Category Archives: Anthology

My Dear Wife

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My Dear Wife

Emmanuel Amoah

It was one sunny afternoon when my wife Missy told me she was sick. I told her there was nothing wrong with her other than temporary nervous depression. I asked her to start packing because I’ve acquired a colonial mansion for our three months vacation. She asked why it had stood for long untenanted and too cheap to rent the place. I laughed it off as I always do whenever she asks any silly question. Then late in the first night when we had moved in, Missy came to me saying; “it was the most beautiful place and makes her think of English places we read about because it is quite alone, standing well back from the road, quite three miles from the village for there are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and people.  She said she had never seen such a large and shady garden, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them”.

Missy told me she wants to stay in the room downstairs which has an open piazza with roses all over the window with pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings. I refused her request because there was not enough room for two beds and no near room for me. I told her I had to be closer at night because she was not in the right state to be left alone. I realized she was nervous so I prescribed some medication for her so her condition would not get worse. I also let her know we were there solely on her account and that, she has to have as much rest as possible so she will get better.

We had been at this place for some time and Missy had shown signs of improvement. She was more active than she used to be when we got here and I was quite glad about that. Later that day Jennie, my sister told me she sees Missy look at the wall in a strange way and anytime she enters our room she sees her hands under the pillow. Jennie thinks I should ask Missy if there is anything she’s hiding but I refused. She also said she once saw Missy holding something that looked like a pen. I asked whether she was sure about what she was saying but her response was shaky. Later that night Jennie woke me up telling me she had some concerns about Missy. I asked her to wait until I return from work the next day so we could talk. She insisted it was important but I told her I had to go back to sleep because I had to be at the hospital very early in the morning.

Some days later, whilst having dinner Missy started talking about how much she loved the place again. She said she gets a lovely view of the estate. She also said there was a beautiful shaded lane down that runs down there from the house. She added that, she always fancy to see people walking in the numerous paths and arbors around the place. I asked why she fancied the place that much and warned her that, her imaginative power and habit of story making with her nervous weakness could lead to all manner of excited fancies.

Three weeks for us to leave, Jennie told me once more that, she is concerned about the way Missy acts when she sees her. I told her I appreciate her concerns and ask her not to worry about her. I called Missy and asked how she was faring. She said, “John dear, I feel better but I want to go home”. I pleaded with her that she should be a little patient because they had not finished the repairs in our house. She understood and all was well after that. I had to spend the night outside a day before we leave this place. When I returned the next morning, I found Missy locked out in the room insisting she was not going to open up until I came. I could hear her screaming and talking about tying up the woman when she comes out of the wall so she will not escape. I asked her to open the door but she said she can’t. I pounded on the door and called for an axe. She said in the gentlest voice “John dear, it would be a shame to break down that beautiful door!” the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf” That silenced me for a moment. Then I gently asked her to open the door but she insisted the key was under the leaf so I had to go and see, and I got it of course, and came in. I stopped short by the door. What is the matter? I cried. For God’s sake, what are you doing Missy! She kept creeping and looked at me over my shoulder and said “I’ve got out at last, in spite of you and Jennie. And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!” That was all I heard. I opened my eyes and heard Missy’s brother ask me whether I was ok. He said I fainted when I saw Missy go crazy.

 

 

               The “Yellow Wall Paper” and “My Dear Wife” are stories that talks about the decline in the mental stability of a medical doctor’s wife. The “Yellow Wall Paper” uses autodiegetic narration to show what John’s wife goes through during this period whereas “My Dear wife” uses first person character narration to  show John’s ignorance and denial of what his wife goes through. The type of narration in each of the stories has an effect on the level of detail available to the reader. The narrative of the original story is very detail and overt and makes readers understand what the writer wants to send across quite easily but the retell “My Dear Wife” on the other hand has little detail and most of it is implied and makes it quite difficult to understand what the narrator wants to send across to the naratee.

As mentioned, the main difference in both stories is the level of details. The narrative style makes understanding the “Yellow wallpaper” easier compared to “My Dear Wife”. Using autodiegetic narration in the “Yellow Wall Paper” gives a lot of substance to the story, as it the protagonist telling us what experience she had. It makes the story very believable as all the information is from the original source. For example John’s wife at a point in her narration described what she goes through by writing that “You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really do eat better, and am more quiet than I was. John is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a little the other day, and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of my wall-paper. I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intention of telling him it was BECAUSE of the wall-paper—he would make fun of me. He might even want to take me away. I don’t want to leave now until I have found it out”. This is an all inclusive detail that says a lot about her imaginations and is quite central to understanding the direction the story is going. In other words the quotation has a lot of information on the thoughts and reaction of the most important characters in the story. This kind of detail enables the reader put him or herself into the minds of the characters and as a result will make the message well understood. On the other hand the retell, “My Dear Wife” using John as a narrator does not give much detail about what is going on with his wife, the main character in the story. John in his narration gave very few and quite unreliable details about the very few things he thought might have contributed in what became of his wife at the end. The information in his narration was mostly based on what his sister, Jennie suspected rather than what he had seen or suspected. As John tells us that, “Three weeks for us to leave, Jennie told me once more that, she is concerned about the way Missy acts when she sees her. I told her I appreciate her concerns and ask her not to worry about her”. From reading “My Dear Wife”, this is the kind of detail that was available to the reader. This in other words is not information to enough to understand or know the direction the story was going. From reading the original story and knowing what the story is all about this kind of detail does not help in any way to understand what the story is all about. The information provided in the retell does not say much about what was really going on with John or his wife. It only showed the concerns of Jennie about Missy and does not add much to the substance of the story. It only tells us how dismissive and ignorant John was in terms of what was going on with his wife. The level of details provided in either story as mentioned earlier affected the meaning and understanding of each story. As the original story was very detailed and was quite easy to follow through it but the shallowness of the details of the retell affected how it was understood and showed clearly it lacked what was important to understand a story properly.

Notwithstanding the effect the narrative style had on how the stories were understood; the narrative of both stories gives an idea of signs of mental instability of John’s wife at some point. In the “Yellow Wall Paper”, John’s wife at several points in her narration gave an abnormal description of the wall paper in their room. She wrote in her narration that, “There is one marked peculiarity about this paper; a thing nobody seems to notice but myself, and that is that it changes as the light changes. When the sun shoots in through the east window—I always watch for that first long, straight ray—it changes so quickly that I never can quite believe it. That is why I watch it always. By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when there is a moon—I wouldn’t know it was the same paper”. She wrote this to describe the wall paper in their room. What she was “seeing” or imagining was on the wall paper was a form of illusion in her mind’s eye; something that was a sign of mental instability. These continuous habits of imaginations throughout the story attest to the fact that there was something mentally wrong with her. It is a sign of the fact that her idleness is having a direct impact on the way she thinks and sees things. Similarly, the narrative of “My Dear Wife” also showed signs of insanity by John’s wife. There are points in the retell where her utterances clearly showed that her mental stability was declining. For example it is written in the retell that, “whilst having dinner, Missy started talking about how much she loved the place again. She said she gets a lovely view of the estate. She also said there was a beautiful shaded lane down that runs down there from the house. She added that, she always fancy to see people walking in the numerous paths and arbors around the place. I asked why she fancied the place that much and warned her that, her imaginative power and habit of story making with her nervous weakness could lead to all manner of excited fancies”. The way she talked about the place was kind of weird coupled with John’s objection to her continual description of the place in such a manner showed there was something abnormal going on with her. These attitudes Missy exhibited clearly showed there was something mentally wrong with her. Though John warned her to stop those imagination, he was dismissive of that because he thought it was one of those ‘‘things’’, as he warned her that he habit of story making and imaginations could lead to all manner of excited fantasies. Clearly, it is quite obvious from these details that the mental stability of John’s wife is in serious decline.

Lastly, both the original story the “Yellow Wall Paper” and the retell “My Dear Wife” have clearly shown what became of John’s wife after respecting his judgment as a medical doctor but the narrative style affected the level of details available which in turn affected the measure of the understanding in either story. The original story using the autodiegetic narration showed how John’s wife transitioned in her insanity and the retell on the other hand using a first person character narration showed how ignorant and dismissive John was.

 

Monster

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Monster

Submarine.

Everyone has off days.  Days where we aren’t ourselves.  Your days always recap in your dreams, if not the same, differently, but they seem to always to relate to each other.  I’m having a bad dream.  “Wake up Gregor! Wake up!” I keep repeating it to myself, over and over.  After eternal seconds, I wake, only to wish I didn’t.  Is it just a chain of nightmares?  Is my mind playing games with me?  I think to myself, “I need glasses,” and, “I may be under the weather.”  But after a few seconds and minutes pass by, the only words repeating again are, “wake up.”

Click.  Click.  Click.  My skin is no longer skin.  Click.  Click.  Click.  My stomach is now slightly domed and hard.  “Wake up,” I repeat.  Click.  Click.  Click.  Some of my senses are now determined by these brown and fuzzy antennae.  This cold weather and snow outside the windows don’t make the shaking any better. Brown stiff sections cover my stomach, I dared not look at my legs.  I try to lift them: small, skinny, fuzzy, multiple.  My voice, like an alien; unrecognizable.  What has happened?!  How can I explain this to everyone at work?  No one would believe me.  My 15 years of service at my job, and never have I missed, but everyone would get suspicious.  How embarrassing!  Everyone will notice me.  I already missed my train, but may catch the next one.  What the hell do I do now?

I can’t let my parents see me, especially not my mom, her poor little heart won’t be able to cope with the fact that her young boy has turned into an ugly creature.  A monster.  It’s almost funny how fast people change.  Funny how we take our hands and feet for granted on a daily basis.  No, not funny at all.

It is now a quarter after 7.  The door knocks and out comes my mother’s voice, “Gregor!  Are you alright sweetheart? Are you feeling under the weather?  Is there something that I can get you?”  She hasn’t heard my voice until now. “I’m fine mom!,” I replied, and I felt her vibe: concerned.  She tells me that the chief clerk has arrived to my house to see how I’m progressing.  I tell him that I’m doing better, that I’m just getting ready to get the 8 o’clock train, and to not worry about me.  But who am I kidding?  I’m befuddled.  My present state of mind is completely off the charts.

My goal was to go to work.  I open the door and allow them to see my present state.  I am no longer human, but a vermin.  “MY GOODNESS!”, says the chief clerk.  Mother starts to weep, while father holds her and steps back, as if I am a monster.  My sister in shock: blank face, eyes popping, jaw dropping.  The painful quietness filling up everyone’s ears.  Everyone’s fear radiates the hallway.  I feel everyone’s eyes on me, except for my poor mother.  Her eyes red, I’m no longer her good boy, I am the family burden.

The family burden I remained.  For the following two weeks, my own parents didn’t come into my room.  I didn’t leave it.  My room has become the shell that never comes off the turtles’ backs.  I am my own company.  My little sister , Grete, is the only one who is capable of coming into my room, but it isn’t to see me.  Grete has grown dramatically, and has tried to take over the role I played in the family.  She cleans and fixes my room and cleans the debris I leave behind.  Property is destroyed from the acidity of my bodily fluids.  They make this horribly disgusting sound, almost like a huge wet tongue covered in thick saliva, except it’s a thousand times louder.  My mom still doesn’t dare to see me.

Grete was my only hope to having contact with society, and not just talking to myself all the time.  As a man, I had a responsibility of working and providing for the family.  I am no longer the provider in the family, which is a shame, almost as if I am stripped from my manhood.  I am no longer a man.  I am less than a person: a waste of life.  You see, I thought Grete was a good child, covering for me while I am ill, but it wasn’t the case.

With the door always closed, outside sounds sound hollow: deep.  I overheard Grete talking to my parents about me being too much to handle.  I thought she was different, my little sister, has now turned her back on me and not taking care and responsibilities on me.  I rue the day this all started.  My family and friends are nothing but stranger now and it’s painful.  Sometimes my brain goes on overload.  There’s not much i can do when I’m by myself surrounded by four walls and the shaking sound of my antennae.  I will go to sleep now, sleep makes everything better.

 

 

 

 

In “Metamorphosis” by Franz Kafka, the story of a man who converted into a vermin is told in a third-person narration.  The whole story focused a lot on how his life affected everyone around him, rather than the effect it had on him.  While reading the story, I felt it was a lot more important to show how it affected him rather than everyone else, because, after all, the change did happen to him, and not anyone else.  In my retelling of the story, I change the narration from third-person, to first-person.  In the short story, “Monster,” my version of “Metamorphosis,” I allow the reader to get a glimpse of what it was like for Gregor Samsa after becoming a vermin.

As a person living in a big city in the 21st century, I felt like the whole story symbolized a lot of the problems that we have now.  In my eyes, I felt it was something that our society has not accepted yet, and is seen as a monster to everyone else but themselves and alike-people.  I felt like the Gregor’s mother represented society’s lack of acceptance towards the situation.  Towards the end, Gregor dies, and everyone is relieved, which in my eyes, it interpreted as a suicide of the unaccepted group in our society, because society, up until now, kills what they don’t like.  In my retelling, I managed to focus on the pain and neglect that Gregor went through after being transformed.

In the beginning of “Metamorphosis,” Gregor wakes up from a chain of nightmares, and it’s the point in the story where he realizes he is no longer human.  In my interpretation of the story, I felt like it was still that lack of acceptance, and this is the point where he starts to think of how it would be like when the problem is faced in reality.  “What has happened?!  How can I explain this to everyone at work?  No one would believe me. […] How embarrassing,” (second para…Monster).  I made Gregor’s character panic more than the original version just to emphasize the drastic changes and how hard it is for him to deal with something like that.  In all situations in real life, one has to accept things first in order for others to take you seriously.  I felt like his character didn’t do that because his parents and sister would walk all over him and neglect him, so I made him a lot weaker in order for that to stand out later on in the story where Grete’s character turns on him.

“Metamorphosis” kept relating to society, in my eyes, and I felt like some examples of social issues we have had or still have today are things such as blacks versus whites, and straights versus gays.  In both issues, the ones who don’t accept, is the monster in the other’s eyes.  When one is not accepted by the other, they tried to strip them from as many rights as possible in order to eliminate them as a whole because they aren’t viewed as a “person.”  Gregor was being punished by removing his prized possessions.

