Category Archives: Project #1

Project #1, Week 7

Comparison Essay Roughneck- A Rose For Emily

Leave a comment

Roughneck that do not care for a Soul– A Rose For Emily

WHEN this woman……. Miss Emily Grierson died, her whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant–a combined gardener and cook–had seen in years.
It was a big, frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been the best street. But due to development of  garages and cotton gins even the august names of that neighborhood have vanished; only her house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-a degradable sight to see. And now she had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
Alive, she had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor–he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-rid her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that she would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily’s father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris’ generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.
The next generation came around, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction for Emily. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff’s office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.
They called a special meeting of the Board of Aldermen. A deputation waited upon her, knocked at the door through which no visitor had passed since she ceased giving china-painting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by Tobe an old servant into a dim hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disuse–a close, dank smell. Tobe led them into the parlor. It was furnished in heavy, leather-covered furniture. When Tobe opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sun-ray. On a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of her father.
They rose when she entered–a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated, like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of dough as they moved from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand.
She never offer them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the spokesman came to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at the end of the gold chain.
Her voice was dry and cold. “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves.”
“But we have. We are the city authorities, Miss Emily. Didn’t you get a notice from the sheriff, signed by him?”
“I received a paper, yes,” She said. “Perhaps he considers himself the sheriff . . . I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But there is nothing on the books to show that, you see we must go by the–”
“See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But, Miss Emily–”
“See Colonel Sartoris.” (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!” Tobe appeared. “Show these gentlemen out.”

Comparison A Rose For Emily The original story

0
Project #1

A Story of an Hour – Josephine

1 Comment

Retelling

It was a nice beautiful afternoon, when my sister’s friend Richard came over to my house and told me about the news of my sister’s husband Brently had died in a railroad accident. “How could this have happen,” I said with a sadden voice. “Have you told Louise about this yet?” Richard just stood there and finally said “How could I break this news to her without breaking her heart. I was hoping you can tell your sister about her husband,” Richard had said with a troubled face.

We went to Louise’s house to tell her about the tragic news about her husband. On the way to her house we had discussed about how we should break the news about her husband and that we had to take caution on the effect that this will have on Louise. As we approached Louise’s house, tears started to come down from my eyes, as I was afraid that this would be too much of a burden that Louise can handle. After calming down and the tears have stopped, we rang the bell on Louise’s house.

The door opens and Louise greeted us with a smile, “Hello there Josephine and Richard.” When we went inside, we went into the living room and Louise brought us a cup of tea. As I was sitting there with Louise, I started to feel tears coming down again when I thought about breaking the news to Louise. I resolved myself to tell Louise the news as I was drinking the tea. When I finished the cup of tea Louise brought, she asked if I wanted more tea. “Louise, you have to listen to me carefully now,” as Louise listened with a calm face “ Your

Husband

..Brently


he was in a railroad accident today.” “Richard found out the news today when he was at the newspaper office and Brently’s name was on the list of those that have been killed.”

Louise calm face suddenly turned pale and she was just sitting in the chair with no expression. Then she started crying like she was a newborn baby and I held her in my arms. Louise cried in my arms for a while and when she stopped crying she slowly went upstairs to her room. As I was following her up to the room, she closed the door and locked it before I can go inside of it.

I waited outside of Louise room, but I did not hear any noise from inside the room and I started to worry about Louise’s health. I started to bang on the door and yell “Louise, are you ok?” “Please open the door.” There was no response from Louise so I looked through the keyhole of the door and I can briefly see Louise sitting on a chair near the window. Louise seemed to be lifeless as she did not move at all. My worry started to increase, as I called for Richard.

“Richard

Richard,” as I yelled the loudest I could. Richard came running up the stairs wondering what was going on. “Louise is just sitting on the chair near the window, I’m worried that her heart is giving her troubles.” As I told this to Richard I asked if he can call the doctor over and find a way to open the door. When Richard went downstairs to call the doctor, I suddenly hear a faint noise from the room and I put my ear closer to the door. “Free! Body and soul free!” I can faintly hear Louise saying this.

I started to panic and wondering what this message can mean so I kneed down and put my mouth by the key hole and started to beg Louise to open the door. “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.” Louise yelled back answering my cry for her to open the door “Go away. I am not making myself ill.” I started to worry more and kept wondering what she was doing inside that room. I yelled for Richard, “Richard have you found a way to open the door yet?” Suddenly the door opens and Louise came out of the room. “Louise,” I yelled with a worried face but she seem to not notice my cry for her.

As Louise came out of the room, she did not have a face of one that just lost her husband. Louise looked like she came out of a fight with the devil himself and had the face of a goddess that won the battle with the devil. Louise helped me off my knees and held me by the waist. “Let’s go downstairs,” she said to me with happy face. As we went down the stairs, Richard was waiting for us and said “Louise, are you ok?”

As we walked down the stairs the door suddenly opened and a familiar body figure was at the door.

“Brently!” I yelled as loud as I could. I turned around to look at Louise, but her face turned pale as seen a ghost. Richard tried to block Brently from Louise’s view, but it was too late. Brently stood there with a confused look on his face, as he had no clue on what was happening.

Then a thud sound could be heard and Louise had fallen to the floor. “Louise!” I cried. Louise showed no sign of breathing. “Richard where is the doctor?” I asked while panicking. A few minutes later the doctor showed up and claimed that Louise had died of a heart disease.

Comparative Essay

For the retelling I picked “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin, where Mrs. Mallard is told about the death of her husband. In the original story, we get to know the thought process of Mrs. Mallard only and the other characters actions or thought process is just left out in thin air. For the retelling I told the story in the view of how Mrs. Mallard sister Josephine would be feeling in such a situation.

In the original story, we first learn that Mrs. Mallard is told about the death of her husband and how she is feeling when is told about the news. In my retelling I start by showing what kind of day it is and how Josephine learns the news about the death of her sister’s husband. I also show how Josephine feels at the time that she learns the news and how she is approaching the situation. We don’t get to know how Josephine is feeling prior to her telling the news to her sister in the original story, so we cannot assume what she is going through or what kind of feelings are being shown by her.

In the retelling, the part where Josephine is telling the news to Mrs. Mallard there are small details that get added such as how Josephine is feeling really nervous and does not know how to tell her sister about the death of the husband. We also get to know that to calm herself down and tell her sister about the news, she drinks tea and takes her time in telling her in order to not greatly affect her health, in which she has a heart problem. From the retelling, we get to know what kind of character Josephine is instead of not knowing at all in the original story.

After Mrs. Mallard knows about the death of her husband she goes into her room and sits in a chair near the window. In the original story, we get to know how the room is like and what Mrs. Mallard is doing while sitting in that chair. We get to know how Mrs. Mallard is going through the pain of losing her husband to getting happy that she gets to live her life the way she wants to; now that her husband is dead.

In the retelling, we get to see a different view of how the other characters are responding to Mrs. Mallard locking herself in her room. We are first presented that when Mrs. Mallard goes to room to be alone is a standard respond to knowing that a loved one has past away. We get to see the different views when they try to talk to Mrs. Mallard when she is in the room and does not get an answer from her.

In the original story, we know that Mrs. Mallard is going through the process of accepting the death of her husband and how she is going to live her life now. In the retelling of the story, we get to see that the other characters assume that this type of action taken by Mrs. Mallard can lead to one that hurts herself because of her health problems. The only action that is taken in the original story that we know is Josephine calling out to Mrs. Mallard to come out of the room. In the retelling, we get to know that more action other than calling out to Mrs. Mallard is taken. Josephine tells Richard to call the doctor and find a way to open the door. From that we can tell that the other characters are worried to what is happening to Mrs. Mallard in the room since they only thing they know is that she is sitting in a chair without and response from her. From the retelling we get to see the emotions that Josephine is feeling from the moment Mrs. Mallard goes into her room to when she leaves it. We get to know that they took early action in calling the doctor in case something happens to Mrs. Mallard and that they tried to get access into the room instead of leaving her alone in the room.

