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.
Monday, January 29, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, January 22, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
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.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
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.
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 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.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, January 8, 2007
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 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.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
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.
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.
What I am excited about... and dreading!
I am so excited to be in Rome learning a new language and new culture. However I am dreading leaving my family and friends, but I will make new friends to add to the mix.
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