the waves of time

"The leaden circles dissolved in the air."

This short, recurring sentence appears whenever Big Ben strikes, and if traced across the whole book, could represent the gongs of the clock itself, the reverberations of which leave an ominous air in their wake. Big Ben's chimes are beautiful, "musical," yet they reveal something more chilling within them: that time, life is "irrevocable." 

I think the "circles" refer to man's tendency to seamlessly, subconsciously weave the tenses (past, present, future) of time into every stage of our existence. The use of the word "leaden" connotes a heaviness, a weight, a burden. Time is oppressive. It ruthlessly, stealthily flows onward, onward, eroding our life by the droplets of each second. "Leaden" also brings to mind, quite literally, a block of lead: soft, malleable, visible, perceptible. Time is not pliable yet it is fluid in nature; time is not transformable—it is the transformer; time is not physically seen yet it is discernible all around us, on us; time is imperceivable, elusive; time dissolves.

In the words of Benjamin Franklin, "Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that's the stuff that life is made of." If we cannot capture or control time, the least we can do is to ride the waves with an appreciation of the beauty of every moment that is life. 

pies are sinfully delicious

This week we wrote an in-class essay on an amusing anecdote of a child’s struggle with wrongdoing.  Although at the time I was frantically focused on composing an AP student-worthy masterpiece (only Ms. V knows how successful I was with that), I can now allow my mind reign to ruminate over the central message of Soto’s story. The connotative diction and vivid imagery he uses show how the irresistibly “sweet” immediate effects of sin serenaded his not-yet-matured six-year-old senses, gently detaching him from the whispers of his tugging conscience. Soto portrays himself as caught in a “sticky” web of guilt, unable to distinguish between the pleasure and abhorrence of sin as they continually morph and transpose, until he finally concludes that sin is, essentially, “what you took and didn’t give back.”

Allow me to present a more articulate definition.

A wise person once said, “Sin is what causes uneasiness in your heart and what you dislike others to become aware of.” The first part of this concise yet comprehensive statement has to do with the innate gauge and inherent notion of goodness that exists within every human being. When a person breaks this notion, their inner gauge picks it up as a warning sign and alerts them that something is not right. In a similar vein, think about the second characteristic mentioned. If you have to quickly switch tabs when you hear your parents at the door, shove the phone in your pocket when the teacher passes by, or minimize the window when your boss steps in, you’re probably doing something you shouldn’t be.

It’s crucial that we respond to the disturbances in our heart by leaving and reversing what’s wrong; if we suppress them, our gauge will eventually dim out and cease to function—leaving us lost, as young Soto was, in a haze of pleasure and peccancy. 

othering

In “Disability,” Nancy Mairs scrutinizes with candid and humorous language the lack of realistic portrayal–if at all–of disabled people in media culture. At one point in the essay, she switches abruptly from her wry quips to a serious tone with one forthright statement: “This kind of effacement or isolation has painful, even dangerous consequences, however.”

These blunt words reveal another aspect of the multifaceted concept of othering. While I know that people are commonly outcast from society based on appearance, race, religion, or gender, it never struck me till now that there are many in this world who are banished to the fringes of humankind solely owing to their disabilities. 

When people shun others based on certain characteristics they deem repulsive, they do so secure in the belief that they are more powerful, more superior because they are removed beyond the other’s fatal flaws. Yet this is precisely where disability differs. Because as Mairs unflinchingly posits, “the fact is that ours is the only minority you can join involuntarily, without warning, at any time.” Those who view disability as “a chronic incurable degenerative disease” and thus attempt to blot out the presence of the handicapped should use their narrow-mindedness as a catalyst for an acute awareness of their “own physical vulnerability.” For then it should come as no surprise that they are labeled by the very people they avoid as mere “Temporarily Abled Persons.”

Chief Justice Earl Warren’s words in the famous Brown vs. Board case ring true even in light of Mairs’s piece, almost as if they are an elucidation of the “painful, even dangerous consequences” she foretold. He said that such baseless othering of those different from us “generates [within them] a feeling of inferiority as to their status in the community that may affect their hearts and minds in a way unlikely to ever be undone.” And as long as we don’t bother to “insert disability daily into our field of vision,” these words will remain as applicable and valid as they were to society six decades ago.

travis: innocence and a hope for change

Dear Diary,

Today sure was an unusual day. 

A cracker came to our house late afternoon, lookin' all formal-like with his big ole briefcase and thick glasses. He walked in the door with a huge smile on his face, as if he just done chase a rat as big as a cat and beat it to a pulp beneath his feet (I am strictly forbidden to do that anymore). But Mama and Grandma and Aunt Beneatha and them all looked so tense, as if the rat they had been chasin' fly right outta their hands and underneath a building where they couldn't reach him no more. 

And, Daddy—well he was tryna say somethin' to the man, but I done noticed that he looked mighty nervous. He kept wiping his sleeve across his mouth and faltered in his speech. At one point, he grab me and say, "This is my son, and he makes the sixth generation our family in this country." Oh, gaallee! I sure must be something if Daddy say that to the white man so proudly! 

And then, Daddy said something even more strange. He said, "And we have decided to move into our house because my father—my father—he  earned it for us brick by brick. We don't want to make no trouble for nobody or fight no causes, and we will try to be good neighbors. And that's all we got to say about that. We don't want your money." And then the white man, he was jes' lookin' all flustered and whisking away his things in a flurry, parting with a warning, "I sure hope you people know what you're getting into."

