Averno

In which time period is Louise Gluck’s Averno set? What is the tone of this book? Describe the narrator(s) and what is of value to them? What kind of relationship does the Persephone narrator have with the earth in Gluck’s work? Cite at least one passage to back up your argument. To what does the final verse on page 16 refer? Cite a passage in the text where the narrator second guesses her own voice by reconsidering the way in which to describe something. Why would an author show such a thing? What are some key differences between Part I and II of the book; how is Persephone the Wander figured differently in each? How do you understand the ancient myth differently after reading Gluck’s interpretation? (DUE Mon, March 5)

Averno seems to be set in the present mind of the narrator, which is to say that it focuses on past memories or past stories. She focuses a lot on her childhood, and her parents obsession with marriage, as well as the Rape of Persephone; all from the past. As the title alludes, she also makes short reference to the Lake of Averno which the Ancient Roman believed was the entrance into the underworld. I would best describe the tone of this book as solemn. She usually focuses on seemingly negative stories, but there are a few short point of fleeting light. We can see this when the farmer whose fields are burnt down is not taking care of his grandchildren instead of his fields. I found that independence is the most valuable theme to the narrator. She despises the days when her parents told her she needed a man, as well as when her sister made her the man as she did all the wife’s deeds herself, such as having babies. Persephone is nature, just as her mother is. This is why she is entitled Persephone the Wanderer. For Example, on page 17 the narrator says, “Is earth “home” to Persephone? Is she at home, conveivably, in the bed of the god? Is she at home nowhere?” I don’t want to be going to far on a limb here, but the final passage on page 16 may deal with Persephone no being a virgin anymore, and therefore “stained with red juice.” On page 31, the Narrator claims that she was the man because she was taller, but further into the book she refutes that she wasn’t even that tall. Gluck uses this contradiction to show her own changing perceptions from her youth to her adulthood. In part one of the book, Gluck focuses on the contrast between dark and light, winter and summer, whereas in part two of the book she focuses on blossoming landscapes. In the first part, Persephone is innocent, but in the second the narrator questions this innocence. She even eliminates the sex in the second part, just to further progress her point. As for changing my perceptions, Gluck has played Devil’s advocate for the Persephone story, but it’s a story all the same. However we analyze or critique it, it’s still just a myth. I apologize for being so concise in my answers, but I am horribly sick with what I think is the flu. I just want to get home, back to bed.

Disaster Story and Writing Journal

Too Young to Die
By Ethan Jones

What does it mean to die?
The heart ceases to pump,
The mind ceases to think,
The soul separates from its mortal form.

Or rather, is death a state of being?
When all possessions are lost,
When truth can’t be distinguished from lies,
When liberty falters.

For when a boy becomes a man,
His family growing before him,
He must define truth and liberty,
And in doing so he defines not death,
But rather life.

Omar ran home from school to show his parents his grades. All of his friends said that he had the ‘Luck of the freshman’, but he assured himself that it wasn’t luck. Large pine trees lined his street, and their reflections could be seen in the various Mercedes and Lexus’ as he ran by. He grabbed the branch of one of the trees and used it to swing his body from the sidewalk into his driveway. He stumbled, but regained his balance and sprinted up the long driveway, bursting through the front door. “Mother! Mother!” he called. His Mom appeared from their living room and walked to the fireplace, wearing a long silk skirt with a baby blue wrap around her head. He gave her his report card, and her face immediately lost its sunken lines.
“This calls for some ice cream,” she exclaimed. She put on her shoes and pulled the baby blue silk across her face. They piled into the car and were about to leave when Omar’s father pulled into the driveway behind them. A large red maple leaf on a white and red flag was prominently displayed on the dashboard of his Mustang. Omar jumped out of the car and ran to show his Dad his grades, but he was stopped short by his glare. His father was pulling new tan suitcases from the trunk of his Mustang, and dark circles leaked from the bottom of his eyes.
“What’s wrong Dad?” Omar asked.
“He called today. It’s time.”
Omar helped his father with the suitcases, and in a few hours they had cleaned out their home. Omar had packed clothes and his Ipod, but nothing else. His father had only given him one suitcase, which meant he had to decide between bringing pants or his new laptop. Needless to say, his survival instincts got the better of him as he shoved his jeans into the suitcase. He walked through the colonnade to the driveway and dropped his suitcase amongst his younger brothers who had already situated themselves in the leather seats. They drove to the airport, checked their luggage and boarded the plane. The green forests and ice capped mountains that Omar fell asleep to became vast expanses of lifeless desert when he awoke.
Omar crouched behind a rusty oil barrel. His father was in the house, and he could see the barrel of his gun pointing out of their window. A loud speaker echoed throughout the compound in perfect English. “Give yourselves up and no one has to die today. We will use all necessary force Bin Laden.” Omar gave a quick translation to Akmed, who began to cry. Akmed couldn’t understand why they wanted his father so badly, and Omar tried to console him. He heard glass shattering, and the barrel of his fathers gun pointed into the air and then it was gone. Suddenly bullets began to ricochet off of his oil can. Something bit him in the leg, or at least that’s what it felt like. He tried to shake it off, but blood soaked his pants and shoes. He hear the crunch of footsteps coming closer, so he pulled the pin on his only grenade and threw it over the can. It exploded and men began to scream, but it pleased him. Allah would have no mercy on them, those Christians, those Americans. He let out a scream and jumped from his hiding place wielding an old pipe, but was knocked down in a hale of bullets.
Omar woke up on a shiny table that wreaked of disinfectant. His vision was blurry and he felt a large cotton pad over his left eye. His eyes scanned the room around him, which was composed of cinderblock, painted white, and a few other shiny trays. He tried to make noise, which came out as more of a moan, and a man in a white lab coat appeared from around the corner. He shined a bright light into his eyes, and everything went black. Omar called for his mother, his father. He pictured wrestling matches with his brothers on the trampoline in the backyard. He always won when it was one on one, but his brothers tended to gang up on him, considering he was the oldest. His mother always had fresh squeezed lemonade ready for them when they were done playing in the yard. Omar wondered what happened to Skip, their Afghan.
“Can you see me?” a voice asked.
“No,” Omar replied.
People began mumbling, and Omar felt something pinch his left arm. When he woke up again he wasn’t strapped to the table anymore. He found himself in a small cell, made of the same white cinderblocks. His jeans had been replaced by an orange jumpsuit, and his hand was emblazoned with a tattoo stating GTMO 766. He walked to the door of his cell, peering through the plastic and wire mesh. A guard stood down the hallway, wearing full camouflage with an M16 at his side. Unmistakably sewn on his shoulder was an American Flag. A phone rang, and the guard answered. Omar was dragged from his cell to another small room. His hands and feet were put into handcuffs, which were then connected to ‘I’ bolts in the floor. He couldn’t stand up, or stretch out. He was left on the floor, stuck in a fetal position for hours before he was taken back to his cell. There were no questions asked, just pain.
Days went by, and nothing changed. He would stretch in the morning after eating a plate of green gruel. Then the phone would ring, and he would be taken into the small room where he would be handcuffed to the floor. One day the yelling began. A soldier would come in and yell at him about Bin Laden, but he didn’t know anything. He was sure that he had been forced into hell. The lights would be turned off at night, and the next morning it would all begin again. The life that Omar once knew was now only a memory.
He couldn’t understand why they did this to him? He didn’t want to leave his home. He didn’t want to kill anyone, but when being shot at, what is there to do but shoot back. He was defending himself, his family, and his friends. He was defending everything that he calls home. What is home? Who was he in the grand scheme of things anyways? These thoughts rattled GTMO 766’s mind while he lay in that horrid position every day. He no longer understood his life. He had lost everything, and now he was losing himself.


Writing Journal

Joining the imaginary with the real is a very volatile means of writing. When the real history is not portrayed as it actually happened, many people can become deeply offended. I don’t remember the author, but there was a series of books written on a French Soldier named Sharpe. He fought all over the world in battles that actually occurred, although he was a fictional character himself. The author did a very good job of portraying history through his story though, and given the setting was 200 years ago… there aren’t many people who know the absolute truth about what happened. To make an autobiographical piece seem believable, I find that small details really help. When an author can tell the reader about the loose thread on the right arm of his coat, I tend to believe him. Why would anyone care about the small things besides the actual person writing the autobiography. The writings on the walls of the museum were very moving, but I felt that I wasn’t able to fully enjoy the museum because it was entirely in Italian. I would be very interested to see all of the exhibits and documents in English. I chose to write about a young kid that is being held in Guantanamo because I searched ‘disaster’ on Wikipedia and Guantanamo bay came up. Somewhere in the article it mentioned that there were three kids being held there under the age of eighteen, so I researched it and sure enough it was true. One of the kids, Omar Khadr, is a Canadian who comes from a rich background, but his father takes the entire family to Afghanistan. I felt it was the perfect example of the have/ have not story.

Reading Journal Holocaust

How does the poem opening the work affect how you read the main body of
the text?

The poem sets the tone for the entire piece. It tells the reader that while reading, he or she should keep in mind that they are sitting in safety and comfort. It is meant to help separate the reader from their daily lives and truly feel the horrors that people went through during the Holocaust. The poem helped me understand.

Sum up what the poem is saying in one sentence.

Be thankful for the gifts that have been given to you, for at any moment they may dissolve into the lowest beast of humanity.

What are the key characteristics of the narrator which Levi chooses to present in this work; how would you describe the narrator?

The narrator is an optimist. He is always asking how the women are doing, or how he can get water. He never accepts death, although many around him have. He gets into the rhythm of the camp, and he maintains the rhythm for his own survival. He cares for his comrades, but he puts himself first. This is why he is a survivor.

Does this add to or take away from your ability to sympathize with the narrator?

