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.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
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/
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/
Thursday, February 1, 2007
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.
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.
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