That sorta struck something in me. I remember Daddy's strong voice, Grandmama's tear-streaked face, Mama with her head bowed, and Auntie with her head raised in pride. I mean, what exactly are we gettin' into? Why it such a big deal if we move into Clybourne Park? I never met none of them white boys before, but I know we could get along just fine. After all, Daddy say I am the sixth generation in this family. If Granddaddy and his ancestors weren't able to stand up shoulder to shoulder with a white man, then by gallee, I will be the first one in my family to do that. And when that day come, Mama and Daddy will say to me, "Yes, son. Ain't nobody out there that can tell you you ain't fit to walk this earth. Thrive, prosper, live alongside the others. You done make us proud."

Now that sounds like a lot more respectable goal to work for than to trade marbles or chase them rats down the streets. 

Yours truly,

Travis Younger

an allegory of youth

Anyone who has read The Diamond as Big as the Ritz would agree that Fitzgerald does an admirable job of manipulating rhetoric into creating a piece that has all the elements of a heartwarming “Once upon a time” tale: a castle situated on a supernatural diamond mountain, a magical bathtub, an evil villain, a beautiful princess and her Prince Charming, and even a moral-of-the-story that’s painfully true. What it lacks is the “happily ever after.” It’s quite ironic, really, that instead of rising from rags to riches, our wonderful Kismine and her beloved actually descend from the “floating fairy-land” into a pit of Hell. So maybe they aren’t so wonderful after all.

Although Kismine is deemed the “incarnation of physical perfection” itself, none can match the naivety of her mind. She reveals her foolishness when she claims, “I believe that girls ought to enjoy their youths in a wholesome way”—much like Daisy, who thinks girls are better off being “beautiful little fools.” Frankly, the fact that Kismine “never…read[s] anything” nor knows “any mathematics or chemistry” convinces me that she would better fit in with a herd of pink elephants rather than the human race. (At least I’m not saying she can only have water as a beverage.)

So what’s wrong with John T. Unger? Doesn’t he rescue, heroic and Moses-like, the damsels in distress? Shouldn’t he have been spared the torments of Hell? Unfortunately, our main character lacked the nobility and wisdom of Moses; he allowed himself to get caught up in the “warm enchantment” of luxury and began “measuring up the day against [a] radiantly imagined future.” Like Gatsby, his fantasizing about the “unattainable young dream” eventually results in a hard fall back to reality.

And so, although DBR was written decades ago, its message is very applicable even today. The shiny, gaudy opulence of the Washington estate is representative of the excessive, dreamy way in which we live youth. Like Unger, it is a time when most everyone experiences the flush of first love sitting atop their mountains of unrealistic aspirations, a time when one is first exposed to the “terrible and golden mystery” of life, a time that abruptly ends with “the shabby gift of disillusion.” 

nostalgic memories

The single biggest disadvantage of romanticizing nostalgic memories of the past is that it makes it easier for us to fantasize and ignore the problems of the present. When we put on our rose-colored glasses to peer into a different time, desperate for something that is fundamentally out of our reach, we cease to think about the consequences it may have on our present, perhaps harming our future as well.

Jay Gatsby is a prime example of this. The goal of his life is to recreate the sweet memories he shared with the Daisy Fay of the past. Her "bright ecstatic smile" (90) and "lovely" (13) face had captivated him as a young soldier—but she gave it all to another. Five years later, he stubbornly believes that the dim romance that was on the verge of blossoming between them still has a chance to bloom into the fragrant flower of true love.

With his eyes set on this target, Gatsby becomes blind to what he has made of his present life. He has reduced himself to a man with an unhealthy eagerness to climb the social ladder—as he forges “gonnegtion[s]” (75) with shady people—and a desperate greed for amassing wealth—as he becomes involved in organized crime. His emotional frame is out of sync with the passage of time. In fact, the knocking over of Nick's clock during his first reunion with Daisy is a clear symbol of the clumsiness of Gatsby's attempt to stop time and retrieve the past.

By glamorizing the sentimental memories of former times, Gatsby essentially allows them to dictate his very existence. He thrives on the wild hope that Daisy will one day return to him, and when he realizes that she has slipped "out of reach of his hand" (117), he can no longer survive. Similar to Roger Chillingworth of The Scarlet Letter, Gatsby perishes when his life’s purpose is defeated.

an unusual wish

One of the first characters we meet in The Great Gatsby is Daisy, wife of wealthy, fractious Tom Buchanan. It is interesting to note that many aspects of Daisy’s character actually reflect those of the idolized 1920s flapper: a pleasure-seeking woman full of thoughtless giddiness whose superficial cares revolve primarily around her popularity, self, and beauty.

Nick first describes Daisy’s “absurd, charming little laugh” and “low thrilling voice.” He also draws our attention to her face, “sad and lovely, with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth.” Although these sensual descriptions highlight Daisy’s singular beauty, her speech and actions reveal the immaturity and impetuousness of her inner nature. For instance, when Nick tells her (out of common courtesy) that everyone in Chicago misses her, she emphatically demands to return right away—no doubt to revel in the adoration of her devotees.

When Nick politely enquires about her little daughter, Daisy startles readers by replying, “I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” While revealing her belief that a girl can have more fun if she is beautiful and simplistic, Daisy's flapper-mom-like wish for her daughter is not so unusual when viewed in light of the fact that she is the product of an age that values women for their sexuality over their intelligence. Just as Daisy conforms to the social standard of American femininity in the 1920s in order to avoid her tension-filled life—such as her strained marriage and tangled love affair with Gatsby—so too does she hope for her daughter to be protected under a shield of lovely naivety.