“Gregor kept trying to assure himself that nothing unusual was happening, it was just a few pieces of furniture being moved after all […]. He was forced to admit to himself that he could not stand all of this much longer.  They were emptying his room out; taking away everything that was dear to him […].”  (Kafka 15)

I felt Gregor was being stripped from his manhood once he didn’t take the responsibility of providing for the family.  I felt like everyone thought it was his fault that he turned into a bug, and that he could have prevented it from happening, so they wanted to take away things because they felt he didn’t deserve.  In the story, Grete thinks that the furniture “was of no use to him at all,” although it was true, Gregor clearly states that he felt like crap when Grete was taking the furniture out of his room, although he wanted to help, they wouldn’t let him and he felt they didn’t care what he wanted to do, they just wanted him out of their way.  In my story, I used the fact that he could not go back to his job as a way to explain the responsibilities that he had to take care of as a man in the house, and how he is being frowned upon because he can no longer be the one who provides in the house and he is now being rejected from his family and now is a family burden.  “My room has become the shell that never comes off the turtles’ backs.  I am my own company. […]  I am no longer a man.  I am less than a person: a wasted of life.”

At the end of the story, Gregor dies and everyone is relieved because they can get a break from him and working.  I felt like they didn’t really care for their loss and were content with the outcome.  In our society, people would do anything to end something they don’t like.  In this case, Gregor’s family wanted nothing to do with him; they wanted to get rid of him, especially Grete.  He knew they didn’t want him in their lives anymore.  She says, “[…] we can’t carry on like this.  Maybe you can’t see it, but I can.  I don’t want to call this monster my brother, all I can say is: we have to try and get rid of it” (Kafka 22).  In my story, he dies almost like with a suicide.  He felt the rejection and he felt it was best to just sleep.  My ending is almost like he forced himself to die to make others happy.

I felt it was a lot more important to tell the story through the main character’s eyes.  If society saw things through everyone’s eyes, a lot more things would be accepted.  And if everyone knew Gregor’s true emotions and the crap everyone put him through for something that he couldn’t change or even picked to be, they wouldn’t treat him as badly as they did in the story.

The Ever Alive Rose

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The Ever Alive Rose

Sifat sharmin

It has all finished. The good times, the bad times and the worse times everything is over. I’m over. And everyone is very anxious. And for them I gave a well reason to be a mystery. Life has its colors. Just like those china painting I use to do. I use to love painting. I use to love papa and him too. But everyone else , I don’t know . They never cared for me now they are the one aching to know what’s inside my house and that’s not really what they want to know , they want to know about the stuff they can see with open eyes and more the ones they cannot see. I heard people saying I wish I could capture this moment for a life time. I believed in that too. And believed so much in it that I even put that in my life.

Papa loved me no question asked but he never wanted me to met any other men . May be he waned to be the only man to love me till he lives. Though as a form of father daughter love. He never even let anyone near me. Somewhere inside me there was something that use to love that feeling.. I never wanted to let go off papa. I never had any one, no relatives who even cared. All these people who gathered today to see me inside my house more than to bury me they were never around for me. They took everything.

It was late night papa was feeling sick I sat beside him looking through the window wondering to myself “ look how big the sky is  and life is bigger than that”. And in this big world the person who would guide me through my big life stop living in that very moment. My papa stopped breathing and my insecurity started to beat its heart. This big old house,  a dead body and me. And all of those responsibilities. How funny a moment ago the person whom I thought will guide me through my life just left me with my burden felt like life. But I can never forget that papa will always protect me ass long as he is with me alive or dead it really doesn’t matter. Honestly as long as people don’t get to know that I lost my papa.

Three days have passes I don’t know how I have been sitting beside papa for so long. And my legs are so stuck cant even move. How hurtful can it be to see your papa die and what makes it worse is im sitting there and watching him rot.  I wasn’t even done talking to myself I hear the door knocking. Again the world came between what I love and me . They want to berry papa . I want the same but I don’t want him to go away from me . Where I can’t smell his affection and be afraid  of his punishments. I didn’t want to get rid of that feeling no matter how fantasized it is. But in this game I had to loose. They buried papa. Now I’m all alone. Me and this big house ,no money and all the taxes.

They have saved me from my taxes . Said that I don’t have to pay them so kind of them. Finally I gathered all my feelings . Everything has its bad side and good side. First I thought that papa left me with nothing but the house but now I realize he left me with something big and that is my freedom. Freedom to do anything that  my heart content. The freedom of being a part of Homer’ s life.

I love being with him. He is nice and kind and handsome and he is everything I wanted. I wish I could save every moment we have spent together. I wish I could make it a lifetime picture , not only in something only too look at but into something that I can live every day. Just like the way a girl thinks on her wedding day. The way she wishes to life every moment of that day and wish she could live it over and over again. But not everything lasts forever. This world took my father and now it’s after my love. They say I can’t be with him because he is not up to my level. They don’t even know me so when they talk about my life and who  I should  have in my life it makes me angry and laugh at the same time . Well I love him and I won’t let him go .Till my last breath till I live I will live with him .Even if he dies he will live in me and I promised him that . They called my cousin to threaten me that I better not see him anymore. And he left, left for long.

I waited and waited. I drew all my feelings on those china paintings. The bright the dull colors were my expressive feelings for him. I prayed for him to come back not for a while but forever and this time I won’t let him go. This time I will capture my best moments with him and live it every day of my life. I will live it every day as it happened for the first and the last time.

 

He didn’t show up. But the people for the taxes did. It was way hard to draw them away. I do the china painting it’s my passion not to make money. Labor can be sold but not passion not feelings and every emotion those breaths along with it. And as long as I keep my painting going I will feel my own emotions in many different ways, in many different colors.

Today when I woke up everything felt different. It felt like something good is about to happened . I’m tired of this emptiness of my own .I looked at the window and I saw the most awaited face. He came to see me , he is here. I opened the door and as quickly as possible he went on his knee and proposed to marry me . There was only word that I knew for that moment in life. Yes. I agreed. I finally will have what I wanted in life no one can take it away from me at least not this time .But what happened if the story changes ,what happens if he leaves me again . I can’t lose him. Not this time, not ever. He got me the prettiest wedding gown, the hair bow everything is just the way I dreamt .But we can’t get married unless we go to the church. If I do that everyone will see us together and try to put us apart again. I have been hiding him so long I can’t let it go wrong. But he wants to marry me with all the rituals. I’m afraid, I don’t want to lose this moment from my life, I want to capture it forever. And there is only one way to do it. Only one way to keep him with me in that room, forever. Where everything will be same the wedding environment, my gown , his belongings everything . And even the emotions somehow. If I can do this I will be able to capture these beautiful moments for ever and live then every day like its new, just the way I thought of it.

 

I went to the room he was getting ready. I offered him a drink with a smiley face . He kissed me and drank it. After this moment everything will be as I wished he will be with me forever. He fell asleep so deep so innocent I lied him down on my bed.

Since that day till today I always walk into that room felling like a bride and embracing him like that’s the first time it ever happened. My china paintings lost color. The season came and left, the leaves were painted with green then changed colors. But our love was always green. Picture perfect just the way I  have  imagined. There might have nothing left in him body but his heart is always there. I can see it beating fulfill with emotions.

Today when they went upstairs and found his body which has been declared to be a skeleton according to them but what is more lively then anything to me right now or ever . He is just sleeping with relief where he is sure he will always be safe in my arms . And no one can put us apart. From today I’ll be sure forever too that no one can ever set us apart. Looking from the sky me and Homer hold hands and laugh that they will never figure us out. And we will be together till eternity.

 

 

 

 

A Rose for Emily a short story by William Faulkner is a very interesting and unusual story to me . Sometimes I even have hard time guessing if it’s interesting or unusual. So when I was given an opportunity to re-write a story this was the first one that came to my mind. The way the story is told by the narrator, the timing, the environment, everything was unusual. The story starts from the ending of a real life time story of Emily. So I took a chance of re-writing this story in my different way which was an honest try to make the story sound a bit different keeping its real essence alive  but more interesting .

The narrator in the real story is Omni-limited third person. So the story to me sounds like a tale of someone narrated by someone else. So in my version of the story I put Emily herself as the narrator so this story can be seen from Emily’s eyes who had lived those situation. It came to me that no one can explain the causes and the reasoning of an event better than the person who was the center of the event.

The real story begins when Emily dies and everybody has gathered to see her house more than the dead body of her. “When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral “. This starting line of the story sounds very generous that people came for her funeral . But in my version of the story I wanted to show how Emily might have felt about the fact that people came in for her funeral  or  they came in to see how the house looks after so many years of them kind of being prohibited even to come near to her house . In the real story for the narrator Emily had died and though her story ended but  it left  the some of the  story unspoken , leaving some mysteries untold. But in my version Emily tells what she has done and was her valid excuse for her deed.

In the real version of the story the narrator jumps time, most of the events are not in any kind sequence . In my story I made a sequence so that the events do have clear relation so that the reader does not get confused about when the events took place.  In my version of the story every event is put in a sequence starting from Emily’s father’s death to the tax people then meeting Homer and then his coming and going back and forth to his death an finally her own death. In my story I also started the story from the end like the real version .My reason for keeping it unchanged is because unlike others stories it starts from the ending of a real life story goes all around and comes back to the ending which is the  originally the beginning .For me made the  story very unusual and I decided to keep it the same .And harm its original beauty.

In the real version of the story it talks about Emily not wanting to give her father’s dead body away. Which might seem crazy to the readers. But in my version of the story she explains the reasons why she denied giving the dead body away. She even explains how the death happens and what her emotional reactions about that were.

Emily kills Homer that’s how we see the story when we read the real version. Even the narrator sounds confused in this entire situation .But in my version of the story I put every details and every event that happened related to that event . Why she gave up the china painting classes , why she never let anyone in to her house , why she took the decision to kill Homer , and why she kept his body. About her feelings when, the society didn’t want her to be with Homer.

When the narrator narrates in the real story it include what he have seen and what they have heard which most Emily didn’t see or hear. But in my version Emily talks about things that she saw, she heard and she faced. So that kind of shifting will be seen in my version of the story. So in my version of the story there might be things that were not on the real version and there might not be stuffs that was on the real version. But the story line is kept the same.

In the real story the narrator talks about Emily’s life but from other peoples point of view. They are taking about Emily and the situations she came across in life but it doesn’t say how she felt during every event, it doesn’t explain how she looked upon the situation  when she had to face it. In my version of the story it’s all about Emily. She is more like the show man in my story everything that happened she had her own way to explain it. And for that her emotional sides come out in my story.

In this story I tried to make everything to be told from a first person prospective so that the story can be told more clearly. And everything that was unspoken could be revealed in my version of the story. I gave Emily a chance to talk about her life in my version, it was more like giving her a chance to speak herself. But any shifting that have made I tried my best not to harm the true beauty of the real story.

 

 

 

 

Unforeseen Freedom

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 Unforeseen Freedom

Brian P. Ballie

                Here comes Richard and Josephine I haven’t seen them in quite some time and they are here together. This is truly weird for they have no reason to visit me today. They came wearing grim faces and portraying sad eyes. In my heart I know that something terrible has happened, I wonder if it has anything to do with the terrible ruckus down at the telegraph station today I swear it was like a complete mad house there. Then they start talking and I can barely believe what I am hearing. “Jessica my sister” she says “I there has been a terrible accident on the rail. It has been most disastrous and families have been thrown into turmoil.” “Death has come and we will get through this as best as we can because we are family and that’s what family does” she continued to speak but I had long stopped listening to her and came to the horrible realization that he was gone. DEAD for that is what he is dead and gone according to Robert. My poor Brently taken away from me in a disastrous culmination of steel and fire on that beast of iron he worked on. I am blinded by the grief for my eyes have been bathed in the wetness of my tears and I have nothing else but sorrow in my heart. I now weep for he whom I lost the man that I love.

In a fell swoop it is gone I feel nothing and need to be alone, my room beckons calling me into the peaceful abyss of my abode. Gone is the light for the sky has turned dark with rain as if somehow the gods feeling my sorrow wept with me and have become spent. The darkness that is there is dissipating slowly like the sobs wrecking through my body. In this moment I am truly lost but just as quickly clarity comes to me as the light starts peeking through more and more through the sky. I remember a time when I was happy and young and beautiful, a time when life was so simple. Then I realized that I was free to go back to being that girl. I was no longer tied down to the dead man I was “FREE” truly free and I am going to love it.

Ecstasy has set in and my heart is pounding my realization has thrown me for a loop and I have accepted that I am truly free. I no longer need to worry about pleasing the dead man I have only myself to worry about. Pure happiness has filled my once dreary heart I feel like new life has been breathed into me and it is intoxicating. I feel alive more so than I have felt in a long time. I can hear her out there shouting in riotous anger Josephine my sister asking me to come out and talking to Robert at my conversation but she doesn’t understand, neither does he. They can’t begin to understand the feelings shooting through my very soul.

I have come to a conclusion that I am better because of his death but at the same time I truly loved that man that wonderful kind man who sheltered me through the years where I was his. I will truly miss him and when I see all that is left of him I will weep again but for now I will relish in my freedom. Because even though he was my love, love was not present all the time and I am happy I am not burdened with loving him anymore. There she is again yelling “Open the door Jessica who are you talking to stop these rambling thoughts before you make yourself sick.”  Sick what does she know she is no doctor she is a question bathed in mystery to me has been all my life.

I have had enough of her pleading and I care not for her talking. I open the door and in she rushes taking me by the hand and pulling me downstairs gently like I am made of glass and liable to break any time soon. I see Robert standing in the foyer looking expectantly at me as if I were there to present him with something. Then I hear it the jingling of the lock and the rattle of a key and in swings the door. Standing there is a ghost a ghost of my husband. I look again and see it’s not a ghost but the real thing. Gone is my freedom gone just as quickly as it came. I am no longer free. There is a pain a stabbing pain in my chest. They are all talking I can tell because their mouths are moving whether from shock I know not. All I hear is the clashing of a bell and the chains dragging me back in he’s alive and I am dead.