This absolutely adds to my ability to sympathize with him. He is a fighter against insurmountable odds. He is David in the face of Goliath. How can any human being not sympathize with the poor souls who were forced to experience the worst conditions to ever be experienced by man. I have nothing but sympathy for him.

Which moment(s) in the text stand out or make the strongest impact on you? Why?

“Sooner or later in life everyone discovers that perfect happiness is unrealizable, but there are few who pause to consider the antithesis: that perfect unhappiness is equally unattainable.” Pg. 23 This quote really stood out to me, because it can give hope to anyone who seeks it. We all spend so much time seeking happiness and dealing with the crushing defeats of life, but no one ever stops to consider the good things. In other words, no one gives thanks for the strength of their legs unless they have lost that strength. If we could all just realize how lucky we really are, life seems a whole lot greener, even in the worst of times.

Art History Final Paper

Bernini: Politics and Propaganda in St. Peter’s Basilica
Bernini's contributions to St. Peter's under Urban VIII
By Ethan Jones
February 14, 2007

The Pontificate of Urban VIII saw the rise of the most influential Baroque artist ever to live, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Born in Naples during 1598, Bernini first traveled to Rome with his father in 1608. Pietro Bernini, Gian’s father and a personal favorite sculptor of Pope Paul V, introduced the Pope to his son, who managed to succeed in impressing the Paul V with one of his drawings, for which he received as much gold as his little hands could carry. He received something much more important than gold though, for he was recognized as an art prodigy. He began to sculpt for the influential aristocrat Scipione Borghese shortly after his run in with Paul V, as well as the young cardinal Maffeo Barberini. Maffeo grew very close to Bernini, and looked after him as he would his own son. He urged Bernini to learn architecture and painting, almost as if he knew that someday he would test Bernini’s skills in ways that Bernini could never imagine.

Maffeo Barberini was born in 1568 to a Florentine noble family. He was sent to Rome to study the humanities and law under the Jesuits, and his Uncle, Francesco Barberini, helped ensure that he would be well placed within the social structure. At the age of 24 he was made a Governor, and in the span of his 31-year career he held the positions of papal nuncio for Paris, Cardinal, and finally Pope. On August 6, 1623, after much debate and a split between the college of Cardinals, a compromise between the two factions was met and Maffeo Barberini was elected Pope, taking the name of Urban VIII. No doubts were ever raised about the piety or chastity of Urban VIII, but he became well known for his hot temper. It is said that on a warm summer morning, Urban had all of the songbirds in the papal gardens killed because he couldn’t stand their songs. He was a true patron of the arts though, and a poet himself. This explains why he adopted the signs of the Greek God Apollo as his own, namely the sun and the laurel. His first action as Pope was to begin the re-armament of the Papal states, for Urban was determined to show the strength of his new papacy.

When Urban VIII came to power, Catholicism was in a period of triumph due to the successes of the Counter Reformation. Rome had become a center of the arts again, and the extravagant Baroque period was being born. Urban was extremely well connected throughout Europe and having been the Papal Nuncio with France, not to mention the Barberini family’s ties with France, Urban was in the perfect position with the necessary support to assert the authority of his new powers. Considering that Urban was the Pope to consecrate the new St. Peter’s (Nov. 18, 1626), he was given the perfect blank canvas within the Basilica to legitimize his papacy too. Urban was planning to redefine the face of Catholicism for the glory of the papacy and his family through paint, bronze, and stucco. His artist was Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

In June of 1624, Pope Urban VIII and the Fabbrica di San Pietro called for the architects and artisans of Rome to submit plans for the baldachin that was to be placed over the tomb of St. Peter. It’s believed that this was merely a formality, for the Barberini Pope had already chosen Bernini to execute the baldachin, but he submitted his designs like the rest and was chosen. He planned to mix the grace of a baldachin, an impermanent cloth canopy used as an altar cover, with the architecture of a ciborium, a permanent structure with 4 columns and a domed roof. To his contemporaries it was as if he was mixing oil with water, and Bernini was quick to take notice.

The original design called for the angels that we now see on top of each column to hold a vine that supported the seemingly cloth canopy, but Bernini promptly changed it so that the angels are now supporting the ribbed superstructure. This had the effect of combining the two design ideas into one without any separation, which is what Bernini’s critics had taken offense to. The bronze canopy now rests directly on the four columns, which had the effect of combining the two structures into a new structure called ‘The Baldacchino’. This quelled his opposition, but Bernini was also later forced to change his design for the top of the Baldacchino from a bronze sculpture of the risen Christ to a globe with a cross above it. For hundreds of years it was believed that the switch was necessary because the risen Christ would have simply been too heavy for the structure. However, it has been recently proposed that the switch was actually made because Bernini wanted to present a more political message rather than a Eucharistic message, with the cross over the globe representing the universality of Christianity. It seems that both proposals can be combined into the right answer, for the risen Christ would have been far too heavy and Bernini is definitely trying to get a political message across with this work. It was just that Christ being too heavy led to Bernini’s change from a Eucharistic to a political piece. Since the design was established, construction began.

The construction of the Baldacchino was no small task for the inexperienced Bernini. It stands 95 feet 2 inches tall and weighs just over 93 tons. Its total cost to Urban VIII was 200,000 ducats, or roughly 1/10 of the Catholic Church’s income during 1624. It was Bernini’s first true architectural undertaking, but if he was nervous, we can find no account of it in history books. Perhaps this lack of experience explains why he was not given a formal commission from Urban VIII until long after he began casting and assembling his monolithic Baldacchino. Bernini’s first action was to name Francesco Borromini as his assistant, and Borromini has been given credit for the architectural stability of the structure.

Together with Borromini, Bernini began to cast the four columns of the Baldacchino in five parts (base, three column pieces, capital). The problem was that he didn’t have enough bronze. Paul V had removed the bronze supports for Michelangelo’s dome during his pontificate and replaced them with a lighter metal, but it still wasn’t enough. Urban went directly to the Pantheon and removed the bronze supports from the porch, resulting in the famous phrase, “what the Barbarians did not do, the Barberini did.” Urban actually took so much bronze from the Pantheon that after Bernini was done, he used the remaining metal to cast 80 canons for the Castel St. Angleo. In casting the columns, Bernini employed the ‘Lost Wax Process’. Wax was applied to the outside of a heat resistant core, which was then carved by Bernini and his myriad of workers before finally being covered with an outer heat resistant coating. Molten bronze was poured onto the wax which melted, leaving the bronze in its place. The method was ingenious, but it has also led critics to accuse him of crossing the line between art and mere imitation.

Bernini’s casting of the four columns has also been referred to as the “lost lizard process” because Bernini would often press laurel boughs, bees, and even a lizard into the wax to obtain the most realistic forms. Many critics found this to be some sort of cheating, found that it detracts from the entire ambiance of the piece, but according to modern research, this is simply not true. Bernini captured, literally, the perfect form of everything that he was trying to embody in his columns, whether they were carved or real. This fits perfectly with the principle theme of naturalism in Baroque art. Borromini then carved the marble bases with the Barberini crest and the columns were erected and filled with concrete for support during 1627.

Urban VIII and the Fabbrica di San Pietro asked Bernini to erect a wood model of the rest of the Baldacchino before moving on to its casting, and he obliged. It was a good thing that he did, because he ran into his biggest problem yet. The crossbeams that comprised of the ribbed superstructure were already too heavy in wood, and were therefore entirely unfeasible in bronze. Bernini fixed this by encasing the wood in bronze for the final piece. This is also when he replaced the risen Christ with the globe and cross. Having worked out the problems with the wood structure, Bernini forged ahead by casting and assembling all of the remaining pieces, which was completed in 1633.

After 9 years of hard labor and changed designs, the Baldacchino was finally complete and no one was happier with Bernini’s work than Urban VIII. The columns’ marble bases each sport a large Barberini crest with the three bees as well as the face of a young woman. As one circumambulates the structure, the woman’s face seems to portray more and more pain until the final crest where her face has become that of a peaceful cherub. The explanation for this symbolism is not certain, but scholars have proposed that it represents the promise Urban VIII made to his favorite niece that if she safely delivered her baby, he would build an altar for her. Other explanations range from the struggles and final triumph of the Counter Reformation or the struggles of Christ and his final resurrection, but all have the effect of moving the viewer around the Baldacchino.

It was long believed that Bernini’s art was meant to be viewed from one spot, portraying all of its intricacies best from one viewpoint. This assertion seems hard to follow, for in his early works, such as the Rape of Persephone, he intentionally moves the viewer around the statue, just as he does with the Baldacchino. The four columns spiral towards the heavens, reminiscent of the columns at the Temple of Solomon as well as those in the first St. Peter’s. They draw the viewers eyes up to the angels, through the cross and into the depiction of God above. This hierarchy was a very important element in moving the viewer as well, for Bernini draws your eyes from his Baldacchino up to God which accentuates the point of the Baldacchino during mass. It’s the place where God and man meet in holy communion. The spiraling columns are covered in the Barberini symbols of laurel, as opposed to Christian vines, bees, which are attracted to the scent of piety, and small Putti who play amongst the leaves. The bronze flaps that hang from the canopy are embossed with bees and suns, which are references to piety and Urban’s adoption of the signs of Apollo. The Angels stand in support of the crossed rib superstructure, and the two large Putti on each side of the Baldacchino hold the Papal Keys, the gospels, the tiara, and Paul’s sword. All of these symbols were very important in portraying the legitimacy of Papal authority, because they represent the very foundations of the Papacy.

