Word Choices - AP English Literature - Blog

Confundida Sobre Querencia

My family rides changing winds. We fold our lives into cardboard boxes, kiss the doorframe goodbye and leave without a second glance. Our house changes, but our sense of home travels with us. And it’s just as strong, although having been scrunched into purses and wallets and nestled next to balls of lint, laced with creases. Our coat pockets overflow with it, and we bed with it; I know no matter where I bunk tonight, I will have my home.  All I need is the room where one of three people are. My mother, my father, or my brother.  The houses have cradled, cleaned, cloaked and fed us four, but there would be no querencia for those walls of brick and wood if they had separated us.

Can I write about the common threads within all my houses, that are ultimately tied to my family? Or does it have to be only one place that stands on its own?

 

What Diving Bell? How Reading About Locked-In Syndrome Opened My Mind

The breeze ceased from whistling through the trees for a moment and I looked up from my book. I was seated among my two best friends on a greying porch swing, planted on the crest of a rocky hill. I saw the rolling waves of pine trees, groups of which were brown and dead. A deadly beetle had been sweeping the Black Hills of South Dakota, jumping from branch to branch, infiltrating every tree with which it came into contact. Whenever my dad found patches of pine beetle, especially on our property, he would let out an audible sigh. The natural destruction of the beetle actually affected him emotionally.

But when I glanced up from my book, the trees' fates seemed trivial compared to the torture the author described. The book was The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauxby and it was written by a man with locked-in syndrome. After suffering from a major stroke, Bauxby's entire body was immobilized except for his left eye. He dictated all 130 pages letter by letter; an assistant would read off each letter of the French alphabet in order of which was used most, until he blinked for the one he wanted. The effort required to formulate his thoughts gave each word so much more meaning. There was nothing extravagant; he mentioned nothing that he did not find absolutely vital to demonstrating his struggle.

Bauxby spoke about how frustrating it was to have a mind that was so lively while he was viewed as a vegetable. His determination to prove himself shone through in his poetic prose and moving imagery. Not to mention that the fact that each word had been blinked out gave everything he said so much more weight. It all just felt so well thought-out that it demanded to be appreciated.

My thoughts frequently turned back to Diving Bell this summer as I went about my daily life. I would often complain about having to get up for swim practice and then teach small kids how to swim, only to have an hour break before going back to practice again. I also wanted to keep up with dance and have a social life. At times, it felt extremely overwhelming, especially with college applications and senior year looming in the future.

I would often lie in bed feeling sorry for myself. But then I realized that I was lying in almost the same position in which Jean-Dominique Bauxby was trapped for the rest of his life. Except that I had the mobility of my body. Bauxby's novel reminded me not only to remember the simple gift of my motor skills but also to celebrate the extroardinary gifts of having a body as sharp as my mind. It could express music visually and work to go faster and get stronger than it had before.

As I sat on my porch swing among my friends reading, Bauxby's The Diving Bell and the Butterfly most simplistically reminded me of how lucky I am - how there are always so many more people with much more to complain about than my simple suburban qualms.

Too Little or Too Much: Analyzing Art

It's a known fact that English class is for analyzing every detail of a piece of literature.

I often times do not agree with the mantra, "everything is intentional."

Sometimes, I think that writing can be a representation of life. A story without a message. Just something interesting that could have happened in this world or another.

I do agree with the mantra, "Art does not reveal the artist." - Oscar Wilde

People often assume that the ideas and morals of a character in a story or a speaker of a poem are the same as the author's. This is sometimes true, but I believe that more often than not, it isn't.

One of the reasons that Wilde had to revise his "Picture of Dorian Gray" is that people thought he shared the views of his character, Lord Henry. He had to add a prolog, explaining that art does not reveal the artist, and that the reader may look between the lines at his own peril. Many think that looking between the lines will mean that they will discover Wilde's taboo ideas within his writing, but I think Wilde means that they will discover their own taboo ideas.

There are times, however, when I believe that art is too little analyzed. 

I love to go to modern art museums. They are worlds of beautiful insanity. However, sometimes the randomness and the simplicity goes too far. I need to see talent and vision within art for me to appreciate it.

An example: At Moma, the modern art museum in New York, I came across this piece of art: in the middle of the room, a haystack. A square haystack. It was called "haystack." To my knowledge, there was no needle hidden in it. Someone just put a haystack there.

All I could think was, "Ok... No. I can't appreciate this." Had there been a poem to go along with it, or maybe even a clever title, it would have been saved. I know that the point of a lot of art is for the meaning to be different for every viewer, but we have to be given something to work with, especially if your art costs a bagillion zillion dollars and all you did was drop a haystack on the floor.

What do you guys think about art analyzation?

My Home Isn't Real...