In the final part of the story, both the original and retelling show is a similar view, when Mrs. Mallard comes out of her room and she goes down the stairs to see her husband which causes her to have a heart attack. The only thing we get to see more in the retelling is how Josephine felt when she saw Mrs. Mallard leave her room and the face she has. We get to see the emotion of Josephine from being worried of what happening to her sister to feeling relieved that she came out of her room just fine. We also get to see that when they walk down the stairs, the emotion that goes on when they see the husband is not dead and the facial expression that Mrs. Mallard express at that moment.

With the retelling of this story, we get to know more about the emotions that the other characters felt during this situation. The goal of this retelling was to show that Mrs. Mallard was not the only one that had to face this painful experience, but the other characters also faced one of their own with how to deal with Mrs. Mallard actions in response to the husband deaths.

0
Project #1, Week 7

The Pink Ribbon

Leave a comment

The Pink Ribbon – A retelling of Young Goodman Brown
Edited by Rena

[1] My sweet husband and I came forth at sunset, into the street of Salem village. After crossing the threshold, he turned around and kissed me with his soft supple lips. I felt the wind playing with the pink ribbon in my hair. I felt him pulling me towards the dark side but I refused. I cannot let this happen. I don’t want to go, not yet.

[2] I leaned towards his ear. “Dearest heart,” I whispered softly and afraid, “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’s afeard of herself, sometimes. Pray, tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year!”

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

[4] I do not doubt you my dearest
 I doubt myself! Please, my dearest, doubt the lone woman, stay with me by my bedside to-night! I wanted to scream these words in my poor Goodman’s ear but he wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t let me make a sound of my plea.

[5] “Then God bless you!” he forced me to say, “and may you find all well, when you come back.”

[6] It will not be well, and my dear Goodman will never really be back. Neither will I.

[7] “Amen!” cried my poor sweetheart. “Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.”

[8] I watched as my love pursued his way, until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back, with a melancholy air hovering behind him.

[9] Then he was gone.

[10] “He’s chosen…” thought I as I walked back into the house, for my heart smote me.

[11] I closed the door behind me and headed towards the window in my dimly lit room.

[12] “The devil!” I screamed as I felt a serpent tail-like stick on my neck.

[13] I turned around and there he was, about fifty years old, with an indescribable air of one who knew the world. I saw 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 the uncertain light…

[14] “He has chosen, and so have you my sweet girl!” said he of the serpent.

[15] If my dear Goodman choose to walk with the Devil tonight, I will walk with him as well. I will sell my soul to the devil if it means being with my sweet love.

[16] Just seconds later, I felt trapped in my body. I felt like I was gazing through the eyes of a stranger’s withered body. “Oh how weird this feels” I thought. I was no longer in control as I watched the scenery change from the familiarity of my bedroom to the meeting house where I last saw my love, and finally to the wicked dark forest.

[17] “With Heaven above, and Faith below, I will yet stand firm against the devil!”

[18] “Who was that?” thought I. “I know that voice. I know that is the voice of my dearest love. My sweet husband has changed his mind. What am I to do, there is no turning back now!”

[19] “Goodman, my sweet sweet Goodman, oh do please hear me! Come take me home with you my dear, so we can sleep in our own bed to-night, and forget about this nightmare!” I uttered with uncertain sorrow.

[20] But his voice was drowned out in the wind and before long I was before a sheet of flame; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage.

[21] The fiend-worshippers surrounded the flame chanting or screaming … but I couldn’t hear anything. I just looked for my dear Goodman, as hope came into my heart, I trembled.

[23] Then, a wretched man held me with his trembling hands.

[24] It was my dear Goodman. “Goodman, dear, oh how great it is to see you! Take me away from this nightmare, I beg of you” I kept screaming at him.

[25] His mouth seem to be saying my name, but I couldn’t hear anything.

[26] “Look up to Heaven, and resist the Wicked One!”  Resist the wicked one… resist the wicked one…

[27] I lifted my head up.

[28] Twisting and wriggling in a pink ribbon, I saw the great black snake.

 

Young Goodman Brown Versus The Pink Ribbon – A Comparative Essay

In Young Goodman Brown by Nathaniel Hawthorne, the narration is third person limited omniscient. Hawthorne’s narrator follows around the thoughts and feelings of young Goodman Brown. This story is limited to the experience and the views of Goodman Brown. The readers of the story do not understand all the events that may have happened in the story because Goodman Brown does not understand the full events of his experience. Goodman does not know why his wife was at the devil’s gathering. Goodman does not know whether or not he dreamed the experiences of the night. Focusing the narration to Faith’s point of view through first person narration will allow the reader’s to piece together both sides of the story to better understand what happened the night at the forest. Although the original short story’s third person limited omniscient of Goodman Brown conveys vulnerability, mystery, and dominance, the retelling of the story uses first person narration of Faith to emphasize on vulnerability, submission, and love.

Young Goodman Brown showed a sort of dark romance with vulnerability of people whom Goodman thought were innocent and religious. The narrator describes Goody Cloyse and Deacon Gookin with kind words from Goodman’s point of view. This could be portrayed in the quote, “as he spoke, he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, in whom Goodman Brown recognized a very pious and exemplary dame, who had taught him his catechism in youth and was still his moral and spiritual advisor” (Hawthorne, 1846:4). This could also be portrayed in “The young man sat for a few moments by the road-side, applauding himself greatly, and thinking with how clear a conscience he should meet his minister, in his morning-walk, nor shrink from the eye of good old Deacon Gookin” (Hawthorne, 1846:5). Although the third person narrator is speaking here, readers can understand how Goodman thought of Goody Cloyse and Deacon Gookin by pointing out their role in Goodman’s life.

The retelling of Young Goodman Brown also portrayed vulnerability of people but specifically of Faith. This can be portrayed in paragraph 4, “I do not doubt you my dearest
 I doubt myself! Please, my dearest, doubt the lone woman, stay with me by my bedside to-night!” This shows the vulnerability of Faith herself and how she doubts herself even though Goodman Brown still believed her as pure and innocent. She wanted Goodman to bring her back to the good side because she could not do it herself. This could also be shown in paragraph 16, “Just seconds later, I felt trapped in my body. I felt like I was gazing through the eyes of a stranger’s withered body.” The vulnerability of Faith to stand for what is right caused her to lose control of her body. She was only a passenger on the ride to the communion where she joined the devil. In the retelling of the story, Faith was a lot more vulnerable than Goodman was to walk with the devil. This shows that Faith was submissive whereas Goodman showed dominance.

In the short story of Young Goodman Brown, Goodman repetitively showed dominance to the devil. This can be seen even in the beginning of the story, “too far, too far!” (Hawthorne, 1846: 3). Just at the beginning of his walk, Goodman is already wanting to back out of it exclaiming that they have already reached too far and that his father and his father’s father have never went into the woods for such errands. It can also be seen in “my mind is made up. Not another step will I budge on this errand. What if a wretched old woman do choose to go to the devil, when I thought she was going to Heaven! Is that any reason why I should quit my dear Faith, and go after her?” (Hawthorne, 1846: 5). Goodman sees that his moral and spiritual advisor has chosen to be with the devil but he stands strong and makes up his mind to stay behind. Goodman makes up his mind to stand against the devil and shows dominance to his decision by standing strong.