After the completion of the Baldacchino, Bernini was asked to design a reliquary for four of the holy relics at St. Peter’s. Bernini designed a lower niche to hold a sculpted depiction of the Saint and his/her relic, and a balcony above where the relics could be displayed during the Holy Week. Bernini is only responsible for carving the figure of St. Longinus, who is expertly sculpted at the exact point where he is converted to Christianity. He has just pierced the side of Christ with the tip of his lance, which they still have as a relic, and is looking up to God with his arms spread. His face is depicted at a moment of pure elation, and Bernini’s attention to detail is evident in his muscular arms and perfectly sculpted face.

Bernini also employed different textures within the sculpture to give a more realistic feeling, which he has accomplished. On St. Longinus’ robes, Bernini carved small grooves which from a distance make his robe seem like velvet. His skin is smooth and shiny while the base is deeply carved in much the same texture as his robe. His robe flows to his left as he embraces God. Bernini has captured the emotions of a man in marble, making it an amazing piece of artwork. The other three Saints and relics are St. Helen and the piece of the true cross, St. Andrew and his head, and St. Veronica with the cloth that she wiped Jesus’ face with on the way to his crucifixion. Although they were designed by Bernini, they were executed by Andrea Bolgi, Francesco Duquesnoy, and Francesco Mochi respectively. The four reliquaries surround the Baldacchino, and the statues engage the structure with their actions. In doing so, they acknowledge the temporal and spiritual authority of the Pope by gesturing towards the tomb of St. Peter, the first Pope.

Urban also commissioned Bernini to design and execute a reliquary for St. Peter’s chair. This reliquary no longer remains because Pope Alexander VII had Bernini redesign it, but the new reliquary is awe inspiring. Four doctors of the Church, two Latin and two Greek, lightly hold the large bronze case that contains St. Peter’s chair. Each corner gently rests on the very tip of the Saints fingers, which symbolizes the strength of the church when Christendom is united beneath the Pope. Stucco clouds surround the chair making it seem as if it were floating in heaven, and little Putti and angels play above it. This scene is reminiscent of Raphael’s contemporary works, which were a huge inspiration to Bernini. Above the chair and encompassed by all of the Putti and Angels is a yellow stained glass window with the form of a dove in the center. There are twelve main parts to the circular window, symbolizing the 12 apostles around God, represented by the dove. When first entering St. Peter’s, the window is perfectly framed by the Baldacchino, a careful and intentional decision by Bernini. Just as he had done with the Baldacchino and the Reliquaries, Bernini brings many different aspects of his piece together to portray one message, the legitimacy of the Papacy. Bernini unites heaven and Christendom around St. Peter’s chair, which is then framed by the Baldacchino, another piece legitimizing Urban and his power. It literally means that the seat of the Papacy presides over the temporal and spiritual worlds, which was a powerful message considering that the Papacy was only in control of a small portion of Italy.

Bernini’s final large contribution to St. Peter’s was commissioned by Pope Alexander VII at the end of Bernini’s life, namely Pope Alexander VII tomb. It would be one of the final large projects undertaken at St. Peter’s. Bernini was 80 years old at the time and only carved the head and hands of Alexander’s figure, but he oversaw the project which was completed by his assistants. The only spot remaining to build a tomb was less than desirable because it had a large door in the middle of it, but Bernini incorporated the door into the tomb. Here again is evidence of Bernini’s true genius. He made the door seem as though it lead into the crypt, or perhaps even the afterlife.

Alexander is portrayed kneeling with a decorative cloak, praying for the triumph of his own soul over death. Above him is half of a dome that is very reminiscent of the Pantheon, appropriate because Alexander was so interested in redecorating the Pantheon. He is surrounded by the four cardinal virtues, Prudence, Justice, Charity, and Truth, who are themselves enveloped in a Sicilian marble drapery. Behind them is the Chigi family crest, seeing as Alexander is a member of the Chigi family. Above the door and below the Pope’s figure is that of death, holding an hourglass that represents time as he pulls the cloak away from the Alexander and the Virtues. As a matter of fact, Bernini only personally carved the head and hands of Alexander since he was 80 years old himself.
Truth is by far the most interesting figure in the entire tomb.

She is portrayed nude, holding a sun as she usually does since light uncovers the truth. Her foot gently rests on the globe, and more specifically upon England. Death, representing time, pulls the large drapery away from truth, representing the idea that in time the truth will be revealed. The reference to England directly references the Anglican church that gave Alexander so many problems during his lifetime. Bernini sends the message that in time, the truth will be revealed for Anglican England. Every piece of artwork that Bernini was ever involved with has a deeper meaning than that which is evident upon first examination.

In conclusion, all of the art that Bernini contributed to St. Peter’s Basilica had one message in that it was meant to legitimize the authority of the Pope on earth and in heaven. Historically, Rome had been a place of great decadence until the turn of the 17th century, and Urban was determined to bring back the extravagance of the arts. Pope Urban VIII seized the opportunity to use Baroake artwork to portray a message of Papal legitimacy, therefore returning the Papacy to a position of prestige. This is why he chose the Baroake master, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, as his artist. Bernini portrayed the political agenda of the Papacy throughout St. Peter’s, and in a way that inspires the viewer. He was a master of art, defining the artistic styles of the Baroque, and a master of politics and propaganda.

Bibliography

Scotti, R.A. “Basilica: The Splendor and the Scandal: Building St. Peter’s”. Viking

Publishing, New York, 2006

Morrisey, Jake. “The Genius in the Design: Bernini, Borromini, and the Rivalry that

Transformed Rome”. William Morrow Publishing, New York, 2005

Scribner, Charles. “Masters of Art: Bernini”. MacMillan Publishing Company, New
York, 1991

Blunt, Anthony. “Roman Baroake”. Pallas Athene Arts, London, 2001

Marder, Tod. “Bernini and the Art of Architecture.” Abbeville Press, New York, 1998

Avery, Charles. “Bernini: Genius of the Baroake”. Little, Brown and Company, Boston,
1997

Kirwin, William Chandler. “Powers Matchless: The Pontificate of Urban VIII, the
Baldachin, and Gian Lorenzo Bernini

Magnuson, Torgil. “Rome in the Age of Bernini”. Humanities Press, New Jersey, 1982

Hollander, Joel. “Bernini and the Baroake in St. Peter’s Chapel.”
http://newton.uor.edu/facultyfolder/rebecca_brown/old/arth100/empire/Papal/Ber
nini.htm, July 29, 1998

Juvenal Review

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Artemisia and Writing Journal

Artemisia stood next to Veronica, gazing deeply into the white sheet before them.
“You’re not allowed to laugh,” said Artemisia, quickly glancing at the door before taking the white cloth in her hands.
“I won’t,” promised Veronica. A cool breeze fluttered the curtains through an open window on their left. Dark wood glistened in the sunlight. Artemisia gave a slight tug on the drapery and deep colors jumped out from the canvas before them.
“What do you think?” asked Artemisia.
“Well it certainly is beautiful, but…”
“But what? Oh, I knew you wouldn’t like it!”
“No, No, I love it… it just seems a little out of proportion.”
Artemisia raised one of her eyebrows and crossed her arms, looking into the painting again. “What do you mean ‘It’s out of proportion’?” she asked.
Veronica sighed and approached the painting.
“This big guy with the funny hat is about 10 times bigger than these little fellows in the windows above. Why didn’t you make them all the same size? That would have made sense.”
“Haven’t you ever seen a painting before!” she exclaimed. “The men in the window are smaller because they are supposed to be further back than the guy with the ‘funny hat’.”
“Well why didn’t you make them seem further back then?”
“I did. Can’t you see that they are a little fuzzy and off in the distance? Look at how the wall is behind all of the main figures.”
“I just think that it would make more sense if they were all the same size, that’s all. You made the big guy in the middle much bigger than the men around him too.”
“I was trying to get across his status with the hierarchy of the figures.” Artemisia exclaimed.
“Well I don’t rightly know what all those big words mean, but it looks funny. Let’s just forget about it. So who is this guy anyways?” Veronica gestured towards the man in the center.
“He’s Saint Januaris, the Patron Saint of Naples. He is sentenced to death by a fiery furnace, but he survives so they throw him into a coliseum with lions and bears, but they lick his feet. Finally they just decapitate him.”
“Well why does he still have a head then?”
“He is still in the coliseum!”
“Oh, I get it. So why are you painting the Patron Saint of Naples? We’re in Rome. Shouldn’t you paint the Patron Saint of Rome? That looks like the Coliseum behind him. And why is that dog licking his foot?”
“It isn’t a dog!” claimed Artemisia. “It doesn’t even remotely look like a dog. Look at his whiskers and ears; haven’t you read about Saint Januaris before? And if you must know, I’m painting St. Januaris because the Archbishop of Pozzuoli asked me to.”
“Don’t you feel special?” Veronica replied. “Archbishop of Pozzuoli… you must have done a lot of ‘work’ to get his attention.”
“How dare you! You know I have never done anything of the sort. He’s a man of God for Christ’s sake! Can we just focus on my painting for one moment! You’re mind wanders like that of a child.” Silence overtook them for a few moments as they gazed at the painting.
“I still say it looks like a dog,” Veronica stated.
“It does not look like a dog! I don’t know what kind of dogs you have seen, but they must resemble giant ferocious African cats. And I suppose you think that the bear is a mongoose.”
“No, it’s much too large to be a mongoose.”
“So the mongoose is too large, but the little people are too small.”Veronica gave her a funny look.
“So it is supposed to be a mongoose?”
“NO! It isn’t a Mongoose. I was saying that to be funny. You never answered my question… have you read the story of St. Januaris or not.”
“You know I can’t read. Oh don’t give me that look. You can’t read either, remember?”
“I have been learning, thank you very much. You need learn when to hold you tongue.”
“Since when did you start speaking so proper-like? Trying to move up in the world ‘eh?” and with that Veronica gave a short giggle.
“Do you have any other questions about the painting or not? I wanted you to give me feedback, which is why I showed you.”
“Well, other than the little people and the dog, it seems to be pretty good. I take it he is a Saint from the way he is dressed?”
“I already told you he was a saint Veronica.”
“Well, the manner in which you apostocritate the characters of the scene…”
“Are you mocking me? You’re just jealous that I am actually learning and making a living while you can’t even find a man who will take you!”
“Well if you are going to get pushy about it, I believe that I will leave you and the Archbishop of Pozzuoli to your ‘studying’.” Artemisia looked at the sky as if searching within her brain.
“What does that even mean?” Veronica turned and left without giving her reply, leaving Artemisia alone in the sunlit room. She stared at her painting and sighed, getting out her paints and brushes in the same way that she had done so for years.
“I am going to make sure that no one ever calls my lion a dog again,” she muttered under her breath as she lit into the painting for one last time.