... well it is, but it's not tangible.  When Mr. Heidkamp initially explained the querencia project, I had only one thing on my mind, and that was the magical world I grew up with.  I have always felt the most at home with the pages of Harry Potter (bet you didn't see that coming).  That being said, I was taken aback when Mr. Heidkamp explained to me that a book was not the best choice for my querencia.  Sure, he said, I could stretch the meaning if I described my querencia as the place in which I read, but I don't know if my bed would be the best topic for such a paper.

I read and re-read the definition provided to us for the querencia paper, and I still can't shake Harry Potter from my mind.  It isn't just nostalgia for me; it's still very present in my life.  It does nourish me and require a sense of immediacy.  I can connect it to my past, present, and future, and it is both personal to me and relatable to the world on a larger scale.  That being said, I could just give in and use my bed, or even my bedroom, as a means to describe the book, but with Harry Potter, I could feel at home anywhere.

So... are any of your querencias not real places?

semi parallel: like the euphrates and tigris or a river runs through it or some fruity comparison

On the surface Dead Man may seem like pointless weirdness, or in high school terms "super random." And although I find the symbolism loose and confusing, I do think that there is still a very clear message to the work. This is one of many times I have seen the film but i think it made more sense this time because of the work we had done with, Heart of Darkness and Apocalypse now. 

Besides all of them having a symbolic river in it (as I cleverly alluded to in the title), these three works have many parallel motifs and they all serve similar purposes as works of art in their respective culture. It was because of the close relationship Dead Man had to more explicit work like Heart of Darkness that I could figure out these Purposes. 

All three of these movies form a powerful message on a couple or more different levels. At least two or more levels. One level being sociological or a criticism of actual tangible events in a culture (imperialism, savage wars, western bruteness) and the next a more ontological or 'deep' meaning. It happens that we may be blessed with several 'deep' meanings in each work.

I personally I have noticed allusions to intellectual discovery and universal development as an allegorical theme in each.  to be continued for the extra points...

Meursault vs. Salamano

    Salamano's relationship with his dog dog is a reoccurring motif in The Strangers symbolizing Meursault's relationship with his mother. Salamano represents Meursault and his dog represents Meursault's mother.     

    Salamano has a capricious relationship with his dog. He states that the problem with his dog is that "he is always there" (28). It is as if the dog has become a huge burden for Salamano and he doesn't want to take care of him anymore. Meursault explains how he always catches Salamano beating his dog and yelling at him whenever he struts ahead while on his leash, wanting the dog to be carried behind him at all times. He also doesn't let the dog go pee tranquilly, Salamano impatiently makes him stop before he is done, not caring about the dog's needs. This relationship closely symbolizes that of Meursault's with his mother. She lived in his apartment with him for a long time and Meursault began to see her as a burden as well. He barely ever spoke to her and he left her behind, not caring about her needs. In the end, Salamano's dog runs away and he actually becomes so sad that he begins to cry. When Meursault heard him crying for his dog, he said that he thought of his mother. Therefore, as Salamano realizes that he misses his dog and needs him, Meursault thinks about his mother, probably missing her and feeling guilty for not giving her the attention she wanted. Therefore, Salamano's relationship with his dog implicitly conveys Meursault's relationship with his mother. 

R.I.P Thursday Nights

I put this under the autobiography post because, I guess, it's autobiographical. It's about my last Thursday night as a high school student. You know what Thursday nights were. They were the night that you got everything done as late as possible because you were out with your friends. They were the nights that when you went to sleep, you did so with a smile because you knew you wouldn't really have to do any more homework until Sunday.

I love Thursdays. They're my favorite day of the week for the aformentioned reasons. So when I have to be a grown up, will that change? Will I like Fridays the best because that's the day I get paid? Or will I like Mondays the best because that's the night everybody from the office goes to the bar on the corner? What else will change?

Will I still like Thai food if I can't go to the place two blocks from my school for lunch occasionally? Will I still like guys with facial hair once all the males I know are old enough to grow full-on beards Will I still like learning when it's no longer required of me?

How much of what I am is based on the fact that I am a high school student? How long after high school is it going to take me to find an answer to that question?

One's True Home

The querencia was especially difficult for me to write, given that it had to be a place. A place where I am completely comfortable, rejuvenated... a place where I don't need to worry. It's hard to imagine such a place for me. I mean, I know of places where I tend to feel at ease, or places that feel absolutely beautiful and magical, but are they my querencia? I ended up writing about a specific forest of my childhood because it encompasses such joy and beauty in my memory. But there are other places where I receive the same 'nourishment', and they're not very specific. Simply being outside at night, walking down the quiet streets with surrounding fog or swimming in a lake or ocean provide the same sense of being for me. So I wonder, do we really have a place that works as our querencia?

A friend of mine who is also taking AP college english was assigned this project by another teacher, but their querencia was not limited to a place. It could be a sense of being, thoughts, or even another person. I realize that writing about abstract thoughts and claiming that one's querencia is in the presence of another individual could be more difficult to write about, but this is the type of querencia that I believe applies to me.