Faith, on the other hand, was extremely submissive to the devil. The moment Goodman Brown walks into the forest and away from Faith, Faith followed the devil. In paragraph 14, “He has chosen, and so have you my sweet girl!” With just this quote, Faith lost control of her body and sold her soul to the devil. In paragraph 15, Faith shows submission, “If my dear Goodman choose to walk with the Devil tonight, I will walk with him as well. I will sell my soul to the devil if it means being with my sweet love.” Although Faith chose to follow the Devil it can be seen that she does this out of love. She does this because she wants to be with her love. Even towards the end of the retelling, it showed the ultimate submission to the devil because in paragraph 28, “Twisting and wriggling in a pink ribbon, I saw the great black snake.” Towards the end of the retelling, she followed Goodman’s advice to look up to heaven and resist the devil but she still followed the devil.

In Young Goodman Brown, it wasn’t exactly clear whether or not Faith and Goodman followed the devil. Mystery encompassed the entire short story since the beginning. This can be portrayed in “of all nights in the year, this one night I must tarry away from thee” (Hawthorne, 1946: 1). There is so much mystery in this quote because the readers do not know where he is going and why it must be this night. It could also be portrayed in the paragraph before, “”dearest heart,” whispered she, softly and rather sadly” (Hawthorne, 1846: 1). The reader’s do not know why Faith is sad, and why Faith does not want her new husband to leave to the errand this one night. Finally, readers do not know who the old man that is walking with Goodman in the forest is. This is also shown in the quote, “the elder person was as simply clad as the younger, and as simple in manner too, he had an indescribable air” and “his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought.” (Hawthorne, 1846: 2).

In the retelling of the story, in paragraph 4, “I do not doubt you my dearest
 I doubt myself! Please, my dearest, doubt the lone woman, stay with me by my bedside to-night!” Again, this solves the mystery that Faith does not want Goodman to go to the forest because she knows that he is going to the devil and that she doubts herself to stay faithful to Christianity without him by her side. In paragraph 13, it says “I turned around and there he was, about fifty years old, with an indescribable air of one who knew the world. I saw 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.” Through this sentence it is understood that the person talking to Faith is the same person that is walking with Goodman in the forest. In paragraph 12, when Faith exclaimed “The devil”, readers understand that it is the devil who is leading Goodman and Faith to the communion.

Although the both the short story of Young Goodman Brown and the retelling had a gothic and dark mysterious vibe to it, the retelling of the story in Faith’s perspective gave readers a lot of answers that they were searching for in the actual text. Young Goodman Brown, being told in third person limited omniscient only allowed a small peephole into the actual events of the story through the eyes of Goodman Brown. Because Goodman was confused with the events of the night, the readers were confused with the events of the night. The retelling of the story through Faith’s perspective is also limited to only her thoughts and feelings but because Faith is more aware of the story, the readers are also more aware of the events that happened. When readers read both versions of the story, they come to a better understanding of the characters of Goodman and of Faith. Readers understand their differences in handling the same situation as well as the outcome of the story, answering some of the vagueness at the end of Young Goodman Brown by Nathaniel Hawthorne.

0
Project #1

My Short Lived Happy Ending

Leave a comment

My Short Lived Happy Ending

I finish my meal, and walk towards the kitchen, when I hear the doorbell ring. I slowly walk to the door. Due to my heart trouble I try not to overwork myself. I open the door to find my sister, Josephine, and my husband’s friend, Richards, standing outside. I invite them in, but they both have a gloomy look on their faces. My sister starts to talk, “Louise, Richards was at the newspaper office when he heard of the railroad disaster.” I nod, wondering what does this have to do with me. She seems to be speaking in broken sentences, and I can hear grief in her voice. As she continues, her voice gets high pitched and cracks, “Among the names of those killed, was Brently Mallard.”

What? The immeasurable pain struck me like a lightning bolt. I immediately scream at the news and threw myself into Josephine’s arms crying. I can’t believe it. My poor husband has been killed. I continue to cry until the grief eased up.  I walk to my room, having no one follow me.

When I enter my room, I quickly lock the door behind me and proceeded to the window. I stood at the open window then sank into the comfortable armchair behind me. My exhaustion troubled me. I observe the landscape outside the window. The tops of the trees are shaking; it must be the new spring life. I take a deep breath and sense the rain in the air. Below in the street, is a peddler. Above, the blue sky is showing in patches due to the clouds that piled up together.

I throw my head back on the cushion of the chair, and remain motionless, except for a sob that came up from my throat and caused me to shake. Why? Why did this have to happen to him? To me?

I thought to myself. I’m a young woman, for my face is clear and calm, the lines on my face show a sign of strength.

Then, I started to feel something come to me. I don’t know what it was, but I feel it creeping up towards me through the sounds, scents, and colors that filled the air.

Now that my husband is gone, I have no one to limit me on my actions. I rise from the chair, and fall back down. I begin to feel empowerment, excitement even. Most women that I know would never feel such a way after their husband’s death. “Free, free, free!” I begin to whisper. My pulses start to race. The terror which had overwhelmed me has dissolved.

I had loved Brently sometimes, though I often did not. I tried to shake that thought out of my head because it doesn’t matter anymore. I knew that once I see my husband at the funeral, in his coffin just lying there, I would grieve once again. Subsequently, the years that I have left will belong to me and no one else. I welcome the time I will have. That power that my husband had, that bended my own, is now gone. Love is an unresolved mystery, which can’t count for the possession of self-assertion that I have just been given access to.

I started to whisper again, “Free! Body and soul free!”

Josephine was behind the door shouting, “Louise, open the door! You will make yourself ill!” I ignore her warning. I am not making myself ill. My husband was who made me ill. “Go away! I am not making myself ill!” I shout in reply.

I think of the days to come, spring and summer days, and all types. All of these days will be my own. I took a deep breath, praying that life may be long.

I finally get up from the chair, and open the door to my sister. I grab her waist and walked down the stairs with her. My newly found freedom has filled me with life. Richards was still here waiting at the bottom.

Then, as we reached the bottom stair, someone opened the front door with a key. My terror returned at the sight of the figure that entered. It was Brently. My heart begins to race and I feel a horrible pain in my chest. I grab my chest and fall, then just pure darkness.

 

 

Comparative Essay – “The Story of An Hour” and “My Short Lived Happy Ending”

“The Story of An Hour” and “My Short Lived Happy Ending” both tell the same story, but with different narration styles. “The Story of An Hour” gives the reader a third person narration. In “My Short Lived Happy Ending,” the reader is given an autodiegetic first person narration. The difference in the narration can change how each story is interpreted.  In the original story, “The Story of An Hour,” the third person limited narrator actually shows the death of Mrs. Mallard, gives access to some of her thoughts, and a view of more than one room in the story, while in the retelling, “My Short Lived Happy Ending,” the first person autodiegetic narrator gives full access to Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts, showing the true reason for her death without actually showing her death, and a view of only the rooms that she is in.

In both the original and retelling the death of Louise was depicted differently. The original states, “It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly 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. When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease–of the joy that kills.” In this quotation, the narrator is showing the death of Louise, but the characters of the story think she died of a heart attack caused by the joy of seeing her husband alive. The retelling states otherwise. “Then, as we reached the bottom stair, someone opened the front door with a key. My terror returned at the sight of the figure that entered. It was Brently. My heart begins to race and I feel a horrible pain in my chest. I grab my chest and fall, then just pure darkness.” At the sight of her husband, Louise’s heart began to race. She died of fear. Fear that her freedom will be taken away from her once more, since her husband wasn’t actually dead. “My heart begins to race and I feel a horrible pain in my chest. I grab my chest and fall, then just pure darkness.” This line was used to represent Mrs. Mallard’s death. It was difficult to include her death into the retelling, but her heart beginning to race and her chest pain was used to symbolize her dying from the heart disease which she had.