Writing Assignment
I chose to write according to style A because I felt that a conversation between two characters outside of the painting was more realistic than those within the painting. I also felt that it was easier to use the voice of Artemisia and her friend because they are standing in front of her painting, just as we were standing in front of the painting. I also felt that it would be much more of a flow if my characters were not within the painting. The most challenging part of writing dialogue is keeping it interesting. I have found that if you don’t let your mind wander, your dialogue tends to be very boring. I was glad to have a visual work to base my writing off of because whenever I felt that my dialogue was going off track, I merely brought the focus back to the painting. I felt like the biggest difference between Rome and Naples is that in Rome everything is covered with a façade. There are ugly buildings of brick and mildew, but in front there is a huge façade of marble that was created by some famous architect. In Naples, there aren’t any facades. It seemed like the nitty gritty of Italy. I feel that this affected my writing only in that it changed my perceptions. In what way it changed my perceptions, I am not quite sure. I feel that every experience that I have ever had is molding my personality and my perceptions, but I am not always sure how.

Satire Writing Journal

I chose to satirize George Bush using Umbiba because he fit the story so well. He only cares about his own interests to the detriment of his own people. He fits Bush so well! The challenging part of this assignment was to make it funny. To tell the truth, the most challenging part of this assignment was the fact that I have my big presentation today at St. Peter’s and this assignment had to take a backseat. Sorry… I really do enjoy these writing assignments, and I always put a good deal of time into them, but the big presentation is worth more. Anyways, I would describe my character as flat, but then again I would describe George Bush as flat so oh well! I did return to Twain’s excerpt while writing this piece, but it tended to degrade my confidence. Satire is difficult to write, especially when walking in the footsteps of the best satirist in the history of mankind.

Bush Satire

Umbiba glared at the boy before him. A half empty basket of fruit lay at his feet. The shortage was a growing concern for him, but he hadn’t felt it until now. “What are we to fuel his chariot with?” Umbiba cried, but the little boy’s lip began to quiver and he ran away. Umbiba grabbed his walking stick in one hand, the fruit in the other, and hoisted himself up from his stool. Emerging into the cool morning air, he squinted as he peered into the horizon. “Oh Sun God! Take this fruit to feed the flames of your chariot!” Silence overtook the village as they all stared to the west, watching, waiting. People began to look around at each other, awkwardly changing positions before peering into the horizon again. Slowly his chariot appeared, bathing the cracked ground in dry heat. The villager’s cheers echoed through the temple as they turned and looked at Umbiba’s empty basket.
Umbiba turned and hobbled back into the temple, descending down the steps into his quarters. The stool creaked as he relaxed at the table, pulling a small fruit from the fold of his robe and gorging himself on its sweet flesh. His muscles relaxed as it’s juices were pulled into his body. A seed lodged in his throat and it became hard to breathe. He coughed and gagged, but the little boy ran in and gave him the Heimlich. Scattered on the table were the Sacred Fruits, and the little boy glared at Umbiba. He regained his color and offered a fruit to the boy, who took it and ate it. It was more than his little body could handle and he passed out, but now Umbiba would need fruit to sustain him too. The only way to protect his assets would be to keep the Zulus, their rival tribe, away from the Sacred Grove, but how could he do that? When the little boy awoke, Umbiba asked him to ponder on the matter. After a few minutes the boy spoke. “You must go to war with the Zulus.”
Umbiba’s eyes grew wide as the thought permeated his brain. Shooing the boy away, he delighted in his new idea. He was going to declare war against the Zulus. He could gain complete control over the Sacred Grove, and better yet he could gain control over the Zulus. Then two tribes would bring him the fruit of the Sacred Grove. He hobbled back out into the air and let his voice carry throughout the village. “The Zulu Mage has stopped feeding the flames of the Sun God! He is not only causing the pain and suffering of his own people, but he threatens our own safety and way of life!”
Shrieks pounded his eardrums as women fell to the ground crying. Men ran to their homes, gathering their spears and painting their faces. In hordes they raced into the distance, beating their chests and bellowing their best war cries. In a matter of hours they reached the Zulu village, searching for the Zulu mage. For forty days and forty nights they searched the land, and finally they uncovered his lair. Hiding in a giant Dung Beetle ball, the Zulu mage thought he was safe, but what did he know? The warriors brought him back to their Village and great banners were strung from the temple claiming ‘Mission Accomplished’. The women grabbed their husbands and sons in their arms and thanked the Sun God for their protection, but it didn’t last long. Umbiba addressed them again, telling the warriors that they still needed to go protect the Sacred Grove. The men picked up their spears and walked back into the distance, dragging their feet as they moved.
Every morning the little boy would deliver Umbiba a basket of fruit and he would prompt the Sun God to take his chariot across the sky, and he would, but the village had changed. The villagers didn’t stop and watch the horizon like they used too. In fact, most of them glared at Umbiba, making it difficult for him to slip the fruit into his robe without them noticing. Rumors began to spread among the villagers that the Sun God didn’t need the Sacred fruit, and their husbands and sons were putting their lives on the line for no reason. Umbiba reassured them that the Sun God would be favorable to them for spreading the word of their religion, but few fell for his excuses. Soon the little boy began bringing baskets of fruit that were not full. The less fruit that Umbiba was able to eat, the more he began to stutter and twitch. He tried to convince the villager’s to take the fruit from the lone tree that stood at the edge of the village in memory of Arctica Resee, but they would have nothing of it. His warriors had started deserting their posts at the Grove and the Zulus were no longer delivering their fruit.
One day the little boy showed up with an empty basket. Umbiba didn’t emerge from the temple to make his offering, and yet still the Sun God rode across the sky. The people rebelled. The warriors came home and attacked. The temple was left in ashes and Umbiba was forced to join the tribe to the north. You know, the tribesman who say ‘Eh’ all the time. Umbiba was replaced by Obama, and the people were given the power to govern themselves. All of their lands became extremely fertile, producing enough food to feed many tribes. The women became more fertile as well, and the tribe grew at an amazing rate. The flowers smelled sweeter. The cows milk was whiter. Wonderful songs emanated from unknown sources and peace swept over the land. As for Umbiba, no one knows where he has gone. The northern tribe apparently kicked him out as well, and he hasn’t been heard of since. The fact is… no one really cared. All of his mistakes were a thing of the past.

Mark Twain is a God

Italy – extravagant spending, nonsensical decisions, poverty, poor spending
Italian Churches – wealth deposits, state-controlled, exhausted, banks, extravagant,
Italian Clergy – wasteful, playboys, happy, comfortable, blinded by the light, corrupt
Medici – dead and damned, blasphemous, cruelly tyrannized over Florence, curse, trivial, forgotten,
Old Masters – bad artists, adulation of monsters, groveling spirit,
Italian Cities – smelly, dirty, ignorant, people are lazy, hot
Italian People – uncleanly, lazy, poorly dressed, backwards, poorly educated
Papal states – archaic, uneducated, disorderly,
Rome – Discovered, over trodden, overtly religious, corrupt, racist
St. Peter’s – monstrous, outwardly ugly, overbearing, deniable
Coliseum – holy place, theatre, social battleground,
Cliché statements – tiresome, bad taste,
Michelangelo – overly famous
Relics – absurd

“As for the railways – we have none like them. The cars slide as smoothly along as if they were on runners.” Page 188
- I thought that trains did use runners, which is why they are so smooth? By telling the reader that the railway cars run as if on runners while all trains run on runners, Twain is making the reader question pre-held notions which translates into humor.

“All the churches in an ordinary American city put together could hardly buy the jeweled frippery in one of her hundred cathedrals.” Page 190
- I found this amusing only because it is so true! He makes it funny by using the word ‘frippery’ to describe the riches of Italian church.

“And now that my temper is up, I may as well go on and abuse everybody I can think of.” Page 191
- This is hilarious because he is announcing that he is going to abuse people. The word ‘abuse’ is used in such a way as to prepare the reader to laugh. ‘I am going to go on a rampage, so prepare yourself!’ I love Mark Twain.

“Having eaten the friendless orphan – having driven away his comrades – having grown calm and reflective at length – I now feel in a kindlier mood.” Page 192
- I believe this to be funny because Twain is making a mockery of the fact that so many people are getting lost in Italian extravagance. Beggars fall to the wayside and are ‘eaten’.

“It is well the alleys are not wider, because they hold as much smell now as a person can stand, and of course if they were wider they would hold more, and then the people would die.” Page 193
- This statement makes no sense and is therefore hilarious! If alleys get wider, the smell would become less… not more. As for funny words, how about ‘die’. It is so over the top that it becomes funny.

“One portion of the men go into the military, another into the priesthood, and the rest into the shoemaking business.” Page 194
- The generalization here is absurd, and therefore funny. In reading it you see that 1/3 go into the military and another into the priesthood, which isn’t that absurd. However the final third partake in the shoemaking business??? It is so random that it becomes funny.