 

            “She said it over and over under her breath: ‘free, free, free’”  Freedom is one of the major themes in the short story entitled “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin. This story is about a woman’s reaction to the supposed death of her husband. In the original version of this story the narrator is a 3rd person limited narrator. We only have access to some of the thoughts of Mrs. Mallard and what she says while in the room but even that is limited in what we get from it. In my retelling I change it to a first person narrator from the point of view of Mrs. Mallard. I however structured it in the form of an internal monologue. The reality is the narration change drastically changes what we understand about the characters.

The third person narration present in this piece plays a vital role in the development we see of the main character. From this point of view we get to know Mrs. Mallard in a small sense. Learning about her but always wanting more. The limited view of the narrator also takes away from the complete development of the story as we only have a sort of one sided disjointed view into some of what Mrs. Mallard is going through. It paints an image where we know nothing about the people around her.

In regards to the retelling of the same story from the point of view of a different narration style I took several factors into mind before making my decision. At first I thought of doing the story in the style of a third person omniscient narrator; thereby in fluxing a plethora of new information and ideas into the story. However I didn’t feel comfortable changing the story so drastically because in doing so I would have to literally create the bones for the other characters because what we know about them right now is minimal. Then I though how about first person narration from the point of view of Mr. Mallard would change the story. I realized however that there was no precedent for doing that because we know nothing of what happens during the time of the accident to when he comes home and keeping the story respectful to the original plot would lead to too many new ideas that could be conflicting. I finally decided to do a first person narration from the point of view of Mrs. Mallard in the form of a monologue. This I thought would give me enough to be able to tell it from her perspective talking about all those around her because we know what they were doing there but not what she was thinking when she found out about the death of her husband. Also we get to know her and see a lot about her life but not what bought on her thoughts about being free in this way I was able to create a mind for her and tell her feelings as close to what happened as possible. I was also able to tell what she was thinking when her sister comes to get her to leave the room and even what happened in her mind before she died.

The similarities in this story were vast they both followed the same plot line and had the same characters. The general story was essentially the same however that’s about where they stopped and the differences came into light. In the original story Mrs. Mallard is portrayed as a weak person through her sickness. She is seen as someone who can’t handle any sort of hardship in life due to a heart ailment. She at first is grief stricken when news of her husband’s death reaches her. She reacts like anyone who has lost someone dear to them would by breaking down into a tear sobbing mess. However slowly the grief turns to exuberance as she comes to feel happy about the death of Mr. Mallard. In the retelling Mrs. Mallard is seen as a strong willed woman who knows what she wants and is able to make major decisions about her life on her own. She feels grief but is able to quickly quell that and come to the realization that she has her freedom.

In the retelling Mrs. Mallard comes across as a strong and her sickness or lack of as it is not mentioned is almost a metaphor for her sister treating her differently all her life. In the original story we hear Josephine asking Mrs. Mallard to open the door but she doesn’t instead she says “I am not making myself ill” instead that she is “Drinking in a very elixir of life through the open window”. In the retelling we see into the mind of Mrs. Mallard who thinks to herself “There she is again yelling ‘Open the door Jessica who are you talking to stop these rambling thoughts before you make yourself sick.’  Sick what does she know she is no doctor she is a question bathed in mystery to me has been all my life.” Here we see drastically a change because we now know the type of person Mrs. Mallard. We see that she truly doesn’t understand her sister. Also in the retelling we have a true ending when it comes to the character of Mrs. Mallard we get to see her last thought before death in which she says “All I hear is the clashing of a bell and the chains dragging me back in he’s alive and I am dead.” In comparison to the original story where we get to know that she died of a heart ailment in the retelling she dies from the knowledge that she has lost her freedom.

In the end the change of the narrator had a drastic change on the story. In the original narration we have a view looking in on a woman’s reaction to the death of her husband and then finding out that it was indeed false. In this format we get to see the softer side of the woman who loved her husband but also loved her freedom. In the retelling we have a woman’s view of what happens when she finds out about the death of her husband we get to see her intimate thoughts as she is having an internalized dialogue talking about her feelings as well as her reaction to finding out that the death notice was false. Here she is smart and straightforward person she is soft and hard at the same time in that she quickly comes to the decision that her freedom is amazing and she would much rather be free than married to her husband and thus she dies from the shock of losing the gained freedom.

 

The Yellow Wall Paper Re-narrated by John

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The Yellow Wall Paper Re-narrated by John

Yoshiko

My wife hasn’t been doing well recently. Not too long ago I rented a colonial mansion in the country so she could get some rest and relaxation while I tended to my real patients. The place is perfectly refreshing. I thought a nice summer vacation would be all she needed to clear her head. At first, I didn’t think anything serious was wrong with my wife, perhaps some nervousness or something else that could be reasonably fixed.

Right after we moved in, she told me that there was something strange about the house, and she could felt it. I knew that she was still a bit nervous because she hadn’t gotten used to the new environment. It happens to anybody, so I just told her that what she felt was a draft, and shut the window for her. Then she felt completely relieved.

I set her up in a room that was once used as a nursery. It was the most logical room, as my wife needs all the sun and air she can get, and this room is very spacious and open with plenty of air circulating through. Immediately my wife protested and wanted a room closer to the ground floor but as a physician, I let her know this is what’s best for her. She immediately had the problem with the wallpaper in the room. I told her I would re-paper it but I got so busy with my real patients that I put it off for a while until I realized if I changed the wallpaper, it would just be something else that would end up getting the best of her and before you know it, I would be remodeling the whole entire mansion and we’re only supposed to be here for 3 months, so I let her know it’s her nervousness and this is one of the things she has to overcome if she wants to feel better.

Unfortunately, her condition, her nervousness or whatever it is seems to be worsening. She is looking better physically and her diet seems to have improved. There’s even a glow in her face now that’s been missing since she fell ill. In her own mind however, she thinks she’s getting worse. I keep assuring her she’s doing better even if she doesn’t realize it. I really do think this is what’s best for her, letting her overcome her problems by her own control and will.

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night and found my wife fondling the wallpaper. I asked her what was wrong and told her not to go wandering around like that. She told me how she wasn’t getting any better and how she wanted to go home immediately. I told her this was not an option. The repairs weren’t done on our home and if I truly thought she was in any serious danger, I would take her away from here. I assured her again she was getting better whether she noticed it or not. I told her to get some sleep and we would talk in the morning. She asked if I would be going away by myself and I had to once again assure her I wouldn’t be going anywhere and once our lease was up we would be back in our own house after a nice little trip. After some more reassuring, I finally got her to go back to sleep.

I am a confident man, and I know what’s best for my wife and whether she likes my practices or not, I really do feel this is the best way for her to sort out the problems she’s currently having. Soon she will realize she’s actually feeling better and we can leave this time behind us. I really do believe this is a small bump in the road that we will eventually get over and my wife will be back to her old self. Perhaps even at some point we can look back at this time and laugh about how upset she was when she first saw this old tacky wallpaper.

 

 

 

To write the re-narrated version of “The yellow Wall Paper”, I intended to make the gap of their perspectives between the protagonist and her husband stand out in complete contrast in the story. The original story is narrated in the first-person point of view of the protagonist, who is John’s wife. In first-person narration, what can be shown is limited to his/her observation and thoughts, so it tends to be slanted and conveyed directly to the reader.

Especially in the story, she is restricted from contact with outside society and her living place is limited within the mansion for her treatment: in addition, she is forbidden from imaginative activity such as fantasy and writing. The conditions appear to drive her even more crazy. The story is told in an extremely subjective and distorted way by her abnormal perspective. However, this narration style effectively works to transmit to the reader the creepiness and horror of the story.

Regarding the experimental re-telling assignment, to begin with, I wondered which narrative style would best convey “the Yellow Wall Paper” in another interesting way. At first, I considered what if the story was narrated in third-person omniscient narrator. It would be like, for example, “she thinks the color of the wall is revolting,” or “She sees the shadows of women creep all over the house.” I thought that the manner of the story would become much less creepy and lost its horrific tone in this style. After consideration I decided to re-tell a portion of the story from John’s point of view in a first-person limited narration. It was a really interesting experiment; because in contrast to his wife, John is a type of person who only takes a practical view. So the story is being shown from a completely opposite point of view. In the original narration, the story features some horrific aspects. However, once the narrator shifts from the wife to John, the re-telling leaves just a common aspect of a story about the husband who is a physician struggling to treat his wife with her sickness, and the horrific and odd features are entirely faded out; because, John is, again, extremely practical and he never trusts anything not to be felt and seen and put down in figures. Through the process of re-telling and comparison of those two, I can reaffirm that the couple would never be able to understand each other.

Comparison between the original story and the re-telling

First of all, she describes the mansion as “I would say a haunted house” “there is something queer about it” in the very beginning. While in John’s narration, he describes it as “Perfectly refreshing.” Also, He strongly believes that her nervousness would be reasonably fixed as long as she follows his advice from his medical opinion. Although those opinions toward her symptoms goes quite wrong and has an opposite effects, but he never doubt his own opinion. She is getting worse and worse but he never listens to her appeal. In the re-telling version, he describes the room as “the most logical”, “this is what’s best for her.’’ However, she doesn’t like the room at all. She describes the wall paper as irritate, repellent, and revolting… etc. Their feelings never mesh with each other. In the original story the wife already feels uneasy about her living quarter but John her always logical husband sees nothing but black and white so he find hers troubles to be nothing to be worry about over the long term.

The segment highlighted in the retold version is the segment where The Wife seems to start slipping away from reality. In the original version of the story The Wife has trouble communicating with her husband with how she feels and once she finally does he attempts to comfort her and she acts like she felt comforted by his words but we as the reader know she doesn’t feel comforted and is actually more worried about bothering John than her own condition.

In the retelling however, John is so confident in his practices and beliefs that he doesn’t even notice how sick his wife really is. Her sickness is too abstract for him to pick up on, so in his mind he is doing a good job. Again, the contrasting versions of the story show one side as being filled with horror and dread and the other side as a doctor treating his wife the way he was taught how and seemingly succeeding even if that’s not really the case at all.

In Conclusion, changing which person narrates the story drastically changes the reader’s perception. On one hand you have a woman losing her mind and not knowing what do about it and on the other hand you have a man trying to care for his wife and thinking he is doing a good job at it because he is so stuck in his ways.

While I personally enjoyed being able to change the perspective of the story, I think ultimately the original perspective from the wife’s point of view is the best way to tell a story like this. It does a good job of drawing you in on a personal level because you know exactly what this woman is going through and it’s not left as a mystery.

Due to the characteristics of John’s personality he is better as a secondary character. There is never a time in the original story where you feel like John is maybe doubting himself and his practices. Overall, I think doing a part of the story from John’s point of view was an interesting perspective to visit, but may not be the best way to get the most out of this story.

Are You Mr. Right?

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Are You Mr. Right?

Crystal Lin

Has love ever existed? What is love? I’ve wonder. I, Lois was once a beautiful and sexy girl in the village, and was admired by men, but I picked him, Tom Bucker. Tom was a young and handsome newspaper worker in the village. One day, someone came to ring my door bell, I looked out the window and I saw a young man standing outside, and his face looked fresh to me.

Tom came to me and offered me to be his newspaper topic. He told me he heard about my music talents and he wanted to write a paper on me. Tom was skinny and his clothes didn’t make him look dull but instead more sexy. I fell for him at once but I told myself to keep it inside my heart. We started our interview, sitting by the riverside. Does that count as “Dating?” Ever since then, he came to interview me almost every day, and that was how we got to know each other.

After three months, he proposed to me. It was a rainy day, and neither of us brought an umbrella. He covered me with his jacket while we walked to the tree, and we sat under the tree while waited for the rain to stop. His action really touched my heart because he was so sweet and considerate.

After the rain stopped, we went back to the riverside and then he suddenly bended down and proposed to me.

“I love talking to you and being with you. I enjoyed spending time with you and I do not want this to be just a moment but instead I want it forever. Lois, would you like to be my wife?” He asked.

I was shocked at this action, he was always so humorous, yet quiet. He had surprised me this time, and I love it because I love him very much. Yes, I have to admit we both fell in love during these three months.

“Oh my lord, I feel the same for you. Yes I will be your wife, if you promise me this. As you know I love my music, and I would like to keep it as my career in the future. Therefore, I do not have time to cook – be your kitchen lady.” I said.

“Oh sure dear, I will be your kitchen man. Don’t worry, nothing is going to change. I’m still going to write my newspaper, and you do what you like. I will love you even though you do not cook for me,” he said.

After a month, we got married. It was supposed to be a happy marriage, but it wasn’t. We were fine in the beginning because everything went as we planned. He went to work in the morning and came home at night and cooked while I stayed home and practiced my music. But everything changed after a year of our happy marriage. He started to complain that I didn’t do the job a wife should do, mainly cooking. He told me that he was so jealous at his friend, because his wife cooked and handled house chores perfectly that his friend didn’t have to worry after came back from work. One night, he said to me.

“This is not the life I want, I thought I’m okay with that but as result I ain’t,” he said.

He had forgot what he promised me when he proposed to me that day.

Now, I understood what kind of man he was. He was sweet before he had me, but after he had me everything changed, forget about the love and the promise because all was a lie.

Ever since that night, we didn’t talk to each other nor sleep together. That relationship didn’t last the month, we got divorced and I got my freedom back and lived with my best friend, Malda.

I see Malda as my past, because she is pretty and sexy and she has her own interests. She was good at art and I was good at music. Malda was young and sexy just like I was in the past. One day, Malda told me that she met a writer and he treated her like a sweetheart. And yes, that was how Tom used to treat me, too. I was worried that she would “repeat my mistakes.”

As her best friend I did not want to see her that happen.

“You are beginning to love Ford Mathews—do you know it?” I asked.

“Yes.” She said.

“Does he love you?” I asked.

“It is early yet, he is a man, he is about thirty I believe, he has seem more of life and probably loved before-it may be nothing more than friendliness with him” She answered.

“Do you think it would be a good marriage?” I asked. We had often talked of love and marriage and I told her my past too.

