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Project #1

Project I

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Part I: The False Freedom

My health wasn’t in a perfect condition. I had heart trouble, perhaps caused by living in a male dominated society that offered women limited access to the outside world. However, my husband and I had a happy marriage.

My life was dramatically changed when my sister Josephine and my husband’s friend Richards gave me the lowdown in broken phrases about my husband’s death. They were breaking the news in a gentle, calm manner because of my heart condition. I couldn’t stop crying. I isolated myself in my private room and gave myself a space to consider the damage of losing a husband in a train accident.

I went through a sequence of emotional changes, and I felt empty. I couldn’t imagine the rest of my life without my husband Brently. I was sitting alone in my comfortable chair in my room for a long period facing the window. I gazed outside dreaming of how my life would fall apart and thinking of what would follow the disaster of Brently’s death. The internal struggle gradually intensified inside me and became unbearable- it couldn’t be supported in any capacity by any human being, especially one with heart trouble.

I was looking through my open window to see high trees, blue sky and birds flying and singing freely. I could feel the freshness of spring and smell the fresh dirt after rain falls over it. The view out of my window resuscitated me and I knew I had accept the facts and persevere. I said “life must go on”.

A weird feeling reached out to me while I was in my room. It wasn’t a grieving feeling, it was fearful and falling out of the sky. While trying to adapt to this environment whispered words have flew over and over my slightly parted lips in a quiet voice “free, free, free!”. I started to feel a sudden change. The grief and the internal struggle transformed into joy and happiness. I could see the freedom. I can be in control over my own life and live the upcoming years for myself instead of living them for Brently. Brently tried to be a good, caring husband but he imposes his will upon me and now! There will be no power will upon me. I have freedom and I don’t have to be obeisant to anyone. I enjoyed this new life and I kept whispering “free, body and soul, free!”

My sister Josephine reached out to me and knocked on the closed door saying “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”. I wasn’t ill but I was healing from the illness and the suffering I was experiencing in my married life. It was a relief to know that I can be myself and follow my guts to make personal decisions freely without being told what to do. “Go away. I am not making myself ill.” I said.

Eventually, I opened the door to my sister and hugged her with wide open arms. I felt the joy of freedom. Josephine could see the happiness of victory and tears of joy flowing over the edge of my eyes. I took the stairs down to where Richards was waiting. We heard the sound of keys in the door lock and realized that someone was trying to open the main door of the house. That was surprising because no one had the house keys except me and my husband. Behind the door Brently Mallard was standing in a perfect shape. Brently was away from the accident and had not even been aware of the train accident.

All the joy and happiness have been taken away from me, and I felt trapped again in a prison that I had struggled to escape from for such a long time. I passed out and they thought that was the joy that makes people unconscious.

Part II: Comparison “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin

In my story retelling, I have chosen “The Story of An Hour” by Kate Chopin. The short fiction story involves four major characters: Mrs. Mallard, her sister Josephine, her husband Brently and her husband’s friend Richards. The background of the story is that great care was taken to break the news to Mrs. Mallard about her husband’s death. In the beginning of the story, Mrs. Mallard was expressing tremendous sadness and deep grief caused by the loss of her husband. Suddenly, the grief turned into happiness and joy after she discovered the missing piece of the puzzle which she didn’t know before the death of her husband. She discovered that she can be free and in control of her own acts. In the original story, Chopin shows more than she tells. The point of view is from Mrs. Mallard but the author uses third person assuming Chopin knows Mrs. Mallard thoughts but does not give the reader full access to her thoughts. I retold the story using first person narration and chose Mrs. Mallard is the narrator. However, I believe that this model of narration gives more access to Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts and can give the reader access to more rooms in the story’s action.

Chopin mentions in the fifth paragraph the transition of Mrs. Mallard’s feelings from grief and sadness to freedom and happiness. “She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air.” (P. 5). In the original story, the writer shows symbolic scenes more than telling about Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts. It is noticeable that rain, blue sky and spring life are tangible things that can be seen. The description of the scene where Mrs. Mallard was sitting and looking out of the window helps us to visualize and feel with our senses the future of Mrs. Mallard without her husband.
In the story retelling, speaking of Mrs. Mallard; her inner thoughts are illuminated when she mentions “I was looking through my open window to see high trees, blue sky and birds flying and singing freely. I could feel the freshness of spring and smell the fresh dirt after rain falls over it. The view out of my window resuscitated me and I have to accept the facts and move on” (P. 4). Using the first person narration to express these inside feelings gives more access to Mrs. Mallard’s thoughts. It also builds up trust in the reader’s perception. In this version of Mrs. Mallard telling the story herself we can understand better these symbolic events and interpret them as feelings instead of looking at them as objects such as the blue sky and flying birds that give a sense of Mrs. Mallard’s freedom and her new life without constraints from her husband.

