair racial distinctions and the irrational fear many people have of "a neighborhood of another color". These fears work both ways:

"Those who don't know any better come into our neighborhood scared. They think we're dangerous [...] All brown all around, we are safe. But watch us drive into a neighborhood of another color and our knees go shakity-shake and our car windows get rolled up tight [...] That is how it goes and goes." (28)

Esperanza notices how every race seems to be afraid of every other, how they don't understand others and don't try to. She speaks of it as a cycle, because neither group tries to understand the other (if there were only two, which there aren't, but that's not the point), and this allows the fear to continue; she also seems to realize that there isn't any reason for this to continue. The vignette explains that the people who are afraid of Esperanza's neighborhood are "stupid people who are lost and got here by mistake", and while it's never said directly, the implication seems to be that the people in her own neighborhood who are afraid of others are being just as narrow-minded. If the book is indeed her gift to the people of Mango Street, her intention may be to open their minds to the fact that people of other races should not automatically be seen as dangerous.
    Earlier, in the very first vignette, Esperanza speaks of a previous home and how, when she pointed it out to a passing nun from her school, the nun reacted with obvious distaste; this was because the flat looked even from the outside like an undesirable place, due to a lack of money. Later, in "A Rice Sandwich", Esperanza tells the story of the one occasion when she ate lunch in the canteen at school. The school's Sister Superior says that Esperanza doesn't live far enough away from the school to need to eat in the canteen, and then goes to the window and points out "a row of ugly three-flats, the ones even the raggedy men are ashamed to go into" (45) with the guess that Esperanza lives there. These events, and others in the book, indicate a general contempt for poverty exhibited by many secondary characters. Perhaps this is another issue Esperanza aims to change with her writings? It wouldn't be possible to eliminate the poverty itself, not with a book, but at least people will not automatically look down on those with less money.
    And how can we be sure that Esperanza intends this book to help those still on Mango Street? By the way she describes her first encounter with this idea. It arises in "The Three Sisters", where one of the title characters speaks to Esperanza about her desire to leave:

"When you leave you must remember to come back for the others. A circle, understand? You will always be Esperanza. You will always be Mango Street. You can't erase what you know. You can't forget who you are." (105)

If the book is indeed Esperanza's message for those she leaves behind, this is her clue to those who read it. By including the message given to her by the mysterious sister, she is effectively saying: No, I have not forgotten who I am. I have remembered Mango Street, and I will come back for the ones I left behind. This, along with the final vignette, cements the theory that The House on Mango Street is what she offers those who "cannot out".
    Of course, we know that Esperanza is herself fictional and technically cannot write a book, but many books are written with clear indication that they are intended to be seen as the character's writings; third-person books sometimes do this too. It gives the reader more concrete ideas about events after the book. Perhaps Esperanza, like Alicia, attended university; perhaps she became the one who is beautiful and cruel, and her stories are meant to teach others to do the same. It's certainly a nice thought.

Tortillas Are Not Empowering

    Sandra Cisneros clearly acknowledges that boys and girls are often raised differently, but she indicates that they shouldn't be, or that the differences shouldn't be what they are. Her characters tend to speak of marriage as a goal of sorts (26), as if it is the only way to escape their current lives; from other vignettes it appears that the girls are raised to think this way, so that their only ambition is marriage. This is demonstrated on page 31:

"A woman's place is sleeping so she can wake up early with the tortilla star [...] Alicia, whose mama died, is sorry there is no one older to rise and make the lunchbox tortillas."

The statement about a woman's place seems to come at least in part from Alicia's father; Alicia is a university student, pursuing this path because she does not want to be limited to taking care of her family for the rest of her life. She is given the responsibility of making the tortillas because her mother is no longer around to do it, and her father probably leaves it to her because he considers it women's work. Her father also disapproves of her life as a student, presumably because it means she will spend less time doing the things women are "supposed" to do, and that she has ambitions apart from getting married. The implication is that a boy in that situation would not be disapproved of, that the choice to attend university would then show initiative. Cisneros's tone in the vignette indicates that she finds this double standard unfair, that at least this differentiation between the genders should not stand.
    In the vignette "Beautiful & Cruel", Esperanza (Cisneros's protagonist) refers to marriage as "the ball and chain" and talks about a common female character in movies who is "beautiful and cruel". This woman is in control of what power she has, and uses it to maintain her independence from men without barring them from her life completely. But more telling are the words Esperanza uses to summarize her goal to be this type of woman:

"I am one who leaves the table like a man, without putting back the chair or picking up the plate." (89)