Mark Twain employs strong sarcasm throughout this entire piece, which is what makes it so enjoyable. He tends to blow things out of proportion and make large generalizations for further humor, but I believe that his most frequent literary device would be sarcasm.

Character Development Writing Journal

I chose to write about Daniel Bergman because I was walking through the Jewish Ghetto on Saturday and felt inspired to write about someone in the Holocaust. I got online to try and find Jewish names, and I came across the story of Daniel Bergman on the United States Holocaust Museum website. He was taken from his family when the German’s raided the ghetto where he lived, and put on a train to Dachau. When he arrived, he was 1 of 3 boys out of 150 who had survived the journey. He actually survived the Holocaust. I was so moved by his story that I wanted to incorporate it into mine. My biggest challenge in making him a complex character was getting his conflicts across without just saying them. I had no problem getting across all of the points that we worked on in class, but trying to portray emotion without just saying what it is was very difficult for me. I also found it hard to develop a character and tell an interesting story at the same time. The conflict that I depict within Daniel is his struggle to deal with the loss of his mother and sister which he blames solely on himself. I find this to be an unsettling theme as the author, not to mention how unsettling the holocaust was. I really just wanted to honor their memory with this piece, as cheesy as that may sound. In order to get this point across I tried to keep the reader wondering ‘Why?’ in the first paragraph. I wanted the reader to question Daniel and the actions of his mother. I wanted the reader to wonder why she is sobbing over a picture of her husband. I really tried to pull the reader into the story by being vague. Otherwise, I just tried to portray Daniels emotions without saying “He was sad.” Again, this was very difficult for me.

Creative Writing Assignment 5

Daniel
By Ethan Jones

Daniel Bergman awoke early Monday morning to the usual sounds of the market below his second story window. He swept his quilt aside and pulled the straps of his tattered overalls over his shoulders. His little sister was asleep in the cot next to his, so he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead before heading into the dining room. He thought he smelled fresh bread and roasted meats so he rushed into the kitchen, sliding across the tile floors, but there wasn’t any food. Only his mother quietly sobbing at the counter, gazing at a photo of his father. His stomach began to tighten, but he held back the tears. He knew that they should have left ages ago, but his mother would have nothing of it. At times, Daniel had even contemplated taking his little sister and leaving, but it would only hurt his mother more. He walked over and put his hand on hers, which only prompted more sobbing. She took him into her arms, hugging him as if she would never see him again. She took his coat off the coat rack and held it for him as he slipped his arms into the scratchy wool. Carefully picking up a white band, she slid it over his arm, making sure that the blue star faced the world.

He kissed her on the cheek and headed down the steps to the street below. Now he could smell bread. There wasn’t any denying it. He raised his nose to the air and followed the aroma around the corner where Mr. Devins was waiting for him. He gave a wave and ushered Daniel in the door, handing him his apron and pointing him to the sink. Daniel mindlessly stuck his hands beneath the cool stream. He shook the cold moisture from his hands and set to mixing and kneading the dough. His mind began to wander, remembering days of green grass and friendly games, but it all snapped back into focus. “You’re in charge,” Mr. Devins exclaimed. Bells jingled and he was gone. Daniel stood behind the counter with his mouth open, unsure of what to do. He searched for something comfortable to him, realizing this was the best way to avoid disappointment. He began mixing, kneading, and baking like he never had before. Hours passed by as if they were seconds, and when time actually caught up with Daniel he had already filled up the storefront with fresh pastries.

Daniel saw Mr. Devins run across the front window and into the shop, sweat dripping from his brow as he struggled to regain his breath. “We have to go!” he yelled. “They didn’t take the bribe.” He opened the register and grabbed all the cash, spilling coins all over the floor. Daniel hadn’t even considered that they wouldn’t take the bribe. He grabbed his coat and ran out the door for home, but Mr. Devins grabbed him claiming that there wasn’t any time. Pain filled his chest as he realized he may be too late. He couldn’t leave his Mother and Sister alone, but if they had already left he wouldn’t make it to Mr. Devins cellar in time. Before he knew it he was descending into a dank hole. The Devins family was already hiding there, but he couldn’t make out the pale faces of his own family. They knew that they were supposed to go straight to the Devins cellar if anything happened. Panic set in as Daniel realized his family was still in danger.
He sprung from the hole, sprinting through vacant streets towards a vain hope. He raced around the corner and faced a line of green, rhythmically echoing as they approached. He sprinted up the stairs to his door, fumbling with the keys as he tried to unlock it. He flung it open but found nothing. He realized that he was too late. His legs lost their strength and flung him to the floor. His mind spun with images of his mother and sister, and just before he lost consciousness he saw his father, shaking his head in disapproval.

When Daniel woke up, he smelled the stench of human decay. The floor rocked back and forth beneath him amidst repetitive squeaks and squeals. The only light emanated from a small window to his right, which was covered by large steel bars. Beyond the window were green trees that streaked past him under the dusk sky. He couldn’t think about anything but his failure though. Daniel rolled over and threw up, finding himself staring into the eyes of decay. He tried to stand up, but couldn’t. ‘What ifs’ began to scamper through his head. What if he had taken his family and left sooner? What if he had gone straight home instead of going to Mr. Devins cellar? He felt a pang of fear, which translated into denial. They may still be alive. He couldn’t die now and leave them without hope! He felt energy surge into his legs as he stood again. Daniel looked around and noticed that few others were standing in the sweltering heat. In fact, most of them were pale and lifeless. One beam of light landed on a man in the corner, illuminating the blue star on his shoulder.

When the large door was finally pulled open, Daniel was among 3 men of the 150 in the car whose hearts were still beating. He stared into the face of the soldier below him, and felt his stomach turn. He felt like taking the man’s life into his hands and extinguishing it in the most painful way possible. The soldier stuck out his hands for support, but Daniel didn’t take them. He dangled his feet over the steely edge and fell to the platform below. They carted him along rows of tangled steel, and dropped him in the wet mud. He looked up and saw the faces of his mother and sister looking down at him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before succumbing to the torture of his journey.

http://www.ushmm.org/museum/exhibit/online/phistories/

Reading Journal Eliot

Dorothea is best defined by the words “scared”, “lonely”, “confused”, “growing”, and “emotional”. Mr. Casaubon is best defined by the words “educated”, “unemotional”, “professional”, “workaholic”, and “indecisive”. Will Ladislaw is best defined by the words “respectful”, “spiteful”, “witty”, “flirt”, and “impassioned”. Pg. 182

Dorothea: “Permanent rebellion, the disorder of a life without some loving reverent resolve, was not possible to her; but she was now in an interval when the very force of her nature heightened its confusion.”

Dorothea: “She wanted to rebel, but she knew it would only confuse the situation.”

Mr. Casaubon: “On other subjects indeed Mr. Casaubon showed a tenacity of occupation and an eagerness which are usually regarded as the effect of enthusiasm…” pg. 185

Mr. Casaubon: “Mr. Casaubon found his passion in his work, rather than his personal life.”

Will Ladislaw: “he was divided between the impulse to laugh aloud and the equally unseasonable impulse to burst into scornful invective.”

Will Ladislaw: “Will thought Mr. Casaubon to be absurd, and could barely keep himself from bursting into laughter, or rather curses.”

When designing characters for fiction, Eliot finds it imperative that the author, “give no more than a faithful account of men and things as they have mirrored themselves in my mind.” She feels that characters should follow their character in the story as well. For instance a faulty character should be on the wrong side whereas the virtuous ones are on the right. I do think that she follows this format because her characters seem like they could be real based on their actions and emotions. She also puts her characters into a place in the story that fit their character. Dorothea is confused and therefore she maintains a position as the main character who is at the center of all of the story’s problems because of her confusion.

Autobiography Reading Journal

Benvenuto portrays himself as a talented artist with noble background. He makes a point to show that he is an amazing musician, but is an even better goldsmith. As a reader I really got the feeling that he was a genius, and even when he was banished from the city it was because he was so talented. Andre, on the other hand, portrays himself as a humble traveler who is lucky enough to spend his time in Rome. He falls in love with the city and humbly passes on his knowledge to the next weary traveler who stumbles upon the city.
As for which author is more conscious of the reader, I would definitely claim that Benvenuto is more conscious. He spends 2 pages trying to get across the point that he is of very noble birth. Then he tries to make you believe that he is one of the most skilled musicians to ever grace the face of the earth. He was even so gifted that he could completely deny his natural talents as a musician for his natural talents as a goldsmith. Benvenuto is obviously trying to get across a feeling of nobility and skill to the reader. Andre, on the other hand, is trying to make you feel as if you are in Rome experiencing the city as he is. However his presentation isn’t as strong as Benvenuto’s because you get lost in all the names and places of his piece whereas Benvenuto’s is straight forward.
Andre is much more convincing than Benvenuto for all the reasons already stated. He confuses you with all of these names and places that move like oceans or awaken your senses. I truly believe that Andre was at these places that he describes, especially since we are in Roma right now. Benvenuto is so outlandish that it becomes hard to believe.

Short Fable Writing Journal

I am learning how difficult it is to write within prompts. Sure, in this assignment we didn’t have to have a moral, but we had to write in the first person which made it difficult. It is difficult to write a fictional story in the first person about an event that has happened in your life. It has to be believable, meaning no fairies and such, but I never had fairies in my stories. I learned that I need to work on writing creatively within a strict format and structure. I think that my story turned out well, but it was very difficult.