“Why yes—if he loves me. He has told me quite a bit about his family, good western farming people, real Americans. He is strong and well—you can read clean living in his eyes and mouth. “Ford’s eyes were as clear as a girl’s, the whites of them were clear. Most men’s eyes…

“STOP!” I yelled.

Malda stared at me and I took a deep breath.

“He’s just like my ex-husband Tom Bucker. I know how much you love him. I know what he’s going to offer you when he proposes to you. Just remember one thing “Don’t be foolish, child, this is serious. What they care for most, after all, is domesticity. Of course they’ll fall in love with anything; but what they want to marry is a homemaker. Now we are living here in an idyllic sort of way, quite conducive to falling in love, with no temptation to marriage. If I were you—if I really loved this man and wished to marry him, I would make a home of this place.” I said.

And yet I couldn’t give up my career for Tom, was that because I didnt love him that much like I think I did?

Malda looked serious at me.

“Yes, I’m serious Lois. I know he’s my Mr. Right and I will do anything to please him, because I love him and I’m sure he will do the same too,” she said.

Malda surprised me after our last conversation. She started to cook and although it wasn’t good,  Ford started to come by very often, (of course with me there). He came almost every day and had dinner with us. One night, I decided to talk to Ford about Malda and him. After dinner, I talked to Ford alone while Malda was washing.

“Ford, I know you love Malda, but do you love her enough to change the domesticity society?” I asked.

He looked at me with humorous face “Yes, I do not think that’s the problem, because of where and how I grown up,” he said.

“I hope you will keep your promise forever, because as you know she loves arts and you have to admit she’s good at it too. I want her to have the best.” I said in a serious tone.

One year later, Malda married Ford Mathews and I was happy for her. Malda was willing to change herself to give up her interest and be Ford’s kitchen lady. And yet, Ford was willing to switch the kitchen work with her once a while so she can do her art. And me, sitting by the window and watching the rain thinking about what would happen if I willing to learn to cook for Tom. Would we have had a marriage if I wasn’t that stubborn? I’m starting to wonder if I should give myself another chance and seek for my Mr. Right again?

 

 

 

 

In the short stories The Cottagette and Are You Mr. Right? focus on whether women should be live as in domesticity society, where women must do the kitchen and house chores while men work outside, and how love overcome that. The both stories are in first person character narrator but as in different character’s point of view. In the original story The Cottagette by Charlotte Perkins Gilman is telling from the main character; Malda’s point of view. She is type of girl will give up her interests for her love one. And in the retell story Are You Mr. Right?, is telling from Lois’s point of view based on her failed marriage experience, and to show how she qualify to be a marriage adviser. Lois is type of girl that will not change for anyone, even for her love one.

In the story The Cottagette, the narrator is focus on Malda’s point of view on her feeling and how she fall in love on Ford Mathews. And yet she didn’t know what man expect from woman, until Lois told her, and after she knows, she’s willing to change herself.

Malda and Lois both have their own interests. Malda is good in art, and Lois is good in music. Malda met a writer Ford Mathews, and she fall in love on him that she’s willing to do anything to please him. And Lois work as Malda’s marriage adviser.

“Then Lois unfolded her plan. She had been married,–unhappily married, in her youth; that was all over and done with years ago; she had told me about it long since; and she said she did not regret the pain and loss because it had given her experience.” (27). Lois was married at her youth, but had an unhappy marriage. But she never feel regret because she learned her lesson. Because of Lois past, she understands what man is looking for and that make her qualify to become Malda’s adviser.

Lois told Malda that all men care are their stomachs, they insisted to find a kitchen lady no matter what even though they love you so much. From the story Are You Mr. Right?, “He started to complain that I didn’t do the job a wife should do, mainly cooking. He told me that he was so jealous at his friend, because his wife cooked and handled house chores perfectly that his friend didn’t have to worry after came back from work. One night, he said to me…This is not the life I want, I thought I’m okay with that but as result I ain’t,” he said. Everything went okay until one night Tom came home and complained that Lois didn’t do the job as a wife should do – cooking. He told Lois that he was jealous at his friend because he has a good wife and she’s willing to cook for him. Tom told Lois if she not going to do what a wife should do, then he couldn’t accept it anymore –soon they ended up divorced.

Lois also mention that in the story The Cottagette,“A person might be happy in a balloon, I suppose,” she replied, “but it wouldn’t be a home. He comes here and sits talking with us, and it’s quiety and feminine and attractive –and then we hear that big gong at the Calceolaria, and off we go stopping through the wet woods–and the spell is broken. Now you can cook.” (31). Lois is saying that food is the most important thing to a man, they can leave what they were doing and went for the food. Lois also pointing out that in order for this to be a happy marriage, Malda needs to prepare to cook for him. “This is serious. What they care for most after all is domesticity. Of course they’ll fall in love with anything; but what they want to marry is a homemaker. Now we are living here in an idyllic sort of way, quite conducive to falling in love, but no temptation to marriage. If I were you—if I really loved this man and wished to marry him, I would make a home of this place.” (24). Lois is saying that this is serious since they live in domesticity world. Of course man will fall in love on anything, but the most important thing they want is to marry a woman who can cook. Lois said if she is in Malda’s position, she will build a kitchen inside the cottagetee and learn to cook if she really love Ford.

And yet, Malda has no problem with the domesticity world because she know how to cook.“I could cook. I could cook excellently. My esteemed Mama had rigorously taught me every branch of what is now called “domestic science;” and I had no objection to the work, except that it prevented my doing anything else. And one’s hands are not so nice when one cooks and wash dishes,–I need nice hands for my needlework. But if it was a question of pleasing Ford Mathews.” (24). Malda is saying that she can cook because her mother taught her the skill in the past. But she has her work to do, it was hard to work on one hand and wash dishes on another hand. But she is willing to give up her work if cooking for Ford will make him happy. She feels cooking will not be a problem for her but then she will not be able to work on art. Although, she doesn’t like to cook.

From the story Are You Mr. Right?, Lois asked Tom to promise her something before she willing to marry him “Oh my lord, I feel the same for you. Yes I will be your wife, if you promise me this. As you know I love my music, and I would like to keep it as my career in the future. Therefore, I do not have time to cook – be your kitchen lady.” I said. Lois told Tom a heads of time that she will not cook for him because she’s busy with her music work and she wants to find a job in that field in the future. And at that time Tom said, “Oh sure dear, I will be your kitchen man. Don’t worry, nothing is going to change. I’m still going to write my newspaper, and you do what you like. I will love you even though you do not cook for me,” he said. Tom told Lois that she can concentrate on her work, and he will work and cook. He also said that he will still love Lois even though she doesn’t want to cook for him. But later on, Tom felt regret and they started to have arguments and they divorced at the end.

On the other hand from the story The Cottagette, Ford Mathews doesn’t want Malda to cook for him because he wants her to focus more on her art work. He doesn’t want her to give up her interest just for him. “Yes, I know all about it,” he went on, “Lois told me. I’ve seen a good deal of Lois—since you’ve taken to cooking. And since I would talk about you, naturally I learned a lot. She told me how you were brought up, and how strong your domestic instincts were—but bless your artist soul dear girl, you have some others!” Then he smiled rather queerly and murmured, “surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird.” (55). Ford is saying that Lois had told him about Malda and her talent as well, he thinks she should continue doing what she like and don’t give up anything for him, he is proud of Malda’s talent. At here, Ford shows consideration on Malda and he willing to accept her as whom she is and doesn’t want her to change her beauty. He love her as who she is.

In conclusion, shifting from another character’s point of view really made the reader to understand better in another way. In the original story “The Cottagette” we get to understand that Malda was young, pretty and open-mind that she willing to change herself and give up her interest for her love one if she has to. She’s the type of girl that will do anything to please her love one. We get to access to Malda’s mind, however we didn’t get to know how Lois being quality as a marriage adviser. We know Lois was married before from the story The Cottagette, but Malda didn’t mention much about that in detail. And in the retell story, I expanded Lois’ past and shows how she understands man better than Malda based on her background and past, which mades her quality as a marriage adviser. Lois has opposite personality than Malda. Lois was young, pretty but stubborn, she will not change herself no matter what and perhaps that was why she doesn’t have a happy marriage. But after she saw Malda and Ford’s marriage, she starts to think differently.

 

The Joy that Kills

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The Joy that Kills

Yelwasli

Louise and I were closer than most sisters. I think what made us closer was when she was ill and started having heart problems. That’s when our bond grew stronger.

I see Richards, Louise’s husband’s friend, pacing quickly towards me as I was on my way to work. By the look on his face, I quickly knew he came bearing bad news. I had no clue what to expect as a million thoughts rushed through my mind. He tells me that Brently Mallard, Louise’s husband, was leading the list of “killed” in a railroad disaster. He didn’t even believe it so he double checked with a second telegram and this time was certain. I blanked out for a second and then couldn’t help but think if Louise would be happy or sad. I wanted to believe my sister was happy in her marriage but I thought otherwise.

As Richards and I head over to Louise’s house nervously, he tells me that Brently thought his wife was unhappy. I was even more concerned and that made me believe my first instincts. Finally, we arrive at Louise’s house. I can smell the fear as she sees me and Richards walk towards her, together, which was odd. The first question she asked was “Is Brently alright?”, although she was certain of the answer. I began by saying “There’ been an accident…” and she cut me off, screaming and weeping wildly. She thrust herself into my arms and I felt her heart on my chest, beating rapidly.

Before I can even comfort her, she escapes from my hold and run away, into her room and slams the door and locks it. Richard says to me “Give her some time to let it sink in.” I was stunned, so Richards gently sat me down in the living room chair. It took every ounce of power in me not to go after my sister because I knew she needed to be alone. I cannot control my thoughts that were jumbled in my mind. I began to think whether i was wrong for believing she would be happy, or I misinterpreted her whole marriage and she actually cared for Brently, judging by her dramatic reaction. Normally, I would think most women do not react right away, as they are in sudden shock, at this point I don’t know what to think, but all I had to do was wait. We sat there, quietly and awkwardly as we locked eyes a couple times, maybe we were both thinking how quiet it was upstairs. 

A little too quiet. I go upstairs and listen closely through the door as I hear her chanting under her breath “free, free, free!” I thought she had gone mad. I couldn’t help but think that I was right, she didn’t love her husband–sometimes, but her marriage was not that of a good one for sure. It had seemed that my sister was locked away in a whole other space and I could not get to her. Even though the only barrier between us was the door, it felt more than that, and I had no access to what was going on.

I thought that Louise would need a shoulder to cry on, because she always came to me when she was upset, maybe she wasn’t upset for some reason. It’s almost been an hour and I could not take it anymore. I pressed my lips against the key hole and demanded entrance. “Louise, open the door!” I begged. “Open the door- you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heavens sake open the door.” “Go away I am not making myself ill” she yelled. I heard her rise from where she was and turned the door knob. I rushed to her aid. She seemed relaxed and carried herself like a Goddess of Victory. She held my waist as I helped her down the stairs. Richards stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting to be of assistance to Louise. I hear the front door being unlocked and wondered who that could be. It was a confused Brently Mallard, who was supposedly dead. He looked like he had no clue of what happened and was far away from the scene of the accident. It all happened so quickly as Richards reacts to this by screening him from the view of his wife. But, it was too late. When the doctors arrived, they said she had died of heart disease—of the joy that kills.

 

 In the story, “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin, the kind of narrative being used is third-limited narrator. “Story Of An Hour” was written in 1894, and in that time period women had no power and were restricted. They could not give any opinions and their feelings didn’t matter. Some women were “trapped” in their marriage by force. This short story is about a woman named Mrs. Mallard, who receives bad news that her husband had died in a railroad accident. They tell her the news slowly but surely, and she weeps about it then goes into her room and locks herself away. She begins to realize that this so called bad thing isn’t that bad at all, but granted her freedom that she never thought she would get. She starts looking forward to the future instead of dreading it. When Mrs. Mallard fi

I’m Her Sister Josephine

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I’m Her Sister Josephine

Danny Meneses

I’m her sister Josephine; I’m the one who told her about the accident that has just occurred on the railroad. My sister’s friend Richard was here too. He informed me. My sister’s husband Brently Mallard’s was headed to the train, yet no call, all I can do is worry. She did not hear of the story the way others have, it was I her sister, closest to her who had to find a way to break the news to her. She wept once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in my arms. She then pushed me away would have no one follow her. I couldn’t believe this; I felt like I have brought down her whole world and had no way to bring her back. I don’t regret what said, I regret the way that I told her, I did it without thinking. None of this would have occurred if I hadn’t acted so recklessly.

My sister just stood there facing the open window, on a comfortable, roomy armchair,pressed down by the physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. I didn’t know of what she was thinking, and I was worried of how she may act. The only thing I could think of is the fact that my sister is hurting, and I had no way to save her. This killed me. All of a sudden she got up with a face of no emotion walked to the room and locked the door behind her. From the other window looking in I could see what she did. There were patches of blue sky showing through the clouds facing her window, all my sister seemed to be able to do was sit with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, she didn’t need to speak, the emotion she showed was that of one already dead. I felt so horrible for causing this, I wanted to fix things but she was too far gone.

My sister is young, with a calm face, smiles, and always had life in her eyes. Now there was a dull stare in her eyes? There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully.  But she felt, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, and the color that filled the air. As all these things went through my mind, all I could think of is what is she thinking? What will she do? Unexpectedly she let out a slight movement, not able to be understood. All of a sudden she opens the window and I hear “I’m free! I’m free, never to be bothered again! “The look of terror that had followed it went from her eye. I was terrified; I wasn’t able to comprehend what was happening. I feared for my sister, she was beginning to become delusional, I ran to the door and tried to open the door, I pleaded for her to open. I hear her get close, I hear her breathing and then all when quiet I hear her by the door  uttering words not able to be understood. I ask what? She repeats with an understandable tone “I’m free! I’m free, never to be bothered again”. A few minutes later she opens the door with a pale white look, cold as ice as I put my arms round her. Those around including me did not stop to ask her if she was okay, that question was clearing answered. She wept again, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked the same after I told her the news of her husband.