More than any other words in this vignette, this sentence speaks of the gender roles imposed on Esperanza and others like her. It is expected, or even required, that a woman clean up after herself--perhaps in more places than just the table mentioned here--but a man is actually expected not to do this. Therefore, if Esperanza leaves the table without cleaning up after herself, she is behaving "like a man". Does Cisneros approve of this distinction? It appears that she doesn't; her protagonist certainly ignores it, anyway, at least to the point of not obeying it, although it remains present enough for her to feel that it's worth mentioning. Esperanza is shown to find many of the imposed gender roles of her society unfair, both here and in other vignettes; while a character that serves simply as a mouthpiece for one's views usually seems more flat than Esperanza, it is unlikely that Cisneros is not in at least some agreement. After all, it's quite a challenge to write from the point of view of someone who thinks completely differently from oneself.
    It's quite clear that Sandra Cisneros does not think that boys and girls should not be rised differently, at least not in the ways outlined in the vignettes. The only question remaining is, do you?

William

I love this character. He sprang fully formed from an image of an irritating kid in an apple tree, and continues to provide me with inspiration daily. He's had some interesting adventures, some of them involving talking cats, which may or may not show up here later.

---

    This time he was sitting in a tree, munching an apple and dangling his legs insolently.
    "Why are you still here?" she demanded.
    He laughed. "Oh, for this reason and that one. Fancy an apple? I've got plenty."
    "But what reasons?" She was beginning to get very vexed with him.
    "Oh, that. Well, there are too many of them for me to tell even the ravens, and they can listen for hours when they've a mind to. The long and the short of it is that I'm a wizard." He took another bite of apple.
    "You can't be!"
    "Oh, can't I?"
    "No! You haven't got a robe."
    "And who said wizards have to wear robes?"
    "Well, you haven't got a hat!"
    "And?" He appeared greatly amused by her confusion, and he laughed when she scowled at him.
    "Well--well--you just can't be, that's all!"
    "Oh, all right, then. But if I'm not a wizard, then I can't tell you why I'm here." He winked and swung higher up the tree, out of sight.
    "Wait!"
    "You're very indecisive, you know that?" He reappeared, hanging upside down from a high branch.

- - -

    Now he was in the kitchen, sitting on the table and munching another apple, or maybe the same one. When she came in, he grinned as if at some private joke.
    She slammed her hand on the table near him, and was further irritated when he didn't flinch. "You'll be in trouble when Mother gets home, you know. Mother doesn't approve of this sort of thing."
    "Oh, I doubt I'll have too much trouble with your mother. Do you have any cold cider? I'm parched."
    "Right, I suppose you'll use your wizardly powers," and she rolled her eyes.
    "I don't think it will come to that. I'm rather charming, you know."
    Which was even more infuriating, because it was true.
    "You're just saying that because you're not really a wizard. You won't use your powers because you don't have any."
    He shook his head with an air of disappointment, though his grin never left his face. "Still on about that, are you? Oh dear. I believe I've already disposed of the illusion that I require a robe, hat, or wand. What is it now?"
    "Well--look, why did you have to ask about the cider, then? You should just know! Better yet, conjure up your own drink!"
    He dropped his apple core carelessly on the table. "That would be a dreadful waste. There are better ways of using magic, you know. And you never did answer me, anyway."
    "You're just an arrogant boy, that's what you are! You don't deserve any cider!" She felt a bit silly, having said this, but she tried to look stern anyway.
    "Well, well." He contrived to look affronted. "If you're going to be like that, I'll get my refreshment somewhere else." He jumped up and swung a leg over the window sill.
    "But--" For some reason, she suddenly wanted him to stay. At least until her mother got home, she amended, so she could watch her rage at him.
    "Farewell, fair maiden." And he was, suddenly and irrevocably, gone.
    A few minutes after he left, she remembered the apple core. When she reached for it, however, it was gone. In its place was a bracelet of some unknown material, a simple bangle of gold-veined red. When she slipped it on, a seed fell onto the table.
    She stared out the window for several minutes. Then she went out to milk the cows, wondering.