In the retelling, there is access to all of Louise’s thoughts during the course of the story. This shows her true feelings about her husband’s death. “Now that my husband is gone, I have no one to limit me on my actions. I rise from the chair, and fall back down. I begin to feel empowerment, excitement even. Most women that I know would never feel such a way after their husband’s death. ”Free, free, free!” I begin to whisper. My pulses start to race. The terror which had overwhelmed me has dissolved” With this access, the reader can interpret that her relationship with her husband wasn’t something that made her happy. It held her back from living her life. In the original, “Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. 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 the breath: “free, free, free!” The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.” The reader is given Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts, but only to some extent. They’re told that after the death of her husband, Mrs. Mallard comes to realization that she’s finally free. In both stories, the narrator shows the reader that Mrs. Mallard is full of joy after her husband’s death. One difference is that the retelling shows that joy in more detail.

The main differences between these two stories are the type of narrations. “The Story of An Hour,” is written in third person limited, allowing the reader to know what’s going on in multiple places of the story. “Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, 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.” No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.”  In “My Short Lived Happy Ending,” this part is told in a different view,” Josephine was behind the door shouting,” Louise, open the door! You will make yourself ill!” I ignore her warning. I am not making myself ill. My husband was who made me ill. “Go away! I am not making myself ill!” I shout in reply.” From Louise’s point of view she doesn’t know that her sister is kneeling behind the door, she only sees the room that she’s in.  In the original, the reader is shown both inside and outside of the room.

In writing the retelling of “The Story of An Hour,” the main goal was to give the reader Mrs. Mallard’s point of view. This helps clear up any confusion about what she’s actually feeling, or the reason for her death. Although, the original shows this, it’s not from Mrs. Mallard’s point of view. Her point of view allows the reader to fully understand her true feelings that she develops after she grieved her husband.

0
Project #1

Project #1

Leave a comment

Retelling

The dream is finally coming together. The beautiful wife, the darling baby, and now we are finally able to afford the renovations that we’ve been speaking about. Sure it’s expensive, and we’ll have to be away for the entire summer, but it couldn’t have worked out better. I found a nice rental home for the full three months, and got a job nearby in the clinic.

Besides, ever since the baby has come along, Jane seems a little on edge, and perhaps a little depressed. This little “vacation” will give her a chance to clear her head, and get a little fresh air. In fact the cleaner air will be beneficial to both her and the baby, such fragile things.

We finally arrive at the house, and it really is perfect. It is set back from the road and is on quite a large property. It has the most beautiful gardens, Jane and the baby can spend hours out there in the wonderful summer air. Jane immediately says the house is haunted, but I know that is just her depression talking. It was sitting empty for a couple of years but that just led to the price being reduced, not to having ghosts in the attic.

We finally got settled. We chose the room on the topmost floor. It has lots of windows, providing plenty of fresh air and sunshine, practically the cure for her symptoms of depression! At first she wanted a room on the ground floor, but I talked her out of that in a hurry. Although she did make a good point about the wallpaper, it really is ugly. Maybe I’ll get around to repapering the room this summer.

Jane has been complaining about her “illness” as of late. What a silly girl, “illness” this is a mild case of depression brought on by the stress of giving birth. I have seen it before and will no doubt see it again. How lucky is she to have a physician as a husband?! With fresh air and lots of rest she will be back to her good old self in no time. She wants to write, and talks about visiting her cousins, but that must wait, rest is what she needs now.

The work at the clinic is really interesting, and challenging. It’s really a shame I have to spend so much time there, and sometimes even late into the night. I’m just glad that Jane is on the mend, this wonderful air is really doing her well. She does have some trouble sleeping some nights, but it’s just her nerves. It’ll pass soon.

My, how Jane can go on about the wallpaper. She speaks of its crazy patterns, angles, and curves, and how it makes her nervous. I would love to repaper it, but we are so very busy at the clinic these days. Besides, to repaper it would be giving in to her wild imaginations and make her fantasies more real. It’s really a great room, all but the wallpaper, but it’s not like we live here. Only for a couple more months. I’m sure she understands that.

Again, Jane speaks about visiting with her cousins, and again how I tell her she needs more time to rest. Her cousins Henry and Julia are very excitable folks and that is too much for her right now. I’m also having suspicions that she might be writing. It’s a good thing my sister was able to come out and help around the house. I’ll be telling her to keep an eye out for Jane’s notebook. Jane needs her rest, we are so lucky to have found such a great house for her to recuperate.

After the fourth of July, Jane’s mother, and sister spent some time here along with her sister’s kids, I thought the company would do her good, but she seems very tired out. If she’s still not 100% by the time we go back home, I’ll take her to see Doctor Weir Mitchell. He has been known to treat hysteria very effectively. But in the meantime I’m very glad Janie was able to stay, and help us out this summer. Jane has to focus on getting healthy, not on housework, and caring for the baby.

What a busy summer this is turning out to be, there is always something going on at the clinic, with lots of late nights. And when I get home, there is Jane’s silliness to deal with. Again she asked me about visiting her cousins but made my argument for me by breaking out in tears during our conversation. They’ll be plenty of time to visit once she gets better, now she needs to rest.

Last night I awoke to find Jane creeping around the room in the middle of the night. She decided that was the time to tell me she wanted to go home. She can be so silly, where would we go, the house is still not ready. In only three weeks we’d be leaving anyway. In the meantime she is getting noticeably better. She seems to think that  physically it might seem so, but mentally she is suffering. It is just that kind of thinking that is making her feel that way. After speaking about it, I’m sure she feels the same way I do about it. If she puts those thoughts out of her head she’ll be better in no time.

Jane seems to be doing much better, and is really getting her rest. Jane and I had a laugh today, about her getting better in spite of the wallpaper. I’m pleased to see she got over those ridiculous fantasies.

Boy, am I tired. After spending the afternoon, packing and getting ready to return home, and spending the whole night at the clinic, I hope to find the time for a short nap before traveling back home.

Finally I arrive home and head to bed, luckily that’s bolted to the floor and does not need packing. As I approach the room, I notice something very wrong, for one thing the door is locked, and from within there are tearing sounds and maniacal laughter. “Unlock the door” I yell to Jane to no avail. The strange noises from inside the room continue. I call to Janie to bring me an axe, I must get Jane out of there. Then I hear her speak, in a very gentle voice she says “John dear, the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf”.

She is just being silly again, “open the door, my darling” I pleaded. But again and again she says the key is downstairs. I send Janie to go check before taking the axe to the door and indeed she comes back with the key.

Bracing myself I open the door, and there is my wife creeping around the room amidst the ruins of the wallpaper. I call to her ask her what she is doing. She turns to me and I will never forget her face at that moment, the crazy look in her eyes. “I’ve got out at last,” she said, “in spite of you and Jane. And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, So you can’t put me back!”

The world starts going dark, what is she talking about? I have a very clear thought just before hitting the ground, that crazy women creeping about is not my wife, she looks very much like her, but that is not her!

 

 

Comparison

For my retelling I decided to go with “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. I chose to rewrite the story from the protagonists husbands point of view, switching from autodiegetic, to heterodiegetic first person point of view. In its retelling the story changes from an increasingly unreliable narrator, to a slightly uninformed narrator. The new version shows us that even though the “illness” was taking over Jane’s life, her husband only saw it as an overreaction to a mild depression.

In the story, Jane spends a lot of time alone, and has a lot of time to dwell on her thoughts and imaginations. She tries speaking to him a couple of times, saying she wants to be in a different room, but he doesn’t go for it. He has different ideas on how to deal with her issues, but of course he doesn’t realize how bad it is for her.