Short Fable w/o Moral

The night air refreshed my senses as I sat on the bench. Tall lights illuminated the baseball field that sprawled out before me. It was the last out of the game, and my team still had a chance. Red jerseys stood on each base, and down by 3 runs we just needed a double to tie the game. A home run would have been nice, because then we would win the game, but I didn’t think about that. I saw that the wind was blowing out to the leftfield wall as Jeremy, my power hitter, was up to bat. The crowd chanted his name as he walked to the batter’s box, but I could see that he was nervous. He stepped into the box and I caught his legs shaking a bit. The first pitch sailed high and I heard the nauseating crack of the ball hitting Jeremy’s helmet. He laid in a heap at the plate as I ran out to see if he was alright. He was seeing stars, but he was able to get to first base. Only 2 more runs to tie the game, but I didn’t know who to send to the plate?
I ran over to my assistant coach and we discussed our options. There was Joey, who couldn’t make it to first base if he tried, so he wasn’t an option. Then there was Nate, but he hadn’t gotten a hit all season. We scanned the bench and found George. George was a 5’2” sophomore who worked harder than anyone else on the team, but for some reason nothing ever clicked for him. He could throw hard, but never accurately. He could swing really well, but he never made contact. He was my best option though, so I decided to put him in. I called George’s name, and he waddled up to my side. All of the parents gave me funny looks, but they didn’t understand our situation. I told him he was in, and his eyes lit up. He grabbed his stuff and walked onto the field.
I watched him as he stuffed his helmet onto his thick head. It wasn’t on right, but I didn’t say anything. He needed to focus on his at bat. He stepped into the batter’s box and swung his bat around in preparation. The pitcher took his sign, and began his windup. Before he had even let go of the pitch, I watched George take his stride and swing with all his might. By the time the pitch was released, George was already done with his swing, his eyes tightly clamped shut. “Open your eyes,” I yelled to him. I couldn’t even watch. Just let him put it into the outfield, I thought.
The pitcher took his sign again, and this time George was right on time. I saw his body flex as he whipped the bat through the strike zone, but again I heard the dead ‘thunk’ of the ball hitting the catcher’s mitt. I called for time out, and beckoned George over to me. “All you have to do is make contact with the ball. I want you to think in your head ‘see the ball, hit the ball’.” George repeated the chant to me and scuffed his way back to the batter’s box. There were two strikes and I knew that George was done for. The pitcher was going to throw a curve ball and the game would be over. I felt the weight of the sorrow on my shoulders
George kicked some dirt out of the batter’s box before taking his stance. I could see his lips muttering the chant. See the ball, hit the ball. See the ball, hit the ball. The pitcher entered his windup and threw a curve ball. I could see the ball spinning through the air as if it were a hatchet spinning into the heart of my team. My muscles tensed as I saw that George was going to swing. Again he swung with everything he had, but this time I heard the ping of a metallic bat. I watched as the ball sailed deep into the outfield. I raced from the dugout screaming “GO! GO! GO!”, ushering the ball deeper and deeper into the outfield. It flew deep into the dark April sky. The crowd erupted in cheers as the ball cleared the left field fence. I ran to meet George as he ran around the bases. I picked him up and placed his squat body on my shoulders. “I’m sorry for doubting you,” I said. He winked at me and continued his revelry. We had won the game, and I still can hardly believe it.

Fable Journal 2

It actually was very difficult for me to determine an anecdote to use in my fable. I fumbled and even began writing on multiple ideas, but none of them seemed to have the feeling that I was going for. As for my resolution, it is definitely a positive resolution. Junior learns that he needs to work hard to get further in life, and when he does work hard he earns the right to his father’s business. The moral explicit moral of my story is that hard work pays off, but my implicit moral is that it isn’t worth doing if it isn’t done right. I do think that my both of my reversal’s come across successfully because when Junior changes his mindset, it is pretty blatant. When Frankie changes his mind about Junior, it is pretty blatant as well. I do think that it shocked the reader as well. It shocked me at least, and I am the one who wrote it. I most definitely returned to Machiavelli for help with my fable, especially with the context. I am still a little confused about how setting up the background of the story is different than the context, so I just followed Machiavelli. The most challenging part of this assignment was using the fable structure. I felt like I had to go to certain places with my fable that I would not have gone had I just written a story. This happened most during the context section. I had some problem with the context. I really didn’t enjoy the structure of this assignment, but as a loose structure for future assignments I can see its value. I kind of just like writing by the seat of my pants if you will.

Fable

Frankie rose slowly out of bed as a grimace spread across his face. His shoulder was bothering him again, but he had to go to work. He showered and headed for the kitchen where Julie, his wife, was making breakfast. “Is Junior awake yet?” Frankie asked with a saddened expression. Julie gave no answer, continuing to crack eggs into a sizzling pan. He peaked into the living room where he saw Junior drooling on the arm of the couch. “I think it’s time that I taught him how to run the shop.” Julie looked at Frankie and nodded. “We can discuss it over dinner tonight.” Frankie took some aspirin and ate his eggs before heading to the butcher shop. The day went by slowly and the aspirin wore off about noon, leaving Frankie in pain.
When he got home that night, Junior had woken up and was eating dinner. Frankie sat down and sighed. “Tomorrow I think you should come to work with me. I think it’s time you started learning the business.” Julie added that, “it would be great to keep the business in the family.” They all discussed it over dinner until Junior had run out of excuses. It was decided that Junior was going to learn the business.
The next morning Frankie woke with a start. His shoulder hurt again, but he was excited to be passing on his legacy to Junior. Junior had woken up too, but he seemed a little less enthusiastic. After a filling breakfast, Julie wished her son luck at work. Frankie kissed her on the cheek and they were off. On the car ride over Frankie spoke energetically about the different kinds of meat and the ways to cut them. Junior nodded every few sentences, but didn’t say much.
They got to the shop and Frankie began to run through all of the different chores that were necessary to maintain a healthy environment. Junior’s first task was to mop the floors. Frankie showed him how he was supposed to mop the floors in sections going one direction, and then another. He mopped a small section in the crisscross pattern that he had explained, and then handed the mop over to Junior. “I’ll be in the back, so come get me when you’re done.”
He started out mopping in sections just as his dad had showed him. Back and forth. Back and forth. The monotony of the job sent his mind spinning in all directions. He was sailing on the salty sea, and then wading through waist high waters in the Amazon. The mop kept moving back and forth, back and forth. An hour later Frankie emerged from the back to see how Junior was doing. He had mopped one section of the floor, and was leaning on the mop with his eyes closed. “Junior!” Frankie yelled. Junior was so startled that he slipped on the mop and fell to the floor. “Why haven’t you mopped! We have to open in 15 minutes and the floors aren’t done.” Frankie grabbed Junior’s hand and helped him to his feet. “The floors are just going to have to be dirty today. I need your help in the back.”
Junior waddled behind his father into the back of the shop. Sitting on the table were all different kinds of meat, none of which Junior recognized. Frankie walked over to the meat slicing machine and asked Junior for a ham. Junior grabbed a red piece of something that flopped as he walked over to give it to Frankie. “This is cow’s tongue. I said ham. Weren’t you listening in the car this morning?” Junior walked over to the table and tried again. The truth is that Junior hadn’t been listening and had no idea which meat his dad was asking for. He grabbed a lighter colored slab of meat and presented it to his father. Frankie took the meat and set it back down on the table. He grabbed another slab saying, “This is ham. Can’t you stay focused for one minute?” Junior looked at the ground, unable to meet his dad’s eyes. He heard his dad slicing the meat in the background. After he had finished, Frankie said, “Why don’t you just go home and come back when you are ready to concentrate.”
On the way home, Junior thought about what his dad had said. He didn’t want to disappoint his parents, but this was about more than that. He figured that if he didn’t start focusing on his life, he might as well never had had one. He was determined to stop getting lost in his own thoughts and actually work hard for once. He turned around and walked back to the shop. His father was somewhere in the back, so Junior grabbed the mop and began to vigorously scrub the floors. He did it in sections, first in one direction and then the other. When he finished the floors shined like new.
Then he set to studying the charts on the walls that explained the different cuts of meat. He learned the difference between ham and filet mignon. He learned which parts of a chicken are the most tender and which parts of a turkey comprise of dark meat. He studied the many different cuts of a cow and lamb until he could look at the meat in the window and name all the different types.
Finally he went into the back where his dad was sitting with his head in his hands. He grabbed a slab of ham and began to slice it just as he had seen his dad slice it. “What are you doing?” Frankie asked. Junior grabbed a slice of ham and gave it to his father. “I am slicing the rear posterior section of a ham into quarter inch slices so as to keep the meat tender and easy to use,” exclaimed Junior. Then he grabbed a turkey and began to carve it, explaining everything he was doing to his dad. Frankie was so impressed at the change in Junior’s mindset that he set to work alongside him. They worked the entire day next to each other, and Junior didn’t make one mistake. He stayed focused and professional for hours on end.
That night when they were closing up shop Frankie handed the keys to Junior. “You have proven to me that you are ready to run your shop.” Junior accepted the keys from his father and locked the front door.

Fable Journal 1

The context is set in Balfagor during the first paragraph, where the narrator tells that story of all the men in hell and why they were so miserable, which apparently is because of their wives. I read over our documents and really didn’t understand what you were asking in your question about the three context elements, so I will have to post on this after I get a little clarity. The turning point of the story is on page 423, when the narrator states that, “All of this was, for Roderigo, the cause of much misery.” I chose this as the turning point because everything goes downhill after this sentence, and everything hinges on this sentence as well. In order to appease his new wife, Roderigo buys her everything she ever wanted as well as employing her family. Of course this doesn’t appease her, but rather adds fuel to her fiery temper. I would guess that the moral is that you shouldn’t get a wife, which is explicitly spelled out throughout the story. This doesn’t seem like a real moral though, so I guess I missed something. The reversal in the story occurs when Rodrigo’s brothers in law lose all of his wealth, and he is forced to beg for the help of another. The other reversal in the story is when the old man who helped protect Rodrigo tricks him into going back to hell. This would be the reversal for the old man as the main character in the second half, but it can also be interpreted as the resolution for Rodrigo. He determines that wives are actually the cause of much misery. I found the sexism in this story to be amazingly blatant, and almost amusing.