My sister’s face showed noting but gray and death. She spread her arms out to them in welcome; this confused me because she hugged herself and said “I’m back” I realized what that meant. My sister became what seems to be “crazy” then after uttering the words “I’m free! I’m free, never to be bothered again” Repeatedly that was when it hit me; she had been trapped in her marriage for so long, never really free to be her true self, bounded by the marriage she voluntarily agreed too, and trapped from the love she used to have. She doesn’t know how to be free, the realization that now she really is scares her.  I was kneeled before her, I saw her with her lips so blue, eyes so clear, I tried to hug her but she wasn’t allowing anyone to come in. My sister finally responds after what felt like forever of pleading for her to say something, when she did she said “Go away” I feared for my sister, I was mad at myself for what I done, I should have waited and spoken to her in a more delicate manner, instead of dumping the load all at once. There was a feverish look to her, my sister clasped in my arms, I picked her up and help her down the stairs.

 

 

Richard stood waiting for us at the bottom. Someone was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was my sister’s husband who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grips-sack umbrella. He had apparently been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at my piercing cry. He helped me take my sister to the room, the rest followed. He laid her down. We both left to talk about what happen, and I to explain all that happened. After a few minutes we both came back in, I hugged me sister, said I’m so very sorry for hurting her like this I shouldn’t have told her the news in the manner the that I did. She gave me her hand pointed for me to come close; as I did she whispered the words “Thank you, you freed me”.

 

 

 

Story of an hour is a about a woman named Mrs. Mallard who finds out from her sister Josephine about a terrible accident .Her husband Mr. Mallard may have been a part of involved a train crash, not many survivors. Throughout the story you get an idea to what the narrator is thinking but you aren’t completely sure. When reading the story I feel like the reader was someone outside looking in through the “window” telling us what is going on. The narration of the story is third person limited. Third person limited is the point of view in a method of storytelling in which the narrator knows only the thoughts and feelings of a single character while other characters are presented only externally. Third person limited grants a writer more freedom than first person, but less than third person omniscient. So throughout the story you are able to see how people feel about all that is going but you can’t get a good idea of whom is it.

Following the news of the accident Josephine feels that she needs to tell Mrs. Mallard of what has just occurred. She knew that Mrs. Mallard had heart problems. Telling her such news would nearly kill her. Ironically that is exactly what happens but not in the way the reader has lead us to believe. Upon reading the story one is lead to believe that once hearing the news of her “late husband” she would die due to a heart attack or anxiety attack. Yet Mrs. Mallard didn’t react exactly how we thought. She was feeling down but more “happy” then sad. She felt free, apparently she had been feeling trapped throughout her marriage. Now notified of the possible death of Mr. Mallard she couldn’t help but feel joy and sadness all at once. She began to lash out, act “crazy” she locked herself in the room and wouldn’t speak right when talking. She made it hard to understand what she was saying.

I used the narration and how the story was structured to change the narration, and transition to what turned out to be a “new” story. I used first person limited to change narration. I kept the same idea to what was going on, and how the story itself is in general, but what I did change was how the reader can perceive the story. Instead of getting a glimpse to the story from the outside in, I gave the reader the opportunity to actually be inside the mind of a character, in this case I choice Josephine.

The plot line to this version of the story is the same accident that may or may not have caused the death of Mr. Mallard, but now  Josephine tells Mrs. Mallard of the news.. I made it so that we feel the guilt she felt after she told the news, and the tremendous pressure she felt just before she notified her of the news. Mrs. Mallard didn’t know how to react; she was there but not there at the same time. She felt so much pressure lifted off her shoulders. She was sad and horrified about what has just happened. “I her sister, closest to her who had to find a way too break the news to her. She wept once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in my arms. She then pushed me away would have no one follow her. I couldn’t believe this; I felt like I have brought down her whole world and had no way to bring her back. I don’t regret what said, I regret the way that I told her, I did it without thinking. None of this would have occurred if I hadn’t acted so recklessly”. You are able to see how she feels. Mrs. Mallard began lashing out in ways not imagined, it seemed like she was not only delusional but also possessed by the sprit she lost when married.“She was battling within herself, about herself. She lost who she was, now she lost who she is. She let out a slight movement, not able to be understood. All of a sudden she opens the window and I hear “I’m free! I’m free, never to be bothered again! “The look of terror that had followed it went from her eye. I was terrified; I wasn’t able to comprehend what was happening. I feared for my sister, she was beginning to become delusional”  Mrs. Mallard very much like the first story exiled herself from the rest. Very much like the original story upon seeing her husband alive walking through that door to everyone’s dismay they thought they were looking at a ghost.

Mrs. Mallard died peacefully in this “alternate ending” of story of an hour. I wanted Josephine to not feel guilt for thinking she caused her sister’s death. She died in bed. I as the reader feel like not only did Mrs. Mallard die in peace along with giving everyone around relief that she doesn’t have to suffer anymore, but also that she died being herself again and happy. . “He laid her down. We both left to talk about what happen, and I to explain all that happened. After a few minutes we both came back in, I hugged me sister, said I’m so very sorry for hurting her like this I shouldn’t have told her the news in the manner the that I did. She gave me her hand pointed for me to come close; as I did she whisperedthe words “Thank you, you freed me.”

Retelling!

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Retelling!

Kristen Elizabeth

When I opened the storm door and I realized how cold and windy it was, I ran back inside to grab my big wool scarf. While I was putting it on I looked around my kitchen and saw the current condition of it. It was horrible. My kitchen was in no way how a housewife should leave her kitchen in Dickson County. My bread mixture was ready to be mixed, half of my flour was sifted and half was un sifted.

I hated when things were left only half done; but I had been at that when the team from town stopped to get my husband, Mr. Hale, and then the sheriff came running in to say his wife wished I would come too — adding, with a grin, that he guessed she was getting scary and wanted another woman along. So I had dropped everything right where it was.

“My husband in his impatient tone of voice screamed, “Martha, Don’t keep folks waiting out here in the cold.”

I again opened the storm-door, and joined the sheriff, and two other men and the sheriff’s wife who was the one woman in the big two-seated buggy.

After I had the robes tucked around me, I took another look at the Mrs. Peters who was the sheriff’s wife who sat beside me on the back seat. I had met her at the county fair last year and the only thing that I remembered about her was the fact that she didn’t seem like an ideal sheriff’s wife. She was a small and thin woman that didn’t have a strong voice. Mrs. Gorman, who was the sheriff’s wife before Mrs. Peters, had a voice that somehow seemed to be very intimidating. Every word she said backed up the law. And since Mrs. Peters didn’t look like a sheriff’s wife, her husband Mr.  Peters made up for it in looking like a sheriff. He was exactly the kind of man who could get himself elected as a sheriff. He was a heavy man with a big voice, who was particularly genial with the law-abiding; as if to make it plain that he knew the difference between criminals and non-criminals. And right there it came into my mind, with a stab, that this man who was so pleasant and lively with all of them was going to the Wrights’ now as a sheriff.

“The country’s not very pleasant this time of year,” Mrs. Peters at last ventured, as if she felt they ought to be talking as well as the men.

I scarcely finished my reply, for they had gone up a little hill and could see the Wright place now and seeing it did not make me feel like talking. It looked very abandoned on this cold March morning. It had always been a lonesome and abandoned looking place. The house was down in a hollow, and the poplar trees around it were lonesome-looking trees. The men were looking at it and talking about what had happened. The county attorney was bending to one side of the buggy, and kept looking steadily at the place as we drove up to it.

“I’m glad you came with me,” Mrs. Peters said nervously to me as we were about to follow the men and walk through the kitchen door.

Even after I had my foot on the door-step and my hand on the door knob, I had a moment of feeling that I could not cross that threshold and enter the house. It seemed I couldn’t cross it because I never crossed it before. Time and time again it had been in my mind that I should go over there and visit Minnie Foster because I still thought of her as Minnie Foster, even though for twenty years she had been Mrs. Wright. And then there was always something to do and Minnie Foster would go from her mind. But now she could come.

The men went over to the stove, while us women stood close together by the door. Young Henderson, the county attorney, turned around and said, “Come up to the fire, ladies.”

Mrs. Peters took a step forward, and then stopped. “I’m not — cold,” she said.

And so us women stood by the door, at first not even so much as looking around the kitchen.

The men talked for a minute about what a good thing it was the sheriff had sent his deputy out that morning to make a fire for them, and then Sheriff Peters stepped back from the stove, unbuttoned his outer coat, and leaned his hands on the kitchen table in a way that seemed to mark the beginning of official business. “Now, Mr. Hale,” he said in a sort of semi-official voice, “before we move things about, you tell Mr. Henderson just what it was you saw when you came here yesterday morning.”

 

 

 

A Jury of Her Peers is a story about Minnie Foster or Minnie Wright; however the main character seems to be Mrs. Hale. When I decided to re-write A Jury of Her Peers I chose to change the narration to first person and told the story through the eyes of Mrs. Hale.

A Jury of Her Peers begins by introducing Mrs. Hale to the reader and explaining a little about her. It begins in Mrs. Hale’s kitchen as she waits to be picked up by the sheriff and his wife to take a ride to the Wright household. The author explains that Mrs. Hale is a very neat and orderly person that keeps her life in order. The author explains how she observes things in such a descriptive way. The original version says “As she hurriedly wound that round her head her eye made a scandalized sweep of her kitchen. It was no ordinary thing that called her away — it was probably farther from ordinary than anything that had ever happened in Dickson County. But what her eye took in was that her kitchen was in no shape for leaving; her bread all ready for mixing, half the flour sifted and half unsifted.” This shows that Mrs. Hale wanted things to be neat orderly. She doesn’t like to leave anything unfinished. Throughout the story Mrs. Hale is able to keep her voice and tone even. She carefully chooses everything that she says.

The women characters in “A Jury of Her Peers” are quiet, looked down upon, and are to be kept in their place as women and nothing more. Since Mrs. Hale is very observant and pays close attention to detail, her actions and observations are that leads to the conclusion of the story. Again just like in the beginning of the story how Mrs. Hale described her kitchen that thinking and her close attention to detail was how she eventually pieced the evidence together to solve what the men could not. Mrs. Hale was not the type of person to leave anything half done and therefore she was able to notice when things were left unfinished or out of place. . “The cover was off the wooden bucket, and beside it was a paper bag half-full.”… “She was putting this in there,” she said to herself-slowly.”

In both versions of the story you can compare Mrs. Hale to Mrs. Peters. Mrs. Hale always seems strong and confident. However, Mrs. Peters always seems a little shy and unsure at times. This is shown also in both versions of the story when it says “She had met Mrs. Peters the year before at the county fair, and the thing she remembered about her was that she didn’t seem like a sheriff’s wife. She was small and thin and didn’t have a strong voice. Mrs. Gorman, sheriff’s wife before Gorman went out and Peters came in, had a voice that somehow seemed to be backing up the law with every word. But if Mrs. Peters didn’t look like a sheriff’s wife, Peters made it up in looking like a sheriff.”

In my version of the story, I told it from the view of Mrs. Hale. I told the story from the beginning up until the beginning of the investigation. My story shows an indebt view of Mrs. Hale through her eyes. If I continued telling this story you could see how people viewed her and how she felt toward that. Women were heavily looked down upon during this time and the fact that the women in this story played such a heavy role in discovering what happened to Mr. Wright before the men did, and the fact that Mrs. Wright was capable of doing what she did even though she was a women who was looked down upon because of her sex was amazing.

The Good Man

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The Good Man

Michael Gurevich

In “Young Goodman Brown” the author uses an omniscient narrative
style to guide the readers through he story.  By selecting a
first-person narrative style, the reader is able to understand the
character on a much deeper level.
The sun was setting but I knew I would have to make my leave.  My
wife, Faith, was reluctant to see me go but I see no her words would
not be enough to make me stay.  I was going for this errand that I
knew was wrong but I was a man of my word so this promise I would have
to keep.  “Dearest heart,” She whispered to me as she pleaded for me
to stay.  She didn’t want me to go, she was too afraid for my safety
and for her own, as well.  She told me she was too fearful of spending
the night alone but I urged her to remain hopeful and to trust in my
words.  She she knew of the journey I was embarking on, she would
probably never look at me as the man she sees me now. I bid her adieu
and went off into the night.  I arrived at the forest on a night that
seemed darker than any other, I felt this was a sign for me to turn
back but I had to keep to my promise, it was only this one time.  As I
walked along the path I saw the shadow of a figure resting on a downed
tree.  He called to me in an upset voice “You are late, Goodman
Brown”.  I chuckled and told him that my wife, Faith, was so worried
that I lost track of time as I was leaving.  This man was dressed
sharply, he didn’t resemble a shadow in the forest but a man who would
likely be respected in all parts of life.  “Come, Goodman Brown!” he
called to me as we went on path. Although he seemed confidant and
controlled, the staff that accompanied him was an uncomfortable sight.
A twisted walking stick that had a pattern to it that resembled a
serpent.  With every step we made I could feel his it slither beside
us.
I was becoming more and more restless as our journey continued.  Not
because of the treacherous path but because of the decisions I made
that night.  For you see, I come from a long line of good Christen
men.  I arrived with the light and I was planning to remain with it
until my dying day.  Tonight, I was planning to descend into the
depths of the earth, straight to the devil’s lair.  As we carried on
through the forest I became confused about my decision and decided I
should trust my gut instinct.  “I’m going back” I told the fellow
traveler.  “I’m going back for Faith’s sake, she needs me”.  In
response, the traveler offered me his staff as though my troubles were
merely physical.  I declined his offer and decided not to argue with
him but to keep on with my promise and follow him through the path.
The traveler told me that he must take off but that he would leave his
walking stick with me in case I needed it to complete the trip.  As he
disappeared into the darkness I heard the voice of my beautiful Faith.
“Faith!” I cried, as I stood up and lunged forward into the forest.
I didn’t know in which direction to go so I trust my heart to guide
me.  Running forward I felt a strong force pulling me, as if the
serpent has come alive within the traveler’s staff.  It pulled me
through the forest with such force that I could barely feel the ground
below my feet, I was flying toward my love.  “Faith!” I yelled out
again, “Faith!, faith!”.
As I made my way out of the forest I saw a community of people
huddled together in a circle, as if in a worship.  At this moment I
realized this was the event I originally planned to attend. Through
the crowed of people I noticed all the familiar faces from my small
town.  I heard the voice of Deacon Gookin, the minister of our church.
Not too far away was Goody Cloyse, the holiest of women.  This wasn’t
the place I wanted to be, nor was this how I imagined these people.
They were no longer good loving people, but rather devil worshipers.
The people of Salem finally revealed their true colors, colors I would
never identify with.  As I tried to make haste to flew, I saw my Faith
participating with the wretched of men.  “Faith!” I yelled out to her,
“Look up into the heavens! Don’t let your soul be filled with evil!”.
And as the last breathe carried out those words, I awoke in the
forest, confused but rational.  I wasn’t sure if this ordeal was a
dream or not but I knew I had to make my way back to town.  Walking
through the streets I saw the faces of all the people who were just
moments ago preaching the work of Satan.  I passed them by in disgust
as they carried on as if clueless to their wretched ways.  My faith
was home, but I no longer saw her as my loving wife, for her innocence
was tainted with the same darkness as the shadows in the forest.  The
night I left my Faith at home changed my life forever.  I could never
again look at the people of Salem as I once saw them.  I only saw the
evil that consumed them.  Even if they chose not to reveal it, I still
knew.