In Chopin’s story when Mrs. Mallard opened the door to her sister Josephine, it wasn’t clear whether Mrs. Mallard’s tears meant happiness or sadness. It was mentioned “There was a feverish triumph in her eyes” (P. 17). Since the story was told in third person, the reader does not get an evident image of Mrs. Mallard’s expressions. In contrast, these expressions are mentioned in the retelling story where Mrs. Mallard says “I opened the door to my sister, I hugged her with a wide open arms. I felt the joy of freedom” (P. 7). It is obvious from this version which was told using first person narration where the narrator is the character itself that Mrs. Mallard was expressing her joy of freedom to her sister Josephine. The reader can have full understanding of the scene.

Towards the end of the story, Mrs. Mallard got an emotional hit from seeing her husband opening the door. According to Chopin in the original story Mrs. Mallard had a heart attack from the joy that kills and the writer mentions “When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease–of the joy that kills” (P. 19). Reading this news with third person narration does not give a serious impression of the harshness of the impact taken by Mrs. Mallard. But using first person narration to retell the story when Mrs. Mallard says “I passed out and they thought that was the joy that makes people unconscious“. (P.8) is helpful to bring the reader’s attention to the seriousness of the event and the truth behind Mrs. Mallard’s heart attack.

Finally, the original and retelling story versions give deeper meaning to different scenes and passages. I find that when a story is told in the first person, it is more accessible to the reader and grabs their attention and it gives clear senses and feelings. In comparison third person narration can make it harder to gain the reader’s trust throughout the story. Additionally, third person narration rarely uses a narrator who is one of the story’s characters- having Mrs. Mallard as a first person narrator opens up her thoughts and feelings for a reader to experience.

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Project #1

Young Goodman Brown – Project #1

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Rewrite

I came out at sunset into the streets of Salem Village where I met my beautiful wife, Faith. At the sight of her I could tell that my presence would please her more then to see me part. As we met, we kissed while the wind played with pink ribbons on her cap, enhancing her beauty which only made the tensions of my departure grow.

“Dearest heart” she whispered, softly and rather sadly, “pr’ythee, put off your journey until sunrise, and sleep in your own bed to-night”. As much as I would rather be with the loving comfort of my wife I most continue on my journey. Continuing she said “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!”

Little did she know how much she did move me, but the call of duty was upon me as I was dedicated to answer and to see what awaited. “My Love and my Faith” Trying my best to bring forth the trust and love she had for me to the surface, “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!”

I stared as she gazed into my eyes, as if she was searching for the hidden truths behind my words. An overwhelming swallow came upon me “Then God bless you!”- I shook suddenly- “and may you find all well, when you come back!” she said.

I smiled uncontrollable at the furry hidden in such a gentle woman that was wrapped with patients and understanding. Faith, as one may call it. “Amen!” I cried. Maybe trying to startle her just the same, but unsuccessfully. “Say thy prayers, dear faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee” and we parted.

I was now on my way through the forest which was torture at its purest definition. I once had the privilege of company along my journey but I caused my own loneliness. Goody Cloyse and her companion guided me through majority of the woods when suddenly I stopped abruptly and gave in to my own fears to continue on. Driven by fear but once again, going back to this unforeseen location saturated with terror I somehow seem to fly away from the diamonds that had took chase.

Suddenly I came upon what can only be described as a towns meeting but of unusual characteristics. The dammed mingling with the priests, the righteous with the witches and all commanded by a figure ahead. The figure- surrounded by giant burning trees that resembled giant touches- commanded authority and received as the crowd sang in harmony. I was baffled.

“Bring forth the converts!” I froze. Then despite my fears my body moved as if my soul was being taken to what can only be described as an altar ahead, I gave in. As I walked I can see my dead father- I am sure it is- and he calls, beckoning me to advance. “Mother?!” “Is that my mother too” I said softly. Looking ahead I watched this familiar figure that only showed despair, throw out her hand to warm me back but It was far too late for me to heed mother’s warnings. I continued without rethink or even trying to find the will.