In the story there are a couple of times when John seems to brush off her concerns. She tries to tell him what bothering her, but he finds an explanation. “..there is something strange about the house, I can feel it…but he said what I felt was a draught, and shut the window.” I tried to show how he really was trying to do the best for her and really felt he knew better. ” Jane immediately says the house is haunted, but I know that is just her depression talking.” He really feels that he is making all the right decisions.

A few times throughout the story John makes a decision for them. In the original it is clear that John made the decision and she was not all too happy about it. “I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! But John would not hear of it. He is very careful and loving and hardly lets me stir without special attention.” In the retelling however, John says how “we” made the decision. “We chose the room on the topmost floor. It has lots of windows, providing plenty of fresh air and sunshine, practically the cure for her symptoms of depression! At first she wanted a room on the ground floor, but I talked her out of that in a hurry.” I feel this shows that while he is trying to do what is best for her, he doesn’t take the time to listen to her. What he thinks is right. He is, after all, the physician.

In the original, the story ends with the woman behind the wallpaper “getting out.” “I’ve got out at last, in spite of you and Jane. And I’ve pulled of most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!” Although it was in her head, i tried to leave in some of that ambiguity, allowing the thought that someone actually got out to remain in the story. “I have a very clear thought just before hitting the ground, that crazy women creeping about is not my wife, she looks very much like her, but that is not her!”

I enjoyed imagining John’s side of the story, he is a big part of the story and the reason she is in her situation. I feel the original made him seem a little uncaring, and I felt he deserved more credit. I think he really did care, but felt he was doing what was best for her.

 

 

 

0
Project #1

THE PULSE OF LOVE AND EMOTION

Leave a comment

It was a day with a clear blue sky. It was peaceful and I was glad especially knowing that my husband went off on a trip. Why do I say I’m glad? I wonder why I say so myself. Love is that sort of feeling of deep affection towards one another or the act of wanting to see someone by your side. Love however is something that I can’t truly define. I love my husband but my love for him fluctuates like my heart beat.

There seemed to be somewhat of a commotion downstairs. I questioned myself, “What could possibly be going on?” Out of curiosity, I then went downstairs to find out what was going on for myself. Judging by the commotion, I knew something unappealing was coming my way. That “unappealing” thought I had turned out to be my sister Josephine. She however, stood with a troubled and glum look as the beat of my heart slowly began to speed up.

I thought to myself, “Why does she have a depressed look on her face?” Josephine then looked at me with the eyes of a sloth. “What brings you here with sadness my sister?” I said. As Josephine talked, I saw my husband’s acquaintance, Richards, standing by her. “Your
.Husband…Is
.Dead.” she muttered hesitantly. Upon hearing this, I instantly wept into the arms of my sister. This news was a shocker and I didn’t know what to do. Slowly, but surely, I eventually calmed down. As I wiped my tears, I requested to be alone in my quarters. I dispiritedly trotted back up the stairs to my room with my heart beating in sync with my emotions.

I entered my quarters and immediately sat down on my armchair. The chair was very comfortable, as if it was drawing me deeper into its comfort; it felt like a seat of a royal horse drawn carriage. It felt like I was being brought more into the chair. This news I just received only recently, shocked me however, the warmth of the chair was soothing and calming, not only for my mind, but the beat of my heart.

The scenery was peaceful; the paragon of the spring season. Trees were blooming with new life while the spring rain was pleasurably redolent of that familiar scent. It was quiet here. So quiet, that I could faintly hear the sound someone singing from a distance and the sparrows chirping outside my window. I looked up; there was a serene blue sky filled with clouds that often collide with other incoming clouds to form larger clouds. The beautiful scenery I was looking at relaxed my mind. At this point, my heart had settled down and I was calmed.

I was almost motionless; I shook periodically due to my sobbing. I felt like a sleeping newborn after crying for so long; however, I felt calm. I exhausted all the stresses that broke me down. I looked away from the clouds thinking to myself, “If my husband is gone doesn’t this mean I’m free to do whatever I please?” My mind has been blown by this thought. Once again, the beat of my heart slowly started to accelerate.

I immediately rose up and fell in the course of that action. “I’m now free.” I thought to myself. I stared at my hands and whispered, “Free, free, free!” The thought of freedom brought sensation throughout my body. I then wept again; however, this feeling was different. I questioned myself, “Am I actually happy?”  After so many years of being confined by this one man, I had finally been released from the chains that held me back. I glanced at the sky and spread my arms wide open in happiness. I welcomed the face of freedom into soul. My heart pounded against my chest in such a way that warmed and relaxed every inch of my body.

I acknowledged would be alone. Nobody would be able to hold me back from doing as I please. There wouldn’t be any strength in the world to chain me down and my actions. It felt like a crime to even think about something so distant. My eyes were opened with a flame that would ignite the path to the world I was about to enter. I began to look into my future as my heart raced with the excitement of a child.

I entered a world in I created. It was the utopia I have endlessly been dreaming about for such a long time. A world with no limits and burdens. It was the ideal world I wished for. I tranquilly walked around the empty house with my husband out of my sight. I then raced outside to be greeted by the nature of spring without restrictions to my autonomy. I leaped into the meadow where bright flowers surrounded me as the sparrows continue to chirp. I looked up to the clear blue sky that yielded a more definitive hue of blue than the ocean that surrounds the lands we walk on and thought, “this is what true freedom looks like.” I slowly closed my eyes and snapped back to reality. My world, the real world, and now the beat of my heart now resonated as they begin to fuse.

I then heard the voice of Josephine behind the door. “Louis, open the door!” she stammered. “I beg; open the door! You’ll make yourself ill. What are you doing Louise? For heavens sake open the door!” “Go away. I am not making myself ill” I calmly told her. I was consumed by my dream of the utopia I longed for. “Free! Body and soul free!” I murmured repeatedly. Spring days, Summer days, Fall nights, Winter nights. All of those would be mine. I help possession of my future days and nobody else had any authority over that. I prayed for a long life, which was something that I never could’ve hoped for in the past. With that prayer, my heart continued its acceleration.

I now stood up and proceeded to open the door where my sister was kneeling behind. I looked at her with the eyes of a soldier who came back from a victorious battle. I treaded towards her and clasped my sister’s waist. She looked at me with a worried look but eventually, she saw that I appeared alright. With that, we proceeded to go back down the stairs. Freedom was the only thing on my mind. The idea of freedom never felt so good. My heart raced faster than a Kentucky Saddler. The sight of Richards waiting for us at the bottom was the finish line. That line was where I needed to be. It symbolizes that I’m officially free. My heart then raced faster and faster wanting to reach that line.

As we went down step by step, I heard the sound of a door opening. I look towards the source of the sound was coming from and I see the front door slowly open. A bright light quickly entered into the room through the door and slightly blinded my vision. I closed my eyes and opened them again only to see the brightness slowly fading away. There was a shadowy figure standing in front of me. I blindly looked at it with a worried look and confusion.  “Don’t tell me what I think it is.” I screamed in my mind, “No no no no! My freedom! I felt the chains slowly come back for me and my heart raced even faster. My sense joy now turned into fear and confusion. The sight of freedom slowly disappeared right before my eyes. As the shadowy figure came closer into visibility, my heart felt different. I felt weak and I begin to drop down, carrying my sister along with me. I heard a piercing scream that also brought my heart to a sudden stop. My eyes began to slowly close shut at the image of my husband, Brently Mallard. It was the joy that kills.