 

 

 

Although the narration used by the author in “Young Goodman Brown”
creates a perfect environment for the plot there is still something
missing when it comes to the characters.  The lack of first-person
narrative leaves the reader scratching their head during the moments
of suspense.  Retelling the story from a first person perspective
helps depict what was going through Goodman Brown’s head during his
ordeal.  The author’s focused on using a omniscient narrator to convey
the darkness, resentment, and regret that filled Goodman throughout
the story, while the retelling using the first-person narrative
focuses on a more indepth look of the character and his surrounding
world.
The omniscient narration gives great focus of the environment and
characters through imagery.  The story begins with the author
describing Goodman as he begins his trip, “Goodman Brown came forth at
sunset, into the street of Salem Village, but put his head back, after
crossing the threshold, to exchange a parting kiss with his young
wife.”  From the start of the conversation between Goodman Brown and
his wife the narration depicts the mood in the room by describing the
movement of the characters and the reactions they have toward each
other.  He said, “‘Dearest heart,’ whispered she, softly  and rather
sadly, when her lips were close to his ear”.  Compared to the
retelling of the story, the first-person narrative avoids the scenic
route by stating how things really are from the perspective of the
character present in the room, “‘Dearest heart,’ She whispered to me
as she pleaded for me to stay.  She didn’t want me to go, she was too
afraid for my safety, and for her own, as well.  She exclaimed she was
too fearful of spending the night alone but I urged her to remain
hopeful and to trust in my words.”
Mid story, as Goodman Brown meets with the traveler, the role of the
omniscient narration is worked in in a masterful way.  “It was now
deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where those
two were journeying.”  wrote Nathaniel Hathorne, the author of the
short story, in his attempt to use imagery as the main player in this
story.  As previously mentioned, “darkness” and “resentment” play a
big part in the narration.  Throughout the story Goodman Brown is
given signs that urge him to abandon his journey.  The author goes on
to describe the fellow traveler’s walking staff, “But the only thing
bout him, that could be fixed upon as remarkable, was his staff, which
bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought, that
it might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself like a living
serpent.  This, of course, must have been an ocular deception,
assisted by uncertain light.  “A Good Man”, the retold version of this
short story, goes into detail about the traveler’s walking staff as
well but with minor focus on creating a mood based around the cane.
Goodman described the walking staff as he saw it, “Although he seemed
confidant and controlled, the staff that accompanied him was an
uncomfortable sight. A twisted walking stick that had a pattern to it
that resembled a serpent.  With every step we made I could feel his it
slither beside us.”  With this change of narration we’re able to
understand directly how Goodman Brown felt about the traveler and the
staff he kept on his person.
The use of the first-person narration is most beneficial during the
ending of the short story.  When Goodman Brown becomes filled with
hate and resentment toward his fellow townspeople, he searches inside
himself for answers but is unable to rationalize the events that took
place.  In a last hope of salvation, he closes off to the world and
becomes completely submerged in his purity, denying everyone who he
once knew any access to his innocence.  The retold story ends with
this narration from Goodman Brown; “I could never again look at the
people of Salem as I once saw them.  I only saw the evil that consumed
them.  Even if they chose not to reveal it, I still knew.”.  When we
compare this ending with that of the original short story we are able
to see how well the contrast in narration affects story, “And when he
had lived long, and was borne to his grave, a hoary corpse, followed
by Faith, an aged woman, and children and grand-children, a goodly
procession, besides neighbors, not a few, they carved no hopeful verse
upon his tombstone; for his dying hour was gloom.”
There are many advantages to each style of narration, the omniscient
narrator can submerge the reader in the world surrounding the
character while the first-person narrator is able to give us an inside
look through the eyes and heart of the protagonist.  There is no wrong
way to narrate a story.  It’s the author job to carry the readers from
the beginning to the end in a smooth and consistent manner, regardless
of the narrative style.

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard

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Knowing that Mrs. Mallard

Katherine Ferrer

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death.

It has her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences. Mrs. Mallard’s husband’s friend Richards was there, too, near her sister. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard’s name heading the list of “killed.” He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.

Josephine was worried. All she could think of before telling her sister the news of the accident was how she would react. It troubled her greatly to think that Louise might get sick upon hearing the bad news.

Louise did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in Josephine’s arms. Josephine could not bear the sight of her sister breaking down like this, but she could do nothing except hold her. When the storm of grief had spent itself, Louise went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.

That didn’t go too well. Hopefully Louise will be well in there, she thought. Josephine and Richards looked at each other, words at the moment weren’t necessary. The looks on their face said it all. They didn’t know what Louise was doing in her room, and this troubled them.

The news had not been so easy on them either. Mr. Mallard had been a dear friend to all those who knew him. “He was a great man, he would be dearly missed” stated Richards. He had been devastated when he heard the news. Josephine was very sad too. Her brother in law had become very dear to her in the years that he and her sister had been married.

“How could this have happened? He was such a hardworking man. He didn’t deserve to die this way, not in a terrible accident like this one. What would Louise do now?” commented Josephine to Richards. She was still taken aback by the event that was taking place. Richards agreed with her silently, nodding his head to her comment. He didn’t know what would be of Mrs. Mallard either. She was not alone though. She had her sister Josephine, and him.

As they both sat in the living room, she and Richards started to discuss Mrs. Mallard’s reaction to the news of her husbands’ death. She didn’t seem to be as distressed by the news as one would think any women would be when they discover that their husband has died a tragic death. “Do you believe he was happy, Richards?” she asked, gaze fixed on the ground.

He didn’t know what to answer to this question. He had always witnessed them being happy. They were always smiling around each other. Mr. Mallard always gloated about his home to the other workers. He always told us stories about how happy his wife made him, and how he didn’t wish for nothing else in the world but to live happily with his wife as they had lived until now. But her reaction gave way to a different understanding. She seemed a tad calm about everything.

Upstairs, Louise had sat on an armchair that was in the center of the room, facing the window. “Dead,” the word repeated itself over and over in her head. “He was dead!” Her husband was dead! What would she do now, she was all alone. She had no one. The person that she had shared her life with for all those years was gone, and had left her alone. All the thoughts that were now running through her head were beginning to confuse her. Was she alone?

She rose, walking towards the window; her gaze was fixed away on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. She stood at the base of the window, letting the breeze hit her face slowly. There was something coming to her with the breeze. What was it? She did not know. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, and the color that filled that air.

She became agitated. Her breathing started to quicken. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: “free, free, free!” All of a sudden, she wasn’t so taken aback by this feeling.

She did not stop to ask of it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.

There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

And yet she had loved him—sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she had suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!

“Free! Body and soul free!” Louise kept whispering.

Josephine became more worried when she noticed that much time had gone by and her sister had still to come down from the bedroom. She and Richards had been commenting on the accident, and what would be of Louise now that her husband had died. “Enough time has passed, let me go to the bedroom and see what is going on,” she said to Richards.

What is happening in that room, she thought? She had to get in there and help her sister. She walked rapidly to the bedroom, and knelt before the closed door with her lips to the key hold,  imploring for admission. “Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door—you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven’s sake open the door.”

“Go away. I am not making myself ill,” replied the sister from inside the bedroom. No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.

Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she would had thought with a shudder that life might be long. Louise arose at length and opened the door to her sister’s importunity.  There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of victory. She clasped her sister’s waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.

As she held her sister and they walked slowly, Louise stopped suddenly. She stared at the door in disbelief. Her eyes were betraying her. This could not be happening. “What is the meaning of this?” she said. Someone was walking through the front door. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine’s piercing cry; at Richards’ quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife. But it was all a horrid vision. Louise’s eyes started to shut, and she started to slip from her sisters’ grip, her body limbless, all of a sudden.

“Hurry Richards, do something!” shouted Josephine.

But they had been too late.

When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease—of the joy that kills.

 

 

 
In “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin, we are told the story of Mrs. Mallard, a woman that has just discovered that her husband has died in a horrible train accident. Upon discovering this news, she is enjoying this new-found freedom that she has obtained by widowing. The original story is told from a third-person limited narration style. The narrator has access to the thoughts and feelings of the main character; Mrs. Mallard. We know what she is thinking throughout the course of the story, and permitted access to her mind, her thoughts and feelings. In my retelling of “The Story of an Hour,” I would like to switch the narration from Mrs. Mallard, to her sister Josephine. Although the original story’s third-person limited narration from Mrs. Mallard’s point of view offers us a detailed view of the main characters thoughts, this retelling uses a third-person omniscient narration style to give the reader access to the thoughts and feelings of all the characters in the story. In this retelling, we get insight to new details and thoughts that were not accessible to the reader with the original narration style.
Throughout the process of “The Story of an Hour,” we are taken through a journey from the eyes of the main character. In my retelling, in addition to still being able to tell what Mrs. Mallard is thinking, we also get to see a lot of the thoughts of the new narrator, Josephine: “Josephine was worried. All she could think of before telling her sister the news of the accident was how she would react. It troubled her greatly to think that Louise might get sick upon hearing the bad news.” Here, we see what Josephine is thinking. She is troubled by the fact that she has to tell her sister such bad news, and she fears her reaction. This offers us a distinct point of view that will give the reader an advantage to understanding the story better.
Upon changing our narration style, this switch gives us new access to things in the retelling that the narrator didn’t have permission to originally. On top of being able to access the thoughts of all characters, we are also able to roam freely in the setting of the story. This gives the reader a new edge. While being in one room, the narrator can also tell what is going on in another room of the story: “She rose, walking towards the window; her gaze was fixed away on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.” The narrator now has access to a different room than her own, in addition to the thoughts of the character in that room. Our new narrator Josephine can tell us what is happening in the room upstairs, which is an essential part to understanding the story in its entity. Had we chose to make our new narration third-person limited from Josephine’s point of view, we would only see what she is thinking. Therefore, we would not get an insight into the happiness that losing her husband has brought Mrs. Mallard, key element in the story.
Finally, from switching our narration style to third-person omniscient, our new permissions to retelling the story are very beneficial. Something that we didn’t have in the original story that we have in the retelling are some thoughts that the characters had of Mr. Mallard. We only hear him be mentioned once in the original and hearing more about him gives the reader a different advantage: “The news had not been so easy on them either. Mr. Mallard had been a dear friend to all those who knew him. ‘He was a great man, he would be dearly missed’ stated Richards.” Here, we get the point of view of a friend of Mr. Mallard, in contrast to only the thoughts of the main character in the original story. Richards who was a great friend of Mr. Mallard is offering the reader his feelings towards the death of his friend, a different approach than the original.
Overall, switching from a third-person limited narration from Mrs. Mallard’s point of view to a third-person omniscient narration from Josephine’s point of view, in “The Story of an Hour” has given the reader quite a few different advantages as to the way they depict the story. With an omniscient narration style, the author can give the reader something more. The reader not only gets to see and hear what Mrs. Mallard is thinking as the main character, but they can also hear what the other characters in the story are thinking. With the ability to move about in the story’s plot and setting, the reader also gets the opportunity to view distinct opinions that help mold how they are able to interpret the story. These are all positive advantages that are obtained by switching from a limited to an omniscient narrator. This switch offers the reader a different understanding of the original “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin.

The Truth Behind the Rose

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The Truth Behind the Rose

Jocelyn Vigil

I don’t understand why em’ white folks coming around now, I’m sure them folks are coming to sneak around Old Miss Emily’s home and later on gossip, but I don’t blame em’, Miss Emily lived her life in secrecy. She never came out and if she did, she ain’t speak to any of em’ anyway. I remember watching the old women from this town, walking past Miss Emily’s home as if they were trying to figure out what’s going on, trying to ‘help’ in anyway, as if their pity can solve Miss Emily’s ache. I don’t think they really knew how much harm they did with em’ critiques Oh, Poor miss Emily. Only if she had someone to her own, since her father died two years prior perhaps is why she kept me here, to accompany her. After her father’s death  I noticed a change on Miss Emily, She barely went out, her attitude changed, I didn’t dare bring up any question to why, but I figured it was for that reason. Miss Emily restricted people going to her home; she ain’t want any visitors, probably because she didn’t want to remember anything? As time passed, a certain type of smell came about, I had to inform Miss Emily to that smell, but she quickly dismissed it, so I stopped questioning her about it.  Every time I went to the market place I would over hear how the women from town would say “Just as if a man—any man –could keep a kitchen properly”. Oh Please! It’s not like you clean your home yo’self, their servants do all the job! I overheard a neighbor of Miss Emily complaining to the Mayor Judge Stevens about the smell, she wanted Miss Emily out of her home! Mayor Stevens dismissed her idea and suggested it could’ve been just a dead animal. And as the days went by, the Mayor got several more complaints about the smell.