 

The minister and good old Deacon Gookin took hold of my arms and led me to the blazing rock. Then appeared the pious teacher of the catechism, my old teacher, along with Martha Carrier, a woman that was known to have accepted the devil’s ring itself. Something was starting that I could not fully comprehend. Confusions took hold of me as I felt the presence of evil. Skimming through the faces at last I found Faith!. “Welcome, my children,” said the dark figure, “to the communion of your race! Ye have found, thus young, your nature and your destiny. My children, look!” A large wind took hold and the crowd turned.

Flashing forth, as it were, in a sheet of flame, the fiend-worshippers were seen; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage.

The figure in font spoke once again “There are all whom ye have reverenced from youth. Ye deemed them holier than yourselves, and shrank from your own sin, contrasting it with their lives of righteousness, and prayerful aspirations heavenward. Yet, here are they all, in my worshipping assembly! This night it shall be granted you to know their secret deeds” I was only amazed at what was to come. My thoughts were broken as the figure somehow continued to expose the horrors of the towns’ people’s past, only to convince us of our obvious joined evil’s revealing the horrors which would make the righteous scorn.

The silence of my mind was interrupted as the figure announced. “Far more than this! It shall be yours to penetrate, in every bosom, the deep mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicket arts, and which inexhaustibly supplies more evil impulses then human power – than my power, at its utmost! – can make manifest in deeds. And now, my children, look upon each other”

But Faith! Where is Faith? My pale face took sight of my wife the voice said once more “ Lo! There stand, my children!” In one motion, the shape of Evil dipped his hands in liquid that strongly resembled blood to continue laying the mark of baptism upon us. As the hand laid rest, and as my last conscious thoughts vanished I managed to manifest “Faith!, Faith!” I cried, “Look up to Heaven, and resist the Wicked One!”…

As bizarre as it may be, I have never dreamed so vividly that my own faith struggles to hold on to my soul. Like a bewildered man I stumbled into town only regaining full awareness as I saw familiar objects and faces. The memories of the event flashed back continuously, tormenting me.

“how can I find my ‘faith’ now!?” I asked unsuccessfully, with only the wind as my reply

Minutes turns into hours, hours into years; life continues. My wife was subject to my own scrutiny where I could not fully explain its origins. I labeled the town as pure hypocrites for matters that were never disclosed. As for myself, I was a vast field where gloom flourished continuously and thrived; Life continued and so did I, everyday making me a bit more weary.

 

 

Essay

In the story Young Goodman Brown we find a man by the name of Goodman Brown who left his newly wedded wife to partake in a journey through the woods that he hoped would have reassure his faith in God. Throughout his journey he was troubled with feelings of concern and worry as he tries to decipher the horrors that laid ahead of him. Only the word of his companions helped him through the walk, clinching onto their promises that he will be unscathed once his destination was reached. Once upon his destination he found himself in sheer awe at the events that his eyes beheld. He was brought to an altar that was laid in front of him where Goodman and his wife was consumed by the powers of the “Dark One”. Whether he hallucinated or not Goodman was never the same for the days to follow.  As strange as it may have seemed, as the story came to its ending we watched Goodman grip to the belief that the town’s people had partook in the Devil’s communion.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, the author of Goodman Brown, writes in the Third Person Limited Omniscient point of view. Through this Hawthorn is limited to the thoughts of others which is only through the view point of the protagonist. With this limited form of narrating, Hawthorne uses imagry to project an idea that can not be express through the protagonist.  In comparison to the original story of Young Goodman Brown, the retelling was written in auto diegetic which is presented through the first person point of view. This point of view is strictly limited to the views of the protagonist as he sees, experiences and thinkings. This means that if it doesnt happen to our protagonist then it is not experience by the reader. Through this imagery can also be used as a powerful technique to expand on ideas that cannot be shown through the experiences of the protagonist. This presents a similarity between both writings of how imagery plays a crucial role in enhancing the quality of both narrating styles.