---

    He was standing in snow halfway to his knees, and his scarf, which was far too long, whipped around him in the wind. The snow collected on his shoulders and in his hair, and fell into his pockets when he held them open, but he didn't seem to be cold.
    As she watched, he scooped up a handful of the whiteness, despite the fact that he wore no gloves.
    "You shouldn't do that."
    He turned, smiled at her. "Why not, my dear lady?"
    "You'll get frostbite, or some such. It's like putting your hand in a bucket of ice water."
    "Is it really?" He looked surprised. "Learn something new every day, I suppose." He turned his hand over and watched the snow fall, fluttering down to become indistinguishable from anything else. "And who are you, who is so wise in the ways of winter?"
    "Stella." She felt, absurdly, that he was mocking her--perhaps because she had been so often mocked in the past. But he seemed perfectly pleasant. "And you?"
    "I'm William, when I choose to be myself. There have been times that I've had to be somebody different, but I think those days are over." He thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned back, staring up at the grey sky. "Walk with me, Stella, won't you? I could use the company." He looked over at her. "If you don't mind terribly, that is."
    He walked strangely in the snow, lifting each leg entirely above the surface before plunging it back in. Nevertheless, she found herself struggling to keep up with him. "So what are you doing in this town?"
    "Oh...nothing, really." And she looked at him and knew, absolutely knew, that he would tell her nothing more on the subject no matter how she pressed.
    They walked in silence for a while, watching the snow muffle the world. And neither minded the silence.

Daughter of Alnia

Contents
1........................................Castles
2.....................Backwards Quellen
3...The Vest of Feliciano Montgard
4...............................Jester's Mule

Windows

    In The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros seems to use windows to represent lonely people; the idea is that these people just sit and stare out the window, perhaps wishing for a different life. The first shows up in "My Name", on page 11, when Esperanza talks about her great-grandmother:

"She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow."

In the text beforehand, she mentions that her great-grandfather forced her aforementioned great-grandmother to marry him, against her will, and that she never forgave him. It would appear, then, that here the window symbolizes the great-grandmother wishing she had not married, still angry at having been torn from her previous life. She longs for the way she used to live. Much the same thing is shown in "No Speak English":

"She sits all day by the window and plays the Spanish radio show and sings all the homesick songs about her country [...]" (77)

Much like Esperanza's great-grandmother, Mamacita (the "she" in this passage) is being kept away from the life she used to live--in this case, presumably in Mexico. The many ways she shows her desire to return to her old life are detailed in the vignette: how she refuses to learn English, how she never comes downstairs,  how she misses the house she used to live in. It upsets her when her younger child speaks English, even when it is only a Pepsi commercial, because it makes her even more isolated from the people around her. She does not belong, and so she stares wistfully out the window.
    Finally, there is Rafaela. She, too, stares out the window and wishes for something different, something better:

"Rafaela leans out the window [...] and dreams her hair is like Rapunzel's. On the corner there is music from the bar, and [she] wishes she could go there and dance [...]" (79)

From the surrounding text, it is clear that Rafaela's husband does not let her leave the house, perhaps out of the fear that she will not come back. She asks the children who hang around nearby to get her things from the store because she cannot go there herself. The mention of dreaming that her hair is like Rapunzel's also shows her desire to escape; if her hair were indeed as long as Rapunzel's perhaps someone would climb up it to rescue her. She is trapped, unable to do what she wants, like the other two women who sit and stare out the window. The windows show that these women want to escape the lives they lead, controlled by men as they are, and also that it seems impossible to escape.

The Color Purple

            Alice Walker’s epistolary novel The Color Purple tells the story of two sisters, Celie and Nettie, who are separated by the unfortunate circumstances of their lives and do not meet again for many years. Celie is forced to marry Albert (referred to for much of the book as Mr___), who views her as a lesser being and treats her like a servant; later, Celie meets Shug Avery, the woman Albert actually wanted to marry, and the two become first friends and then lovers. Nettie, on the other hand, flees their abusive father and becomes a missionary in Africa after becoming friends with a woman named Corinne; by some chance, Corinne is raising Celie’s children, who were taken from Celie after her father got her pregnant. Throughout their lives, the two sisters go through many changes in their perspectives on religion which eventually lead to the same ideas, as well as experiencing similar forms of gender inequality, though they react to it differently.

            Based upon the different directions their lives take, it is apparent that Celie and Nettie begin with different views of God. Celie’s letters to God are written in the tone of a journal or diary. She seems to think of God as a confidante, perhaps with the idea that he is the only one who will listen to her problems. There is a point where she recounts a conversation with Nettie about Celie living with Albert (Mr ___), noting: “I just say, Never mine, never mine, long as I can spell G-o-d I got somebody along.” (17) It is clear that confiding in God helps Celie deal with what is happening to her. On the other hand, it seems probable that Nettie’s concept of God is different; based on the fact that she becomes a missionary and on some of her own statements, it appears that she views God more distantly. Although her situation at the start of the book is in many ways as bad as her sister’s, she never writes letters to God or any other such entity. Later on she mentions prayer, but this seems to be a more remote form of communication. This may have something to do with Nettie’s continued belief, while Celie goes through a second stage of religious development: the idea that there is no God at all. After Celie finds out that the man she knew as her father is not really, and learns the truth about her parents, she goes through a period of doubting God’s existence or willingness to help her. This is not thoroughly covered in her letters apart from her explanation of it to Shug, but it still clearly occurs. But Nettie, who watches the destruction of the Olinka people’s way of life, never stops believing in God. This may stem from her conception of him: because she sees God as a more distant figure, she does not blame him for the actions of selfish humans as Celie seems to.