0
Project #1

The Day Gregor Samsa Revealed to his Parents that he was a Bug

Leave a comment

The Day Gregor Samsa Revealed to his Parents that he was a Bug

Once Gregor decided to leave his room, he went through his double doors to hear the chief clerk exclaim a resounding “Oh” that could be heard throughout the entire house. The chief clerk had never seen anything so unusual in his life, especially a talking enormous pest. He thought, “this must be a dream, this cannot be Gregor Samsa,” while he pressed his hands against his open mouth, he slowly retreated as if driven by an invisible force. The chief clerk thought back on his youth and how he detested insects for their dreadful appearance, especially for their numerous, undulate, hairy legs. Gregor’s mother was sitting on the couch when she saw the reaction of the chief clerk, so she unfolded her arms, rose from her seat, took two steps forward where Gregor was standing, and she immediately fell unconscious on the floor. There were no words to describe her anguish for her son turning into a household pest, all she could do was lay on the floor in utter astonishment and gloom. Gregor’s father looked hostile and clenched his fists as if wanted to knock Gregor back into his room. He could not believe that his precious, hardworking son would turn into an insect. The once strong willed lieutenant in the army was now a repulsive insect that needed to be extinguished.

“Was this the secret Gregor was hiding from us when he refuse to open his door?” thought Gregor’s father. Then, he looked uncertainly around the living room, covered his eyes with his hands and wept so that his powerful chest shook. The father was depending on Gregor to take care of the family. Not only did Gregor financially support the family but he also took care of the father and mother as they were getting older. However, these responsibilities were not of Gregor’s duties anymore because the father saw that he no longer existed anymore. “Now how is the family going to be taken cared of?” “What am I going to?” “How is this vermin going to take care of me?” “He cannot possibly be my son,” thought the father as he continue to weep all the more louder.

Gregor tried to explain to the chief clerk about his excusable tardiness for not coming to work on time but the chief clerk had turned away as soon as Gregor started to speak. He could only see Gregor’s big stature, numerous, hairy legs, moving in all directions, and his antenna moving back and forth like a pendulum of a clock. These actions made the clerk very frightened and since he could not understand most of Gregor’s speech, he thought that Gregor wanted to eat him. So, the chief clerk moved gradually to the entrance hall where he rushed forward in a panic and stretched his hands out towards the staircase in order to escape from this nightmare. “I better get out of here before he consumes every part of my flesh,” thought the chief clerk.

However, while the chief clerk made all effort to escape, Gregor realized that is was out of the question to let the chief clerk go away in this mood, especially if his position at the firm was in extreme danger of being expunged. So, without considering that he was still not familiar with how well he could move about in his present state, or that his speech might not still be understood, he let go of the door; pushed himself through the opening; tried to reach the chief clerk on the landing but immediately fell over and, with a little scream as he sought something to hold onto, landed on his numerous little legs.

As the mother witness all this, she thought of Gregor’s face as a young boy, then as a mature man. She could not believe that this vermin was her son. She closed and opened her eyes, so that Gregor’s normal body would magically reappear but it did not work. All she could see was an enormous bug. Then, in her hysteria, Gregor’s mother suddenly jumped up with her arms outstretched and her fingers spread shouting, “Help, for pity’s sake, Help.” She hurriedly moved backwards until she reached the kitchen table and quickly sat on it without realizing that all the breakfast things were on it. She did not even seem to notice that the coffee pot on the table had been knocked over and a gush of coffee was pouring down onto the carpet.

“Mother, mother,” said Gregor gently, looking up at her but he could not help himself from snapping in the air with his jaws at the sight of the flow of coffee. Mrs. Samsa saw Gregor’s movements but she could not make sense of it, so it caused her to scream anew. “Oh, my God, what is he doing?” “Oh, my God, I think he is going to kill me!” thought the mother as she fled from the table, and fell into the arms of Gregor’s father. The chief clerk had already reached the stairs of the entrance hall and Gregor did not want him to leave if he knew that he would be left without a job for this dreary situation, so he made a run for him. While the chief clerk tried to quickly leave he noticed that Gregor’s dome like body was shifting and his antenna was moving to his direction. He did not want to be touched by this hideous creature, so, he leapt down several steps at once and disappeared, while his shouts resounded all around the staircase.  Gregor’s father realized that immediate action was going to have be taken to extinguish this situation. “I don’t want this thing running around my house, it needs to get out,” thought the father. So, he seized the chief clerk’s stick in his right hand, picked up a large newspaper from the table with his left, and used them to drive Gregor back into his room, stamping his foot at him as he went.

Although Gregor tried to reason with his father, his father could not understand him and wanted him to leave. He no longer considered Gregor as a son but as a repulsive pest that needed to die. Across the room, Gregor’s mother could not deal with the present ordeal and felt she was going in a state of unconsciousness, so she pulled open a window, leant far out of it, and pressed her hands to her face breathing in and out.

“Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out you filthy pest,” thought Gregor’s father as he hissed and stamped his feet to drive Gregor back to his room. Gregor had never had any practice in moving backwards and was only able to go very slowly. He did not want to get a fatal blow to his back or head from the stick in his father’s hand, so he quickly and anxiously tried to turn himself around. As this process went very slowly, Gregor’s father was becoming impatient. “I don’t want this vermin in my sight anymore,” thought the father. So, he used the tip of his stick to give directions from a distance on which way to turn as he kept hissing at Gregor to get back in his room. When Gregor had finally turned around, he was pleased that his head was in front of the doorway, but then he saw that it was too narrow, and his body was too broad to get through it without difficulty. “Finally, he is almost out of my sight, he needs to hurry up,” thought the father. In the father’s present mood, he did not have the idea that Gregor was unable to open the double doors. He was merely fixed on the idea that Gregor should get back into his room as quickly as possible.

As the father watched Gregor desperately trying to push himself back into his room, he became more impatient and the hissing became louder and louder in an attempt to drive Gregor all the more harder back into his room despite his current paralysis. With the little strength that Gregor had, he pushed harder into his room but then one side of his body lifted itself making him lay at an angle in the doorway. One flank of Gregor’s body was scrapped on the white door causing him to get painfully injured. His scrap left vile brown flecks on the door and soon he was stuck fast and was not able to move at all by himself; his little legs along one side hung quivering in the air while those on the other side were pressed painfully against the ground. The father could not accept Gregor’s off putting nature of being an insect and the flecks on the door made him more appalled of the situation. “This is so horrendous, I can’t take this anymore,” thought the father, so he gave a hefty shove behind Gregor and released him from where he was held. This sent Gregor flying, while heavily bleeding, deep into his room. “And good riddance to you,” thought the father as he slammed shut the door with his stick, and finally, all was quiet.

 

Comparison Essay on “The Day Gregor Samsa Revealed to his Parents that he was a Bug” and “The Metamorphosis” 

In, The Metamorphosis, the narrator, which is a third-person limited narrator (heterodiegetic narrator), tells the story about Gregor waking up as an enormous bug. The narrator describes Gregor’s thoughts, feelings of his transformation, and analyzes what is going on outside of Gregor’s mind. However, this narration is only limited to Gregor’s thoughts. Readers are not able to hear the thoughts of Gregor’s father, mother, and the chief clerk. Readers are also not able to experience how these characters felt when they encountered Gregor as a bug for the first time. The narrator just simply spoke about what she/he saw and these characters reactions but did not give the readers access to each character’s mind. Therefore, by retelling the story from a third-person limited narrator to a third-person omniscient narrator (heterodiegetic narrator), readers are able to see how Gregor’s mother, father, and the chief clerk had underlying fears that they were battling with as opposed to the original text.