I figured that they might have kicked Emily out of her house but no, a couple of days later four strange men after midnight went across Miss Emily’s Yard to sniff where the smell came from, from what Miss Emily told me. Supposedly they went along the base of the brick wood and the cellar openings, and broke into her cellar and sprinkled lime around that area as if that would work, but apparently it did. I recall Miss Emily mentioning to me that she heard someone creeping around her yard, and that as soon as she heard it, she turned on the candle and sat quietly, but heard no mo’. She figured it might have been the neighbors trying to snoop around her house. I bet it was the men from the Board of Aldermen; those men couldn’t even have the courage to knock on poor Miss Emily’s door to figure out that problem. I had wished I found them that night; I would’ve scared them away! That would have made my night.

I remember how her father used to be, he would always scare away the men that wanted to court her, maybe he loved Miss Emily with all his heart, he wanted to protect her from any man. That man was a strange one, her father, I don’t know much about the mother, probably because she wasn’t really present at home. She had just turned thirty years old, right after her father died. I saw how saddened she looked that day of her father’s death. All that her father had left her was the house, and myself, it was now empty and I can feel the silence. It was only I and Miss Emily. I had left her alone to grief, but as soon as word spread around, all of those annoying, snooping ladies came to give their condolences.  Miss Emily quickly denied her father’s death,–I would’ve too! But then the law and the doctors were trying to dispose of the body oh so very quick. Three days later, she had to give in and she broke down as she saw her father being buried. I’d say she was broken and felt like she was lonely, I’d reckon that I would feel the same if my father had just died. I’m glad now that at least I was there for her and I didn’t leave her in her lone.

Soon after her father’s death, she encountered a man named Homer Barron; he was a foreman of some construction company that came to pave sidewalks in the town. I say it was about time that this town was getting a change. These two were a great pair, I would hear her say to me how happy and full of joy she was. I thought that finally she has found some joy in her life. I’m guessing soon after a couple of months went by , I was told by Miss Emily that I were to go to the drug store and pick up a special delivery and that once I had gotten there I were to go back into her house as fast as I could. I didn’t understand at the time, so I figured it was urgent. I did what I was told, I dare not question Miss Emily once, but I thought to myself what this box might have had. As I had gotten back, she quickly opened the box and from afar I saw what seemed like a skull drawn on the side. I figured it was poison for rats, but then I thought to myself that we don’t have rats here. A couple of days later, we had received two cousins of Miss Emily’s into her home. She was happy to see them, I over-heard them talking about Homer and other family situations, their visit was good for her. In the later days I saw Miss Emily buying a man’s toilet set in silver with Homers initials I think, and a complete outfit of men’s clothing. I thought these were gifts for Homer, so I thought. I overheard people gossiping that they were finally going to get married, I wasn’t sure about this one, probably because Miss Emily would have spoken with me. I felt that something strange was going on, I saw her as if she was hiding something, as a plan was soon to happen.

Her cousins had left town when Homer came back, everythin’ was quiet again as usual. Until Miss Emily came up to me and told me that she need me to go and find Homer and bring him to her, that she had something very important to discuss with him. I went to town that evenin’ and brought him into the house through the kitchen because the front door was locked for some odd reason and told him to wait while I fetched Miss Emily to come downstairs. Miss Emily went down stairs and greeted Homer, and went into the kitchen where I was at and told me to listen and do what I’m being told. It was odd for her to speak to me like that, because I always did what she had wanted me to do. But as she was talking to me, she slowly took out arsenic, and whispered “Pour this into this glass of lemonade you’ve prepared and offer it to Homer, and once you have given this to him do no more and go do your usual hose work, you got that Tobe?” I remember how surprised I was for me to hear this out of Miss Lovely Emily. As the only thing left for me to do, I nodded and said nothing. I took out another glass of lemonade for Miss Emily and poured the arsenic into Homer’s cup. As I went to give Miss Emily and Homers lemonade, I felt sad of what was going to happen to that poor man. I gave him his cup and looked into his eyes and saw the innocence of what was going to be of his death.

And that was the last I saw of him, years passed and I wondered why Miss Emily did what she did to Homer. I would still go out to market and buy the groceries as long as Miss Emily let me. It wasn’t the same as before, I felt like she had become someone that I did not know anymore. To kill a man and for me to be in it made me sick, I did all of her errands but I did not feel the same where I would speak to her like before. People had stopped asking her about her, because I stopped tellin’ em’ information.  Miss Emily got very ill, and was no longer with health. The day before she had died, she looked at me and with her eyes, looked above, steadily and then silently passed away. I know why she looked up, but I was scared to find out, I did not have the courage to open the upstairs bedroom. So now here I am, never to come back to a tragic home I once worked for. It is my time to walk away, I see no use of me in here nomore, I will leave the townsfolk to find out the truth of Homer Barron and poor Miss Emily.

 

 

 

 

In the short story of “A Rose for Emily” By William Faulkner, the story is told by a “Third Person Omni-present Narrator”. The retelling of A Rose for Emily will be “First Person Limited Narration”. In the original story, there was no known character that presented itself; the narrator only knew what was going on with the outside world, but not much on a selected few like Miss Emily. Tobe will be the known narrator because he was always near Miss Emily and was always in her home than anyone else.

I will be using Tobe as the First person limited narrator because it makes sense that since he lives and works for Miss Emily that he would be able to give a different side view and fill in some reasons of Miss Emily’s actions throughout the story. I want to start my narration here with tobe receiving the guests for Miss Emily’s funeral, but I want this character to begin his storytelling when Miss Emily’s father passed away. I want to write what goes on in Tobe’s head and of Miss Emily that hasn’t gone out of her home for a very long time. Tobe is first mentioned on section 2 of the story where the third person narrator goes back into the past and says “A few of the ladies had the temerity to call, but were not received and the only sign of life about the place was the Negro man—a young man then—going in and out with a market baske

In section 2, there was a smell developing in Miss Emily’s yard, the towns people and her neighbors complained about that smell, there was no action done, until one night some men went to sprinkle lime. I want the readers to know that Miss Emily knew about the smell, and dismisses it quickly. I want to use Tobe’s character to question Miss Emily if she knew anything about it, and observe her reaction towards it and their reactions towards the men sneaking around the home.  “So the next night, after midnight, four men crossed Miss Emily’s lawn and slunk about the house like burglars sniffing along the base of the brickwork and at the cellar openings while one of them performed a regular sowing motion with his hand out of a sack slung from his shoulder. They broke open the cellar door and sprinkled lime there, and in all the outbuildings.”

On the bottom of section 2, the original narrator mentions a old memory about Miss Emily’s father and how he had driven away all the young men that would have wanted to court her. “We remembered all the young men her father had driven away…” I want to use Tobe to give an insight on how her behavior was after her father died and not having anyone for companionship, being left alone in the home that he father left her. “When her father died, it got about that the house was all that was left to her….” Right after section 3, Miss Emily meets Homer Barron, the townspeople first were glad that she had found an interest after many years but then there were others who were criticizing her for having an interest that was a ‘Northerner’, a ‘day laborer’. In the original narration, we don’t get to read on what Miss Emily felt about Homer and the criticism that came with him. In the retelling, there will be a brief moment where the servant knows on Miss Emily’s thoughts towards her new interest.

The original narrator does not tell the real reason why Miss Emily goes into the drug store to purchase poison, nor does the narrator tell how she kills Homer Barron. But in my version of the retelling I want to add a bit of my imagination of what went on between her servant Tobe and Miss Emily. In the original story, the narrator only tells that she sent her servant to get the package, and look for Homer; we don’t get any more detail on what happens between the times when she receives the package of poison and the time where Homer disappears. “I want some poison, she said to the druggist. I want the best you have. I don’t care what kind. “Arsenic” said Miss Emily, I want some arsenic.” “The Negro boy brought her the package; the druggist didn’t come back. When she opened the package at home, there was written on the box, under the skull bones: “For Rats”.”  During that lapse of time, i want to add that the servant might have known what was going on with Miss Emily sending him to retrieve the package.

Lastly, the ending of the retelling will be with Tobe spending Miss Emily’s last moments alive, where she confesses to her servant where Homer Barron is since his disappearance. I want to end the narration back into the future where he leads the townspeople into Miss Emily’s home and walks straight out the house and was never seen again. “The Negro met the first of the ladies at the front door and let them in, with their hushed sibilant voices and their quick curious glances, and then he disappeared. He walked right through the house and out the back and was not seen again.”

 

A Weak Heart

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A Weak Heart

Nicole Romano

 My younger sister Louise always had a heart problem since we were young.  I spent most of my childhood looking after her until she found a man of the name Brently Mallard who captured my young Louise’s heart.  They spent many years together and I knew she was in good care, until I found out about his death from his friend Richards. From what Richards told me Brently died in a railroad disaster as he was traveling to work.  I was dumbfounded at the thought that my poor Louise would have to face this burden on her weak heart.  So it was I who made the decision to be the one who would break the news to her.

Richards and I approached the yellow two-toned farm house and knocked on the door, Louise answered in her calm and soft voice “Josephine–Richards! What brings you here at such a time, you both just missed lunch; do come in!” A lump formed in my throat at the thought of having to bring this bad news upon her.  “Louise… there’s something I must tell you… there was a train wreck…” and before I knew it tears were pouring down my cheeks. Richard softly grabbed my shoulder and gave a slight squeeze of reassurance, I looked at Louise and her face turned to a look of confusion at first. “Brently…he…the train…is dead.” My broken sentences finally registered; the look of confusion quickly turned to disbelief as she automatically registered what I was saying.  She covered her mouth to silence her whimper and I rushed to embrace her in my arms.  Shaking her head back and forth and crying out loud “This can’t be true!” I guided her into the sitting room onto the loveseat; tightly embracing her.  We sat there for a while as we both cried in each other’s arms.

When her breathing subsided to a steady pace she turned to me and said “I need to spend some time alone” I hesitated at first on letting her go by herself due to her health, I would much rather have her stay near me—yet I knew that having some time to think would be best in this situation; so I watched her slowly walk up the stairs to her bedroom. I went and settled down again sinking my head between my legs.  I kept replaying the last time I saw Brently which was not too long ago, we were in the yard discussing Louise’s health.  He was telling me how recently the doctor came to check up on Louise and said that her heart condition is becoming weaker.  He told Brently that she can’t handle any more intense moments anymore or her heart won’t be able to handle it.  I was apprehensive after what Brently had told me, yet he reassured me that she will be okay since he will take good care of her. She was blessed with a good husband who truly loved her and for that I was genuinely happy.

I silently cried to myself as Richards walked out into the yard through the kitchen. “Oh, how I wish this wasn’t true” I whispered under my breath.  I heard Louise’s cry come from her bedroom and I raised my head and looked up. I left her alone since it was what she asked yet pained me seeing her go through such a hardship.  After a few minutes I stopped hearing her cries, so I wiped my tears with ease and walked up the stairs to check on Louise.  When I got to her bedroom door I heard her whispering under her breath but I just could not seem to grasp what she was saying.  I put my ear to the door and briefly heard her mumble the word “free” to what seemed like the end of a sentence.  I knew something was wrong so I knocked on the door and pressed my lips to the keyhold begging her to open up, “Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door—you will make yourself ill.  What are you doing, Louise? For heaven’s sake open the door.”  She responded by telling me to go away and that she wasn’t making herself ill.  Yet I had such a bad feeling, all I kept thinking was how she must be making herself over think and cause more stress on her heart, for it hadn’t already went through enough.  I kept knocking until she finally opened the door.

She seemed different when she opened that door, the look in her eyes weren’t ones filled with sorrow but filled with the triumph of waking from a long slumber on a beautiful spring morning.  “Let’s go make some tea” Louise said to me as she clasped my waist, we both descended down the stairs.  Richards was waiting for us looking up at both of us.

I turned and looked past Richards when I noticed someone was opening the front door. I thought to myself “Who could that be?” and in walked Brently Mallard. There wasn’t a scratch on that man; it looked as if he wasn’t even at the scene of the disaster.  My joyful moment turned sour when I turned and looked at Louise grab her heart in astonishment and cascaded down the stairs.  I heard a piercing cry and realized it was my own and quickly ran to her.  Brently was still standing in the front door puzzled at what had just happened in front of him.  I saw Richards immediately went to call the doctors, I kneeled down and cried over the lifeless Louise and I knew that this was the end of my young poor Louise.

 

 

 

Each short story has a unique narration perspective; one example of this is “The Story of An Hour”. The story takes place in the nineteenth-century where the protagonist Mrs. Louise Mallard has a heart condition and loses her husband in a train disaster. This is narrated in a limited third person perspective of Louise in her bedroom. I decided to do my retelling in a different perspective; I chose to narrate in a homodigetic narration of Josephine–Louise’s sister. I felt that from her point of view you would get a different outlook on what is going on outside the bedroom and how she feels about her sister, and her marriage with Brently.

The original story’s limited third-person perspective shows only Louise in her bedroom struggling to accept her new come feelings about the death of her husband “She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will—as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under hte breath: ‘free, free, free!’ The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes.” (1) From this quote you can sense how at first Louise did not want to accept the feeling of freedom from being a married woman. She at first felt guilt, but soon realized how she truly felt about her freedom and identity. “But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.” (2) Louise than embraces this new feeling of freedom and looks forward to her new future with her husband. The reader than finally understands her true feelings, but unlike Louise, Josephine thought differently in my retelling story.

Not only did I want to show the reader’s a different narrator but I wanted to show Josephine as a caring sister who worries about Louise’s health. Since the original story did not focus of Josephine, I decided to make it from her point of view to show what was going on while Louise was in her bedroom.   In one part of the story you see Josephine being a caring sister when she said “When her breathing subsided to a steady pace she turned to me and said “I need to spend some time alone” I hesitated at first on letting her go by herself due to her health, I would much rather have her stay near me—yet I knew that having some time to think would be best in this situation; so I watched her slowly walk up the stairs to her bedroom..” (2)  Josephine did not want her sister to leave her side knowing how much she cared for her health.  Not only is Josephine a caring sister but she showed a more naïve side when it came to her sister’s marriage as well.  In the retold story Josephine looks at her sister’s marriage as something that she is lucky for, she said “I was apprehensive after what Brently had told me, yet he reassured me that she will be okay since he will take good care of her. She was blessed with a good husband who truly loved her and for that I was genuinely happy.”(2)  From this you can get a sense of how little Josephine really knew about her sister’s marriage compared to Louise’s health.