Myth Journal 2

Why did you choose the characters that you did for your myth?

First I went into my room and grabbed my bat, for I have found that swinging a bat helps me think. I paced our apartment and discussed with Jeff what truths we have today. After a few less than perfect ideas, I came up with the idea of sleep. Sleep is definitely a truth that no one can avoid, so I went to my glossary and began to look up different characters that I could use. I found Atalanta on the first or second page, and in reading her description I knew she was perfect. She was a virgin huntress who would race heroes as a sort of wager. If she won she would kill the hero, but if she lost she would marry the hero. So it was settled that my story was going to be a race for love, but I still needed a hero. I continued in the glossary for a hero that was human, seeing as Gods can’t die, and I came up with Diomedes. He was a Greek hero of the Trojan war who was remembered for the rest of his life for his prowess in battle. I had found characters that would make an interesting story.

Did you find the employment of metaphor in your piece challenging or natural?

At first it wasn’t hard employing a metaphor in my piece. I just claimed that the reason we all sleep is to commemorate the sacrifice of Diomedes in the name of true love. However after I finished writing my myth, I realized that I had not clearly defined the metaphor. I went back and changed a few things so that no one can miss the metaphor, but I am still a little unsure as to its effectiveness.

How did your choice of point of view from which you told your myth the telling of it and what response do you expect your readers to have because of it?

I used third person in my myth because I wanted the reader to be able to evaluate the situation without bias. If I had taken the point of view of one character, I don’t feel that it would have been as effective in getting the whole story across. I wanted the reader to have a movie playing in his head while he/she read my myth. I expect the reader to be somewhat separated from the story, however I also feel that I was effective in portraying the emotions of the characters. Therefore I feel that separating the reader from the story does not hurt the emotional connection that the reader may have with the characters.

Why did you choose to use dialogue between the characters?

I decided to use dialogue between Diomedes and Atalanta to further portray emotion. With Diomedes words I expressed his sudden realization of love for Atalanta, almost to the point of absurdity. With Atalanta’s dialogue I felt that I portrayed her cold withdrawn nature, which is broken down at the end of the story. I have always felt that dialogue is an effective means of portraying the true character of the characters.

What was the most challenging part of this assignment?

The most challenging part of this assignment was thinking of a truth that wasn’t corny or shallow. For instance, I was thinking of things like ‘Why we wear shoes’ and ‘Why we shower every day’. The obvious problem is that everyone doesn’t wear shoes and shower every day. Therefore, when Jeff said that he was going to write about ‘Why we all die’, it clicked in my head. Why we sleep is still debated by scientists to this day, and therefore it was the perfect subject of a modern day myth. It definitely took a long time brainstorming to determine this though.

Modern Day Myth

Race through the Canyon
Myth by Ethan Jones
1-13-07

Diomedes stood overlooking the fields of Baghdad, breathing heavily as sweat fell from his brow. Before him stretched fields of the dead and dying, their cries permeating the dark night sky. American soldiers raised their guns to the heavens, chanting Diomedes name. His prowess in battle would mark him as a hero for the rest of his life, but he was done with battle. Diomedes resolved that he would find a wife and raise a family, safely withdrawn from the death and destruction of war.
He flew home to Sedona, Arizona and began his quest, but he could not find a woman that suited him. Many women fell deeply in love with Diomedes strength and reputation, but none truly loved Diomedes for who he was. Diomedes hiked into the Arizona canyons, trying to clear his mind of his failures at love when he saw a woman in the distance. Her beauty was so pristine and her heart so pure that Diomedes fell in love instantly. He raced towards the woman and took her by the arm. “My dearest beauty, bless me with the knowledge of your name so that I might ask for your hand in marriage!”
The woman wasn’t shocked, for this had happened to her many times before. “Diomedes, I have heard of your prowess in battle and for this reason I shall give you my name. I am Atalanta.” Diomedes immediately dropped to his knee and proposed marriage to the young Atalanta, but she refused. “If you are to marry me Diomedes, you must first prove that your worthy. You must race me to the end of this canyon, and if you beat me I will accept your offer of marriage.” Diomedes looked into the distance, searching for the end of the canyon, but he couldn’t see it. He figured that he had to try, so he agreed to race her to the end of the canyon. She counted down from three. Three, two, one, GO! They raced off the line sprinting into the distance. Diomedes took an early lead, and eventually he pulled out of sight of Atalanta.
Diomedes began to slow down as the heat and thirst started eating away at his strength. Atalanta was nowhere in sight, so Diomedes stopped to get a drink at the lazy river that meandered through the canyon. Taken by the serenity and beauty of the river, he barely noticed the gentle patter of Atalanta as she sprinted past him. He sprang from the river bank and struggled to catch up with her. Upon reaching her side, he noticed that she did not have a bead of sweat on her face. Her beautiful figure wasn’t fatigued in any way. An hour passed by, and then two. Diomedes struggled against his thirst but still began to slow his pace, falling behind Atalanta. The end of the canyon still could not be seen on the horizon, and Diomedes realized he was outmatched.
“Are you ready to give up yet,” exclaimed Atalanta. There was not a single sign of fatigue in her voice and her pace remained steady. Diomedes was beyond any physical exertion that he had ever experienced, but he could not give up the love of his life. He pumped harder, taking his place at Atalanta’s side once again. She looked at him with concerned eyes, realizing that no suitor had ever made it this far into the canyon without giving up and returning home. Diomedes gasped for air, struggling to stay on his feet. The hot air burned his lungs with every breath, and he could feel that the skin had rubbed off the bottoms of his feet. Diomedes succumbed to the heat and fell to the sandy ground, watching his love disappear into the distance. He died in the sand, having given everything for his chance at love.
Atalanta returned to his body and wept. He had proven that he was worthy of her love, and yet it took death to prove as much. She carried the body of her true love into a nearby cave and buried him. Atalanta prayed to the Gods that he never be forgotten as long as humanity survived, and the Gods obliged. Every living animal on earth began to feel their eyelids drop. Dogs curled up under trees while birds returned to their nests. The world fell into a deep sleep to remember Diomedes eternal sleep in the name of true love. This is why all living beings sleep every day. It is in remembrance of Diomedes sacrifice for true love.

Myth Journal Entry

In Invisible Cities, Calvino portrays transformation through an overarching theme of contrast. He transforms the readers perceptions of a city using descriptions which are sometimes shocking and always provoke some emotion. Metamorphoses, on the other hand, uses a more literal mean of transformation throughout its myths. A perfect example is the myth of Apollo, where he transforms from being without love to being immersed in love in the matter of a few pages. Other Ovid myths mirror this transformation in the main character from one extreme to the other. A definite similarity in the texts deals directly with their different uses of transformation. Although different, the effect that Ovid and Calvino is very similar. They wanted to draw out intense emotion within the reader using the transformation of their cities or main characters.
In Ovid’s work the relationship between God’s and humans is comical. The god’s sit upon their thrones in Olympus, and every now and again they may come to the earth and pose as a mortal. They are much higher than mortals in their status, as well as their lifespan, but they are not much higher in their emotional maturity. The god’s have a very similar intellect as humans, and are therefore subject to the same emotional downfall’s as humans.
While reading this creation myth I drew connections with the book of genesis, considering this is one of the most famous creation myth’s that there are. They both speak of a void that once existed in place of humanity, until of course God decided to create earth and humans. They both were also very similar in that they had a theme of corruption, which is remedied by a giant flood of course. Ovid’s tone in his Metamorphoses follows the tone of the story. For instance, his tone is very somber in the myth where the echo loses her body and only her voice remains. It generally tends to follow the mood of the myth.
The Demeter and Persephone myths were very different in their treatment of their main characters. In the Demeter myth, the characters are all very realistic. When Demeter is pulled into the underworld, you can feel her fear. You can truly feel the emotions of the different characters, such as her heartbroken mother, or the famished and dying mortals. The Persephone myth has very fictional characters, such as the all too innocent Persephone. King Pluto seemed very perverted in his actions, considering Persephone sounded like she was 11 years old. Her mother was the most realistic character of the myth, and even she wasn’t very believable when she showed angst at losing her daughter. This can be seen best at the end of the myth when Persephone says that she ate the 6 pomegranate seeds, and her mother reacts by saying something to the point of, “Aw shucks!” It was much less believable than the Demeter myth.

Invisible Cities Assignment 3

Ethan Jones 1-8-07
Invisible Cities Assignment 3

The easiest theme to write for was the city without a theme, because there were no guidelines. Anything that came to mind could be incorporated into the city without worrying whether it would muddle the focus of the city or not. The descriptions without a theme were easier to write as well. Having strict guidelines to write by can actually hinder your creativity, so the city without a theme allowed me to express whatever came to mind in terms of description. The most difficult part of the assignment was writing cities that incorporated the themes used without repeating the city that Calvino wrote. I often found myself writing a very similar city to what Calvino wrote, and I had to go back and rewrite it. Calvino’s use of language was very appealing because he did such a good job with his own stories, however it was awkward incorporating the quotes into my own stories. I have different word choices then Calvino, and I feel it resulted in the quotes being quite obvious. I actually didn’t worry about writing in the same style of language as Calvino, because I felt that I could express my own ideas through my own word choice much better than using Calvino’s word choice. Rome in fact does seem like an invisible city to me, just because of how many things make such little sense to me. For instance, the driver’s are always in such a rush to get from point a to point b so that they can spend hours eating a meal or taking a nap. Rushing to relax… oh what irony! If I had to write about Rome I would most definitely choose contrast as my theme. Many of Rome’s peculiarities are in direct contrast with other Roman peculiarities.