In the retelling, The Day Gregor Samsa Revealed to his Parents that he was a Bug, the mother is portrayed as being very distraught of Gregor’s newly transformed body. When the mother had her first encounter with Gregor as a bug, she immediately “fell unconscious to the floor.” The narrator describes Mrs. Samsa’s unconsciousness as “anguish for her son turning into a household pest” and that she felt astonished and depressed for Gregor’s situation. In, The Metamorphosis, when the mother encountered Gregor as a bug for the first time, the narrator only describes how the mother “sank to the floor into her skirts,” how the mother’s “skirt spread themselves out” as she laid on the floor, and how her “head disappeared down into her breast” (Page 2, p. 2). These were all observations from the narrator of the mother’s reactions but there were no descriptions of her feelings. Moreover, in, The Day Gregor Samsa Revealed to his Parents that he was a Bug, when the mother witnessed her son falling on the ground and landing on his “numerous, hairy legs,” the narrator got access to the mother’s thoughts by showing her reminiscing on “Gregor’s face as a young boy, then as a mature man.” The retelling of the story showed us that Mrs. Samsa really cared about her son and that she wanted Gregor’s old body to return, unlike the father. However, in The Metamorphosis, when the mother saw her son crouched on the ground with his numerous little legs, the narrator just states that she “was engrossed in herself.” The narrator does not state what she was thinking instead she/he shows the mother screaming after she has witnessed Gregor’s new body. So, in these scenes, Mrs. Samsa shows that she feared Gregor’s well-being and if Gregor was every going to return to his normal body.

As for Gregor’s father, he looked very appalled and unaccepting of Gregor’s newly transformed body in both the retelling and original story, however, in The Day Gregor Samsa Revealed to his Parents that he was a Bug, the father’s feelings were well represented with his dissenting actions. When the father encountered Gregor as a bug for the first time, all he could think about was himself and the financial burden of the family’s needs such as, “How was the family going to be taken cared of?” “What he was going to?” “How was the vermin (Gregor) going to take care of him?” He did not think, what happened to my beloved son? Instead he was “hostile” and did not want to accept that Gregor had turned into an insect. In, The Metamorphosis, the narrator merely states “he looked hostile and that his fist was clenched as if he wanted to knock Gregor back into his room” (Page 20, p.2). The narrator did not state the father’s feelings and readers were not able to know what the father was thinking as he was weeping (Page 20, p.2). Moreover, in, The Day Gregor Samsa Revealed to his Parents that he was a Bug, the father’s disgust for his son is clearly seen when the narrator states that the “father no longer considered Gregor as a son but as a repulsive pest that needed to die.” As the father was chasing Gregor with the chief clerk’s stick, all he was stating was, “get out, get out, get out you filthy pest.” So, when readers read this scene from the rewrite, they were shown that the father really despised Gregor, that he had no sympathy for his son’s dreary situation, and that he had no love for Gregor. As opposed to the original text, the father is continually shown as being very angry with Gregor without any explanation for his hostility. In, The Metamorphosis, the narrator explains how Gregor was fearful of getting a “lethal blow in his head or back with the stick that was in his father’s hand and how he was getting confused by the loud hissing” that was being done by his father when he was trying to return to his room (Page 22, p. 2 & Page 23, p.1), however, there were no feelings and thoughts of the father being portrayed in this scene. So, in these scenes, the father lived in fear of what was going happen to him in the future. He did not think about how Gregor supported the family but was angry at Gregor’s transformation.

With the chief clerk, readers were able to get a recollection of his past in, The Day Gregor Samsa Revealed to his Parents that he was a Bug. When the chief clerk saw Gregor as a bug for the first time, he started to think “back on his youth and how he detested insects for their dreadful appearance.” The rewrite allowed readers to get to know the chief clerk personally by reminiscing on the things that he dreaded as a child, which were insects. In, The Metamorphosis, the chief clerk’s simply puts his hands on his open mouth as he slowly backs away from seeing Gregor’s newly transformed body (Page 20, p.2). Another detail that the rewrite gave was with, the chief clerk giving a thorough description of what Gregor’s new body looked like to him. For example, the chief clerk described Gregor as having a “big stature, numerous, hairy legs, moving in all directions, and an antenna moving back and forth like a pendulum of a clock.” Although, the description of Gregor’s new body was being told throughout the original story, it was nice to hear it from another character’s point of view. Also, in, The Day Gregor Samsa Revealed to his Parents that he was a Bug, the chief clerk’s frightful thoughts were shown when he thinks that Gregor was going to “consume every part of his flesh” and that “he did not want to be touched by the hideous creature (Gregor Samsa).” As opposed to the omniscient narrator, the limited narrator in, The Metamorphosis, does not state the chief clerk’s thoughts or feeling for the situation, he merely is seen as trying to get to the entrance hall of Gregor’s home in order to escape (Page 21, p.2). So, in theses scenes, the fear of insects that the chief clerk was battling with in his youth had continued on into his adult life and it emotionally scarred him to believe every insect was “hideous” in nature.

In conclusion, the retelling of The Metamorphosis from third-person limited to third-person omniscient shows readers that Gregor’s mother still acknowledged her son, although, she was frightened and did not know how he was going to return to his normal body. As for the chief clerk, he had a fear of insects from his childhood, so he was depicted as a fearful person that saw Gregor as a “hideous creature,” rather than being Gregor Samsa. And finally, the father was repulsed at Gregor and did not “consider him as a son but as a repulsive pest”. He feared about the future rather than think about the well-being of his son or a solution to cure his condition. The omniscient narrator showed readers that the other characters had their own battle with fear, whether it was financially, physically, or mentally, and that Gregor’s situation added fuel to their already underlying flame of fear.

0
Project #1, Week 7

Jane Vs John

Leave a comment

Comparison Essay

“The Yellow Wall-Paper” and “The Husband’s Side of Life”

First person narration is usually the most detailed and informativeform of writing. With this narration you get inside a characters mind and feel their emotions. “The Yellow Wall-Paper” was written in first person point of view narration everything Jane saw and felt, we saw and felt as if we were right next to her seeing the woman inside the yellow wall paper. The retelling “The Husbands View on Life” was written in the first person narration of John, Jane’s husband. We saw how John viewed the wallpaper. We became aware of John’s feelings towards his wife. He loved her and wanted to save her. Only in first person narration we can get most of our questions answered.

In “The Yellow Wall-Paper” Jane comes across a woman trapped inside, “by daylight she is subdued”. Jane sees a world within the wallpaper, she knows it’s ugly but to her it’s full of life. During the day when the sun is exposed and everyone is awake the women in the wallpaper hides in between the patterns and at nightfall she creeps around learning the patterns. Jane is avoiding her family she sleeps during the day and uses all her energy analyzing the wallpaper at night. Jane becomes the wallpaper. On the last night it’s just Jane and the wall paper. She is aware that she is the only person that can set herself free, she destroyed the wallpaper and freed herself.

Then in “The Husband’s View of Life” John sees an ugly old tarnished wallpaper that has uneven patterns, “there’s no beauty in the room”. John thought he figured out why Jane has become so obsessed with the wallpaper. He wished he had listened to her and redecorated or relocated to another room. Maybe she would’ve been the Jane he once knew and not the Jane who sleeps during the day and alive at night. John was finally relieved, it was their last night in the estate, maybe Jane will get better at home, he needed her to get well for their son’s sake, but when he went to get her he saw something else  she was yellow. She was the yellow wallpaper. He saw her as the wallpaper he was afraid and had a heart attack, she was free and he became controlled.

The wallpaper for Jane symbolizes a life that only she can see and relate to. With first person point of view we secretly know that she wanted to keep what she found in the wallpaper to herself, “and I am determined that nobody shall find it out but myself”. Jane felt as if she is the only person that can rescue the woman and set her free. For John the wallpaper is just that a hideous wall dĂ©cor, that he wished he had changed. John wasn’t home often because he wanted to give Jane her space, “at home I don’t want to be in Jane’s way”. He let us know that he loved his wife and wasn’t avoiding her, he only wanted her to progress at her own pace without any pressure with his presence. John couldn’t wait to get his wife as far away from that room as possible, when he went to get her it was too late. He saw she was the wallpaper.