The final view that both of them reach, however, is the same. There is no great detail in Nettie’s description of her changing viewpoint, only a brief description of the realization both she and Celie eventually reach:

“God is different to us now, after all these years in Africa. More spirit than ever before, and more internal. Most people think he has to look like something or someone—a roofleaf or Christ—but we don’t. And not being tied to what God looks like, frees us.” (257)

This is a more eloquent summary of the understanding of God that Celie also comes to—that God has no specific shape or appearance. It is in everything in some way, a spirit that infuses everything rather than a being that controls it. The fundamental reason for God’s creation of things, as explained by Shug to Celie, is that it, like everything else, wants to be loved. This version of God appeals to the sisters possibly because both of them have been in situations where they, too, wanted to be loved: Celie for most of her life before meeting Shug, and Nettie to some extent when Corinne is suspicious of her husband Samuel’s interactions with Nettie.

            Both sisters also have experience with sexism, but they have encountered and responded to it in different ways. Celie, in fact, has dealt with it from the beginning: she is treated much like an object by the man she knows as her father, first sexually abused and then sent off to live with Albert in a way much reminiscent of someone trying to sell something. It is clear from what she records of people’s words that the men she knows treat their wives like property, just there to follow instructions. Albert, relatively early in the book, even states that he beats Celie just because she is his wife. Nettie’s experiences of this mentality occur in Africa rather than America, but in some ways what she sees is much the same. To begin with, of course, she also lives with their “father”, and witnesses his abuse of Celie; she has a similar incident with Albert but responds by fighting back, which leads to her being forced to leave his house. The following years, for Nettie, are not as rife with sexism as her sister’s, and Samuel seems to see her as an equal. It is only in Africa that she observes the same gender inequality Celie has been living with all along:

“[The men] listen just long enough to issue instructions. They don’t even look at women when women are speaking. They look at the ground and bend their heads toward the ground…[for the women] to ‘look in a man’s face’ is a brazen thing to do.” (162)

Among the Olinka as well as the people in the sisters’ hometown, the women are thought of and taught to think of themselves as inferior. The men assume that what women have to say is generally of little importance, and that they exist only to be ordered around. Female children in the Olinka village are not even allowed to go to school, due to the assumption that they will never use that education. In fact, this is another link to Celie’s experiences, as Celie is not allowed to go to school following her first pregnancy. It is clearly demonstrated that sexism is much the same for both sisters.

            Although they see the same patterns in gender inequality, Celie and Nettie do not react to it in the same way. Celie first becomes extremely subdued, rarely speaking to anyone apart from her sister—at least partly because so many of the people in her life are men. After meeting Shug, Celie discovers her own lesbian feelings, and though it is not entirely certain, it seems that this may be partially influenced by her negative experiences with men. This is most clearly demonstrated by Celie’s response to being asked whether she dislikes Albert just because he is a man: “Take off they pants, I say, and men look like frogs to me. No matter how you kiss ’em, as far as I’m concern, frogs is what they stay.” (254) It becomes obvious, after this exchange and a later conversation on the same subject, that Celie will never be happy in a relationship with a man; of course, this is also clear in her interactions with Shug. But Nettie does not feel the same way, despite having experienced the same kind of sexism her sister has. Quite apart from being lesbian, Celie has a dislike for all men, but Nettie clearly does not make the same immediate judgment; she even marries Samuel after Corinne’s death. This may be because Nettie has not dealt with gender inequality as directly as Celie. She has merely observed it from the outside, without it being applied to her most of the time; her life is not defined by male supremacy as her sister’s is. Divergent experiences lead to unlike reactions and assumptions.

Even as their lives follow completely different courses, Celie and Nettie manage to draw the same conclusions about religion and God; they also see much the same kind of gender inequality, though Celie is more directly affected, which is probably why the sisters respond so differently. Nettie begins with a more distant view of God than her sister seems to have, but like Celie, she eventually comes to the realization that God has no set appearance and is in everything. Celie is a victim of sexism many times over, while Nettie only views it from the outside, and as a result Celie hates men while Nettie does not. Alice Walker’s point in creating these characters, therefore, seems to be at least partly in favor of fighting against gender inequality; Nettie fights from the beginning and her life is presented as being better, while Celie remains submissive until she leaves Albert’s house with Shug, at which point her life improves but not to the level of her sister’s. Celie and Nettie themselves, as characters, are simply products of their experiences and cannot be judged as anything else.