Although each story may have different narrators, both Louise and Josephine each have a unique outlook on the marriage after the death of Brently Mallard.  The limited third-person narrator in the original “The Story of An Hour” to the homodiegtic narrator in my retold story “A Weak Heart” the reader still gets the same dark tone in the story but from just a different perspective.  Also they may have these noticeable differences but even though Louise may have realized her freedom she still loved her husband.   “And yet she had loved him—sometimes.”(2) Josephine may have seemed naïve about certain aspects on her sister’s marriage yet she wasn’t entirely wrong neither since Louise still did love her husband.

From third-person to first-person in a short story you may be limited in certain aspects of the story based on the perspective of the character or narrator; because of these limitations you may not know what could be going on outside the world of the character.  Although they have these differences between the narrations you still get a sense of an exclusive short story.  That is why I chose to do this retelling of “The Story of An Hour.”

What Some Women Think Men Expect From Them

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 What Some Women Think Men Expect From Them

Techy

Malda met Mr. ford at the calceolaria, a place where highly thoughtful musicians and highly musical thinker would gather to eat.  Mathews was an ex-newspaper man and a future book writer.  He was a passionate man who enjoyed music, and he also like the little place we lived in. Moreover, he liked our company and so did I. Mathews have friends in very high places. However, Most evening he would come and sit on our balcony and we would chat and sometimes we would go hiking during the day. And sometimes he would invite us for an afternoon tea, made on gipsy fire where he organized his workshop.

Malda was a great artist. She designed and did embroidery. She was very talented and her works were extremely attractive.  She made drawings from flowers, leaves, and things about her.   She was very passionate about her works because that was the thing that completed her.  She likes music, nature and every little admirable thing about it. When Malda an I sit and talked about our environment, she would tell me how she sees up here as a place where she gained all the little beautiful things she had desire and all the big things that put joy and confidence in one’s life and can push you to accomplish great and splendid works. Malda and I shared the beautiful and peaceful cottagette.  We were happy of the vast size of the view and did not have to worry about anything except when the soft musical thrill of the gong stole through the tree, and we hurried off to the calceolaria.

One thing Malda, Mathews and I had in common was that we were all into music. In fact, I was a pianist, a really good one, and Malda enjoyed watching me played. I was quite older than Malda. Nevertheless, I appeared younger than my actual age.

I have noticed that everyday malda was getting closer and closer to Mr. Ford. She was starting to fall for him. It was clear to me that she was in love with Mathews but I did not think she knew it herself.

“You beginning to love Ford Mathews –do you know it “? I asked her.

Yes, she replied with little doubts.

“Does he love you?” I asked

‘’ It is early to predict. She told me “

It was cleared that she did not know how Mr. Ford Mathews really felt about her. Malda and I had a really good relationship. We trusted and liked each other. Therefore, I felt like I was responsible for her.  ‘Men would fall for anything’. “They like music, romantic talk and beauty”. Moreover, They will fall for your beauty and your dreams but in the end what they really care about is domesticity. They want to marry someone who can do housework, especially someone who knows her way around the kitchen.  ”Trust me it is the truth”. I have been married before, long ago when I was just a girl. It was not the type of marriage a young girl would hope for. There was no happiness. Jerome was a bit older than I was when we got married. Unlike Mr. ford, he was neither into music nor the romantic type. He’s passion was work and spending time at the town local bar. I was more like a servant than a wife to him and sometimes I think that’s what kept him around during the time we spent together. I would cook, wash dishes, do laundries and iron his clothes.  All I get in return was nothing. No love, it was plain agony and I have learned from it all.

To have a home, one must have a kitchen. That’s the ideal of a home to me. My mother has taught me how to be a good homemaker. I knew how to cook very well and do other housework. Malda was in love with Mr. Ford Mathews, and a perfect way to get a man to marry you, is to show him you are a good homemaker since all the really care about is domesticity. Therefore, I insisted that we get kitchen in order for Malda to please Mr. Ford Mathews and win his heart.

 

 

 

 

I have chosen a part of the story “the cottagette” to retell. The narrative style used in the story is the first person narration, which mean the story is focus on one person’s perspective. I have kept the same narrative style, but change the main narrator to another. In the story Malda is a young woman who is attracted to a man name Mr. ford Mathews and her friends Lois is advising her on what she thinks men want in women and what women should do to keep a man happy. Although in the original story the narrator tried to express her point of view in a very understanding way, in the retelling story you get a clearer understanding and a slightly change in Lois thoughts because she is now controlling her thoughts as the narrator instead of having Malda.

Having Lois as the narrator brings more life to her point of view rather than having Malda telling her story. Lois thoughts are slightly different now because she is the one directing her feelings to us now.  If we look at the second paragraph of the new version of the story, and from lines 8 to 11 in the original story, there is a minor change in expression in the way Malda described her works and views on things than the way Lois described them in the retelling version. Lois is Malda best friend and roommate; therefore, one can say they are pretty close. Lois sees Malda works in a more profound way than Malda sees them. She is able to realize than Malda works is one thing that put joy in her life and that she was very passionate about what she did. For example, Lois mentioned that Malda works were extremely attractive. Moreover, she likes music, nature, and every little admirable thing that relate to nature. Therefore, one can tell that Lois really admired Malda works, and as a friend, she pays good attention to her friend.

Another good approach on Lois focuses as a narrator as oppose to malda is how she is able to quickly notice her friend falling for Mr. Ford and how she relates things together. In paragraph 3 in the new version, Lois explains how Malda, Mr. ford and herself are all passionate about music, and it is one thing that connected them together. We can conclude that music played a major role in their life as individual and as friends.  Lois played the piano really good and Malda really liked to listen to her piece, and Mr. Ford Mathews was someone who enjoyed music a lot. In addition, Lois was able to rapidly draw a conclusion that Malda was falling for Mr. Ford because of how close the two couple have gotten to each other due to a lot of time they have spent together. In the original story Malda mentioned “You beginning to fall for Mr. Ford and you cannot even see it said Lois”. However, there weren’t enough details that showed us how she noticed such thing because as Malda the narrator, she does not have a lot of access to Lois thoughts. Fortunately, the new version provides that information because as Lois the narrator, we get full access in her thoughts.  Malda and Mr. Ford would see each other more than often. They would go places together and he was always in the house. As a result, she has gotten very close with him and it lead to her falling for him. Therefore, having Lois as the narrator help us understand her point of view much better than having Malda as the narrator.

In the retelling story, we get more out of Lois’s perspective on what men desire in women and on what she has been through in her past than it is detailed in the original story. Her point of view is more expressive now because she is the one directing to us her thoughts and experience. In the original story, Malda mentioned, “ of course man would fall in love, “but what they want to marry is a home maker, said Lois”. However, it doesn’t say how Lois came up with such conclusion. In the new version Lois state “trust me I know”; I have been unhappily married long before when I was a young girl. As a result, that is the reason why Lois thinks that without a kitchen you cannot call your place a home. Moreover, in order to get a man to marry you, being able to perform housework is a must.  Lois have learned a lot from the past and gained a lot of experience. We can assume that being a homemaker was a major key in Lois’s relationship back then and that the reason why she keep on rejecting every man who revealed his feelings for her

With Lois as the narrator, it is easier to comprehend her feelings and to be able to see how her past experiences has affected her life as an individual.  In the retelling story, Lois mentioned, “I was treated more as a servant than a wife”. In her case, domesticity was the key to the relationship. They had nothing in common. She was trapped in his world back then as she is now for thinking being a homemaker will make Malda wins Mr. FORD’S heart.  In the original story malda pointed out Lois’s point of view but gave little details because she doesn’t have that access Lois has when she is the one narrating the part. Therefore, having Lois as the narrator gives us a clearer meaning of her perspective toward Malda and Mr. Ford relationship.

 

A Night That Changed Everything

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A Night That Changed Everything

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As Faith opened the door for her husband, Goodman Brown, he looked outside and then started crossing the threshold. He turned back and gave her a parting kiss. Faith, the name was aptly named. She thrust her head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons on her cap.

“Dearest heart”, whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when her lips were close to his ear, “pr’ythee, put off your journey until sunrise, and sleep in your own bed to-night”. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts, that she is afeard of herself, sometimes. “My dear husband, stay here with me tonight”, said Faith.

“My love and my Faith,” he replied, “of all night in the years, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done ‘twixt now and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but three months married!”

“Then God bless you!” she said, “And may you find all well, when you come back.”

“Amen!” he cried. “Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.”

So they parted; and she saw the shadow of Goodman Brown is fading away and the tears on her face dropped. Then she walked back in to the house and closed the door. The house seemed empty and lonely. She walked into her room with a worried face she sensed that something bad was going to happen to Goodman Brown. She paced to the window and looked outside, “Please my lord, bless on him all the way until he is back home safe.”

There was a tremendous thunder as Goodman Brown was walking toward the ceremony. It was dark in the night, a murder of crows were flying above him. Faith saw her husband walking. She couldn’t see anything except darkness and Goodman’s shadow as he is walking toward the forest. “Faith, Faith….Help me!” screamed Goodman Brown. Faith saw her husband’s back fading away from her sight.

She woke up and realized it was a nightmare. She cried on her bed. It was raining outside and then she fell back to sleep. She dreamed again. She saw her husband in the forest walking alone. While walking himself alone, she sees that Goodman’s mouth was moving like he was talking to someone, but she saw nobody next to him. Then she saw that he picked a staff that looked evil. The staff bore the likeness of a great black snake that it almost seemed to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent. “My love!” she screamed in her dream. She thought Goodman could hear her because she saw that he looked startled when she called his name. She saw that he screamed but she couldn’t hear what he said. Then she saw him disappeared in the forest.

She woke up again; it was the next morning. She was thinking about what the dream was signified. She couldn’t figure out the meaning of the dream. “Was that really my husband in the dream?” she whispered to herself. She got up from her bed and went to wash her face and then prepare the breakfast for Goodman Brown because he is coming back home.

She walked to the street, seeing her husband walking toward the village. She looked happy. But as he came by near her, he looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting. She wondered what happened to her husband, and she was worried. From that day on, he barely spoke to her. He didn’t trust her anymore. On the Sabbath-day, he refused to listen, and thought the people in town all became evil. “He doesn’t love me anymore,” she cried to herself. For the rest of her life, she lived her life as if she was alone. And even after Goodman Brown died, she will never know what happened in the forest that night; the night that changed him forever.

 

 

 

 

The original story of “Young Goodman Brown” was a third-person limited narration short story. In the story, the narrator was mainly focused on Goodman Brown. It was a limited narration because we didn’t know what happen to his wife Faith while Goodman Brown was attending to the ceremony. In my new version story, “A Night that Changed Everything,” it was also a third-person limited narration but this time the narrator was focused on the wife Faith. Both stories were limited narration but focused on different characters. In this essay, I will compare both stories that will change the way the reader see things differently.

In the story “Young Goodman Brown”, he was a Christian and he is going to attend the evil ceremony. He left his wife Faith in the house alone for that night. In the story the narrator mostly focused on Goodman Brown so he knows what he does, sees, says and hears. While he was in the forest, he met a man. “But the only thing about him, that could be fixed upon as remarkable, was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake…like a living serpent”. This describes the man he met in the forest was holding an evil-like staff. The man also said he knows Goodman’s father and grandfather. As they nearly getting close to the ceremony, Goodman Brown heard the voice of his wife Faith. He screamed her name out loud in the forest and then he saw the pink ribbon that belongs to Faith flew down from the sky. He took the staff that the man gave him, and it dragged him faster to the ceremony like flying. Once he was in the ceremony, he didn’t see Faith. Goodman saw one of the converts was Faith and he told her to resist the devil. Then suddenly he realized he was alone in the forest. The next morning he returned to Salem Village and as he see his wife Faith. “But Goodman Brown looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting.” At the end he didn’t want to trust anyone even his family and thought they all became evil.

In the new version story, the narrator focused on Faith. In the story, Faith opened the door for her husband to go to an evil ceremony and he has to leave her in the house alone for a night. She requested him to not to go because she worried about him but Goodman Brown insist he must go. As they were apart, Faith went back to her room and prayed that her husband will be back to town safely. At night, she had nightmares that she saw her husband. She saw that he was in the forest alone walking in the rain and murders of crows were flying above him. And she heard he screamed for help from her. In her second dream, she saw him again walking alone and as he was walking, he spoke to himself. She saw Goodman picked up the staff that almost seemed like a living serpent. Then she screamed “My love!” and she saw him startled. She woke up and it was the next morning. She cooked for her husband and knowing that he is coming back home today. As she saw him walking toward the village, he passed by and looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting. And for the rest of her life, he barely spoke to her. Until the day Goodman Brown died, she still didn’t know what happened to him that night in the forest; the night that changed him forever.

In comparison, both stories were 3rd person limited narration. Both stories started and ended with same plot that Goodman Brown went off to his journey to the evil ceremony and ended with trusting no one in the town. From the original story, “But the only thing about him, that could be fixed upon as remarkable, was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake…like a living serpent” and new story, “Then she saw that he picked a staff that looked evil. The staff bore the likeness of a great black snake that it almost seemed to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent”, both stories happened to showed that Goodman Brown saw a staff that looked like an evil living serpent. In the new story, when Faith screamed “My love!” she saw Goodman startled and in the original story, Goodman Brown heard Faith’s voice in the forest and he screamed her name. This shows that Goodman Brown really did heard Faith’s voice. Also in the end of both stories, Goodman Brown went back to town and looked sternly and sadly into Faith’s face, and passed on without a greeting. And after that night in the forest, he didn’t want to trust anyone in the town or even his family.

One difference in both stories is that in the original story, Goodman Brown thought Faith was in the ceremony because he saw her for a while then he found out himself alone in the forest, but in the new version of the story, Faith was at home alone and she had nightmares that night which hardly for her to sleep. This gives the reader a sense of thinking it might be Goodman Brown who had gone crazy while he was at the ceremony. If the reader didn’t read the original story but read the new version of my story, they might think that he had gone crazy instead of believing the whole town of people and his wife turned into devil. Even though we know that he died later in his life, but his wife still don’t know what happened in the forest; the night that changed him forever.