In conclusion with first person narration we are given access to details that are given only to the readers. Jane saw herself in the wallpaper and knew only she can free herself. John saw a yellow wallpaper that controlled his wife and he couldn’t find a way to help her. Jane finally escaped the wallpaper and john became lost in it. John loved Jane and he tried to save her, but the only person that could’ve saved Jane was Jane.

0
draft, Project #1, Week 7

Project one

Leave a comment

I picked the short story “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin (1894). The character I picked was Ms. Mallard being the narrator.

Knowing that I had a heart trouble everyone was very scared on how to tell me the news of my Husband’s death. They tried to break the news to me as Gently as possible.

My sister Josephine told me in broken sentence; my husband friend Richard was near me. It was him who was there in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with my husband name in the list of “killed”. Richard had only took 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.

I didn’t accept the story as much other women would have, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. I wept once, with sudden, wild abandonment in Josephine arms. When the grief final hit me I went to my room to be alone. At this time I just wanted to be alone and didn’t want anyone to follow me.

I stood there facing the window, a comfortable, roomy arm chair. In this I broke down by a physical exhaustion that haunted my body and reached my soul.

I could see the open square before her house to tops of trees that all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which song which someone was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves,

There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.

I sat with head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, expect when a sob came up into my throat and me, as a child who cried herself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.

Young I was with a fair people will describes me as, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. I now had a dull stare in my eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It wasn’t a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.

There was something to me and I was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? I really didn’t know: it was way to subtle and elusive to name. But I felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching towards her through the sounds, the scents, and the color that filled the air.

Now I bosom rose and fell tumultuously. I started to realize this thing was approaching to possess me, but I was striving to beat it back , as powerless as my hands has been. While I abandon myself a little voice whispered word escaped my slightly parted lips. I said it over and over under my breath: Free Free Free! The fear that I had in my eyes where no longer there my eyes were keen and bright. My pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of my body.

I wonder if it was a monstrous joy that held me or not. A clear and exalted perception enabled me to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. I knew I would weep again when I saw the kind , tender hands folded in death: the face that had never looked safe with love upon me. Fixed and grey and dead. Being in the situation I was in I looked beyond the bitter sweet moment a long procession of years to come that would me. I opened and spread my arms out with welcome.

It hit me that I would have no one to live for in the years to come. It was time that I now have to   live for myself. There woul be nothing no longer in my way. No power to blending me in that blind persistence with men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon one another. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as I look upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

But yet I stilled love him. Often I had not. What did matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which I sudden recognized as the strongest impulse of my being.

I kept whispering Free! Body Free! Soul.

My sister put her lips near the keyhole wanting me to open the door and let her in. she shouts my name “Louise open the door” she begged me to open the door. She believed that I was going to make myself ill. She continue to trying and reach out to me with asking me what I’m doing? And to open the door.

I couldn’t take it no more, I told her go away. I’m not going to make myself ill. I was dinking in a elixir of life through the open window.

Thinking about what the future holds my fancy running riots along those days ahead. Thinking about spring and summer and the other season to come that I’m going to be on my own.

 

 

 

 

 

0
Homework, Project #1, Week 7

The Woman in The Wallpaper vs The Actual Woman

Leave a comment

The Yellow wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman is a tale of a woman fighting her madness. She[For the purpose of distinction we’ll call her Mary] believes there is a woman inside the wallpaper and ultimately becomes obsessed with wanting to ‘free her’. I saw the woman inside the wallpaper as the part of Mary that was actually trapped in marriage. ‘Mary’ in the beginning thought John was loving and meant well, at this moment the woman in the wallpaper didn’t exist, if anything ‘Mary’ hated the wallpaper and didn’t even want to live in the room. As her madness manifested and she became more obsessed with the wallpaper she imagined there was a woman who was there trapped, she also saw many women outside her window who ‘creep around’ and thought them to have walked out of the wallpaper. At this point she found John to be annoying.

I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I’m sure I never used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition. But John says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper self-control; so I take pains to control myself-before him, at least, and that makes me very tired….. John does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is no reason to suffer, and that satisfies him

‘Mary’ begins to realize John isn’t exactly the nicest person. The woman on the other hand, since it is now that  ‘Mary’ noticed her existence, would be the side of her that wouldn’t notice this neglect but rather see it as ‘Mary’ being the reason why John doesn’t spend much time home anymore.

 

I wonder if they all come out of that wallpaper as I did?

This was the most interesting moment, in  my opinion, when the women was no longer ‘She’ but rather became ‘I’. Hence sparking my interest in writing from the so-called woman’s point of view. I didn’t see the woman as an actual physical being but rather the quarreling side of ‘Mary’; the one who wanted to remain in her barrier [wallpaper]. The way I see it the woman is probably just as intrigued by ‘Mary’ as she was by her in the actual story. I felt the woman wasn’t the personification of  ‘Mary’s’ madness but rather her sanity, the madness was ‘Mary’ herself.  The woman didn’t go through the same emotions that ‘Jane’ did but rather saw them happening from the sidelines and found them rather foolish and possibly wished it wasn’t happening. I felt the woman should be both intrigued and intimidated by the madness that was taking over ‘Jane’.

The woman in the wallpaper was the part of ‘Mary’ that was bound by the conforms of society at that time. This story was written in 1899 and women still didn’t have a sense of individuality without men (their husbands). Being that there was a part of her she saw in the wallpaper and frantically tried freeing it can be seen in two ways; the wallpaper woman didn’t want to be freed or didn’t feel like she needed to be freed. In my retelling the wallpaper woman was pretty much powerless she was able to voice her thoughts but couldn’t  anything to control the events nor did she have the capability of reigning the madness. The madness through her eyes was an ugly thing that was taking over ‘Mary’s’ body and literally spilling out of her (into her speech, her journal, and her overall demeanor.) She (the woman) wasn’t pleased with this and though she was powerless she did give her insight about certain things that happened in the actual story. I kept the woman’s periphery limited to what a person would see standing against the wall without moving. She, just like ‘Mary’, wasn’t able to discern the others thoughts and everything was judged by examination. The woman was a threat to ‘Mary’ and vice versa. Think of those movie/tv show scenes where they show your reflection talking back to you and voicing it’s opposition, the reflection wasn’t some supernatural occurrence and nor did you imagine it but rather it was a personification of your inner voice; sometimes you can ignore it and sometimes it can become louder and overcome your will. Standing at a crossroad in life where you have to pick whether you want to continue on the path you were originally on or whether you want to deviate from it is a hard decision to make. There’s always going to be a part of you that is eager to accept the change and there’s going to be a part of you that is reluctant. You battle between these two choices until own dominates the other. In this case, I feel the original story was this inner battle woven within the psychological issue ‘Mary’ became sick from. The madness showcased in the retelling however was not the possible psychological problem of ‘Mary’s’ but rather the desire to break conformity. The woman saw this to be a threatening ugly thing that was slowly creeping out of ‘Mary’ and she didn’t like it one bit.

I kept the original ending of the story because in both point of views these two opposing sides become one after the wallpaper/barrier was broken. It seemed wrong to change any of that so I left it the way it was. The ending was what ties both point of views together and makes them one it also showcases that both the woman and ‘Mary’ are actually the same person. To change it would give the story a different meaning and give you the sense that there was an actual woman.

You can obviously see this story in another way. You would perhaps think that the woman wanted to be free but didn’t have the means to do so but then ‘Mary’s’ madness wouldn’t have shaped itself the way it did. Or, the woman could have just been a figment of her imagination instead of a personification of the side of her that opposed to her desire to escape. This was just the way I read the story and what I thought was happening.

The Woman

The Yellow Wallpaper

0