Letters to God

    In the novel The Color Purple, the protagonist Celie's letters to God make it clear that she is a religious person, but it also shows something about the way she sees God. It would seem that she thinks of God as someone to whom she can tell all her problems without too much judgment, perhaps someone to confide in. As the book goes on her letters begin to sound more and more like a diary, or maybe just letters to a friend. However, in her first letter, Celie writes, "Maybe you can give me a sign letting me know what is happening to me." In this instance, it is clear that she is addressing the God who would be the recipient of her letter, were she able to send it. Perhaps, as the story continues, her faith in God becomes secondary to her belief in what is happening now. In the beginning her letters are also much shorter--brief confidences, or confessions; it is difficult to tell sometimes why she writes things down. As she continues, the letters get longer, and it seems more as though she is telling the story of her life. It is as if she thinks of God as the only friend she has, or the only person who would care enough to listen.
    As I have mentioned, the letters mainly seem to record the goings-on of Celie's life, with particular attention to things out of the ordinary. There are several different potential reasons for her doing this.  Maybe she wants to keep a record of important events in her life so she can look back on it later on; she may not want to forget anything, and the best way she can think of to remember is by writing everything down. Or, based on the aforementioned sentence from the first letter, maybe she is going through a confusing time as compared to her life before the letters. In this case, she would be writing things down to more easily process them, to help her get a better understanding of what is going on. This seems somewhat more likely, as she mainly records those events which break her regular routine; many of them she seems to be confused about, or uncertain, and perhaps she needs to work out her feelings on paper. This would explain why none of the letters are dated.
    Another possible reason for her letter-writing may be related to Celie's sister, Nettie. In her eighth letter, Celie writes, "I know I'm not as pretty or as smart as Nettie, but she say I ain't dumb." Celie goes on to explain how her sister tried to teach her things she was learning at school after Celie herself was taken out of school by her father. So it's possible that Celie is also writing things down because she wants to improve her writing. She might see this as learning something (which it is), and because her sister is no longer present to teach her things, she wants to find some way to teach herself.

Child Actors as Role Models

Child actors in shows for young audiences should expect to be seen as role models. The reasoning behind this is fairly simple: if you idolize someone, you want to be like that person in some way. Many children, especially younger ones, look up to the people in the shows they watch, and I'm sure most of you have seen some form of that imitation. Simple things like wearing the same kind of clothes aren't particularly bad influences, but other issues arise as well.

Parents generally expect to be the role models for their children, and may not consider that their kids may want to be like the people in their favourite shows, which can have unfortunate results. To quote Dr. C. George Boeree:

"Unfortunately, most children today look to the mass media, especially T.V., for role models. It is easy to understand why: The people on T.V. are prettier, richer, smarter, wittier, healthier, and happier than anybody in our own neighborhoods! Unfortunately, they aren't real. I'm always astounded at how many new college students are quickly disappointed to discover that their chosen field actually requires a lot of work and study. It doesn't on T.V. Later, many people are equally surprised that the jobs they worked so hard to get aren't as creative and glorious and fulfilling as they expected. Again, that isn't how it is on T.V. It shouldn't surprise us that so many young people look to the short-cuts that crime seems to offer, or the fantasy life that drugs promise."

It can be difficult for children, particularly young ones, to tell the difference between fiction and reality. They may assume that because the characters on television do less-than-desirable things and get away with it, they should be able to do the same things without repercussions. Shows for both children and teenagers, not to mention those targeted at adults, don't portray life in realistic ways; children learn appropriate reactions from these shows at least as much as they do from people around them, though of course this varies with the frequency and type of shows they watch. In addition, many younger children watch shows marketed toward teenagers and sometimes even adults, making it more likely that they will encounter bad role models without realizing it.

You can say all you like that people, particularly children, shouldn't be taking their cues from people in the television and movie industries or the characters they play. You'd be right, too; no one should assume that X person is a good role model just because he/she/it is famous. But they do anyway. And child actors, at least, knowing that kids watch their shows frequently, should realize this and shape up.

Sources:
The biggest 2009 show-biz lesson: Celebrities are NOT role models!
Essay on Erik Erikson, briefly dealing with role models
Children and role models