Invisible Cities Assignment 2

Deception
I walked due north of Guajira for two days into the frigid north until I reached Iscalda, the city of perceptions. From afar Iscalda seemed a diamond that I could reach out and pull from the horizon, but as I approach I realize that Iscalda was made entirely of ice. There are no plants in Iscalda, and for that matter there is no green. Iscalda is merely an icy glimmer in the sunlight. Guards stand on the inside of the city walls, peering at me through the icy haze as I approach from the south. In fact, I can see all of the inhabitants of Iscalda with one general glance, peering through the layers of icy walls that protect Iscalda from the elements. Women bathe in hot springs that arise in their gardens while children play games in the streets. Men search tirelessly for something that they have lost, but can not find. The city is melting, and young men stand on ladders attempting to reshape the melted and rounded edges of buildings to their original ninety degree perfection. The city moves together, as one.
I addressed one of the men who was searching for his lost treasure, but he didn’t respond. No one responds to outsiders in Iscalda as you can never see anyone but through a sheet of ice, fueling the myth that there is not a society in Iscalda, but rather a single family. The images of men searching for their belongings is not one hundred men, but rather one who is reflected by the ice and sunlight. The beautiful women bathing in the hot springs are merely one. No one has ever found the true inhabitants of Iscalda, and my search was unsuccessful as well. The truth will someday be brought forth, for Iscalda is melting, and the people will no longer be able to hide in their frozen aquatic realm. Their secret and adventurous lives will be made known to the world. As of now, the people of Iscalda remain hidden in their cities depths.

Abyss
The city of Underma greets travelers with its plentitude of lights, seen from 100 miles in every direction. Beautiful women line the streets beckoning men to fulfill their every desire, for a small fee of course. Sports of various kinds occur at all times of the day and night, and many bet their fortunes on a single turn. Blood sports draw the largest crowds, and grand arena’s that seat over 100,000 people fill their stands every night. Expensive drinks become addictive at their mere sight, and men and women alike fall under their greedy spell. Many explorers find this to be their final destination, but not by choice. The beautiful women who line the streets were once explorers, as well as the bartenders and the ticket salesman. The men who fight to the death in the battle arenas were once explorers. Underma is an unjust city, a city where life is not happy. Explorer’s lose their fortunes and are forced to work to serve other explorer’s, but no one ever escapes. The city seems happy and fun to those outside its walls. They see the lights, and the games, and the parties, but those inside do not see the lights. They live in the perpetual darkness which they created through their own desires. The inhabitants of Underma look out across the desolate desert which surrounds their city without hope, for few who indulge in the wonders of this terrible city ever escapes. It stands as a black hole which lets many in, but few out.
I was one of the lucky few who did not fall under the spell of Underma. I was not tempted by the desires of man, but I was lucky. I have desires of another sort, for I travel to seek new distant lands, whereas those explorer’s stuck in Underma sought different desires. We all fall victim to our desires, and Underma is the final resting place for those victim’s, caught in a whirlpool that will never let them free. Underma is not a city, but rather an abyss.

Simplicity
Jurimia lies at a latitude of 45 degrees north by 45 degrees west on a modern globe, spreading out 2 miles in every direction from this point. This circle, with a diameter of 4 miles exactly, is encircled by a wall that stands 9 feet 4 inches high at every point. Jurimia’s central point is located at the top of a hill, and upon this point stands a statue of a sphere, perfectly symmetrical. The building surround this statue at perfect intervals, allowing for streets that lie 30 feet across. Buildings all utilize the strength of arches, the half circle, in their architecture, and for this reason there has been no restoration of Jurimia for quite some time. As one person dies another is born, maintaining a stable population of 1 million. Every family is assigned a duty within society, and this duty is carried out at an exact time to maintain order. There is no need for currency due to this assignment of duties, for Jurimia is at full employment, and therefore everyone takes care of one another. Every century there is one holiday on the 45th day of the 45th year, where the people of Jurimia make a pilgrimage to pay tribute to the perfection of the sphere by gathering at the center of the city. Here they praise the perfection of the sphere, which serves as a guideline for their entire past, present, and future. They live upon a sphere, in a city that is a sphere, given life by the sun which is a sphere, and guided by the light of the moon sphere at night. Every aspect of their life is guided by these rules, and its precise patterns.
I arrived in the city and was not allowed entrance until neither the sun nor moon was visible in the sky, so as not to offend its perfection. I wasn’t served by anyone in the city, and was not even recognized outside of a few fearful glances. The strength of their society was in it’s perfection, and outsiders risked the downfall of the entire culture. The moon never denied the eyes of a beholder, and following in the footsteps of the moon the people of Jurimia do not deny entrance to anyone. The people in Jurimia have an indivisible existence.

NO THEME
The ocean waves lap at the western waterfront of Colusteen, the city of jazz. The waves are not as you would remember any waves though, for they crash to a beat. Large bass waves falls in a steady rhythm while smaller waves crash all around the base wave, producing the snare and the symbols. The percussion of the ocean is only matched in it’s beat by the strumming of high voltage wires by an incessant wind that has no known origin. The North side of Colusteen is the most educated and wealthy of these parts, producing with its daily activities the sweet sounds of the saxophones. The South side is only accessible by trains, and as these trains slide along their well oiled tracks the train horns blow sounding just as would a trombone. The Eastside sounds the sweet melody of the trumpets as the people work in factories that buzz notes from their smokestacks. Downtown is filled with the melodic voices of people singing to the happy songs bursting from their wonderful city. Life is renewed with each bar that reverberates from the heart of Colusteen. However as new people like myself enter the city, we change the rate at which the music plays with our emotions. The city gauges the happiness of the people who enter by slowing the music for those who are sad, or speeding up for those who are happy. This is a judgment which no one can avoid if they are to enter this wonderful city. Every person affects the whole sound of the city, and if too many sad people enter the city, the music will become so slow that no one will hear it ever again. I did not enter the city, for I couldn’t bare to face what is truly the song within my heart. But in the distance you can hear the sweet melody that echoes from the heart of Colusteen.

Creative Writing assignment 1

City Name --- Quote --- Theme

Diomira “Streets paved with lead” Warm Remembrance
Isidora “Where perfect telescopes and violins are made” Regret
Dorothea “Women had fine teeth and looked you straight in the eye” Confidence
Zaira “Lines of a hand” Hidden History
Anastasia “the Treacherous city” Lust
Tamara “Your gaze scans the streets as if they were written pages” Deception
Zora “Secret lies in the way your gaze runs over patterns” Simplicity
Despina “Border city between two deserts” Contrast
Zirma “Distinct Memories” Deception
Isaura “city of a thousand wells” Survival
Maurilia “Old post cards” Politically Correct
Fedora “Grey Stone Metropolis” Regret
Zoe “indivisible existence” ambiguity
Zenobia “houses are of bamboo and zinc” controlled growth
Euphemia “City where memory is traded” Collective
Zobeide “Trap” obsession
Hypatia “no language without deceit” Contrast
Armilla “aquatic realm” Hidden Beauty
Chloe “people who move through the streets are all strangers” Imagination
Valdrada “Every face and gesture is answered” Fear
Olivia “Shrouded in a cloud of soot and grease” Deception
Sophronia “One of the half-cities is permanent, the other is temporary” Contrast
Eutropia “Life is renewed” Denial
Zemrude “Mood of the beholder” Life’s Journey
Aglaura “Lost” Mind’s Deception
Octavia “Spider Web City” Uncertainty
Ersilia “ruins of abandoned cities” Human connection
Baucis “Having already everything they need” Disconnected
Leandra “they always criticize” connected separation
Melania “From act to act the dialogue changes” constant dialogue
Esmerelda “Secret and adventurous lives” Intrigue
Phyllis “Scanning a blank page” Lost Passion
Pyrrha “Enclosed like a goblet” Shifting perceptions
Adelma “the beyond is not happy” haunting past
Eudoxia “Screams in the darkness” abyss
Moriana “alabaster Gates” contrast
Clarice “emptied by plagues” Rebirth
Eusapia “Eusapia of the dead” Afterlife
Beersheba “Celestial City” Materialism
Leonia “City is renewed each day” Fear
Irene “Wind brings music of bass drums and trumpets” Mystery
Argia “It is dark” unsought mystery
Thekla “The sky is filled with stars. There is the blueprint.” Fear of Unknown
Trude “The world is covered by a sole trude.” Similarity
Olinda “All of the Olindas that blossomed one from the other” Change
Laudinia “The Cemetary” History
Perinthia “Intersecting lines of the decamanus and the cardo” Order
Procopia “They seem polite” Insanity
Raissa “Life is not happy” Perception
Andria “Every street follows a planets orbit” Symbiotic
Cecilia “Illustrious” Abyss
Marozia “The rats and the swallows” Contrast
Penthesilea “A soupy city diluted in the plain” Encompassing
Theodora “Rats” Control
Berenice “Unjust City” Corruption

Invisible cities was narrated by Marco Polo as he tells his tales to Kublai Khan. Calvino most likely chose Marco Polo as his narrator because of his historical significance to the world. Marco Polo is a significant story in the mind’s of historically inclined people today, and who better to narrate a story about travel and history than a historical icon. It also helps that Marco Polo is Venetian. Calvino changes the way that Marco Polo presents his stories to Kublai from first person to third person. In stories that are meant to leave the reader with a negative feeling (p. 109), Calvino detatches Polo from the story. The story seems to become empty without Marco Polo’s presence. In stories that are meant to leave the reader happy (p. 47), Calvino places Marco into the story so that he can give credence with his first hand account. This is a clever trick by Calvino to alter the perceptions of reader without the reader directly realizing it.