Through Hawthorne’s writing style we can see that he doesn’t branch off too far into the thoughts of other but uses subtle hints about the scene and the people that are present to project its meaning. This was shown through the imagery of the town’s gathering where Goodman Brown found himself in awe at what was presented before him. The narrator uses the thoughts of Goodman Brown, hints about personalities of the town people and imagery to show the true nature of what was taking place. Initially Hawthorne states “In the interval of silence, he stole forward, until the light glared full upon his face. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed in by the dark wall of the forest, arose a rock, bearing some rude, natural resemblance to either to an altar or a pulpit, and surrounded by four blazing pines… Among them, quivering to-and-fro, between gloom and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen, the next day, at the council-board of the province, and other which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devoutly heavenward, and benignantly over the crowed pews, from the holiest pulpits in the land.” This portion of the story was Goodman’s first exposure to the true nature of what was ahead but through this the narrator draw the reader in with the imagery to project an ominous feeling. The pine trees that were a blaze allowed the reader to take Goodman’s previous thoughts of terror in the woods and solidify them into the concept of the story.

Regarding the rewriting we can see that the narrator used the auto diegetic narrative style. This style is limited to the protagonist himself/herself. Through this the reader is trapped within the protagonist’s feelings, thoughts, actions and what he/she sees. Due to the limitations presented with this style of narrating, I adopted the technique of imagery from Hawthorn’s original of Young Goodman Brown. Through this I expanded on what was said with an image that complimented what was trying to be portrayed. The initial paragraph of the rewrite was constructed to enhance the image of Faith to compliment how difficult it was for Goodman to depart. For example “I came out at sunset into the streets of Salem Village where I met my beautiful wife, Faith. At the sight of her I could tell that my presence would please her more then to see me part. As we met, we kissed while the wind played with pink ribbons on her cap, enhancing her beauty which only made the tensions of my departure grow. “Dearest heart” she whispered, softly and rather sadly, “pr’ythee, put off your journey until sunrise, and sleep in your own bed to-night”. As much as I would rather be with the loving comfort of my wife I most continue on my journey. Continuing she said “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!” This example shows imagery and the auto diegetic narrative working hand in hand to enhance the mood of that single moment. Through this the reader is instilled with the understanding of their passion which also adds for dramatic effect for the finale aka his final experience in the woods.

 

 

 

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Project #1, Uncategorized, Week 7

Project #1- My Retelling

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– “A Rose for Emily” by William Faulkner

– Retelling in first person narrative as Homer Barron

“The Late Truth”

I go by the name of Homer Barron. I am a Foreman from the North with a rather large body size with a dark skin complexion, a booming voice, and light-colored eyes. I am a gruff and demanding boss of my company. I consider myself accepted by the town because I was able to win many admirers in Jefferson because of my gregarious nature and good sense of humor. 

It was a scorching hot summer day on the job. Me and my men were hard at work on a sidewalk-paving project in town working towards completing by the end of the week and move on the the next job, because you know what they say “time is money,” well at least thats what I always put my belief in, and it makes sense doesn’t it?

The first day on this project, as me and my men begin digging and shoveling into the ground breaking the concrete bit my bit, the jackhammers prying the hard cement open like a nutcracker breaking open a wall nut so effortlessly making a loud cracking noise like an intense thunder storm rolling into town.

It was part of the job as foreman to inform the locals of our work so I went door to door on the block to let them know that we will be working on the concrete floors not to be alarmed by the noise and apologize for the inconvenience that we may cause. This is how I came across the most beautiful creature that I have ever set my eyes on.  She had beautiful young lady with long brown hair, a beautiful pair of brown eyes that glistened in the light and velvety smooth skin. 

I formally introduced myself and informed her that there will be a lot of noise for the next few hours. A few days later I was taking her around town in my chariot and we were spending a lot of time with each other. I was sure that the towns people were talking about us because lets face it, a wealthy and beautiful young lady like Emily was not usually seen with a man of my stature.

Emily and I would go on dates every day spending countless amount of hours with each other even though it was frowned upon by the neighborhood. I know for a fact that when we pass the towns people you could hear chatter and I know it was talk about the fact that I am but a simple foreman lucky enough to have the pleasure of taking the wealthy and beautiful Ms. Emily out.

Regardless of what anyone has to say about our relationship I enjoy the time spent with Emily and I believe that Miss Emily feels the same towards me as well.

From what I’ve been told Emily does not like the company of others very much. She seemed to be a very mysterious person before I was introduced into her life. People say that no one has been inside her home since her father passed. She didn’t seem to take good care of her home, there was dust and garbage everywhere. She seemed to be in somewhat of a rut but she seemed to be much more cheerful once I introduced my self to her.

Emily was always skeptical of me coming into her home but one afternoon she invited me over for dinner so I blissfully made my way over to her home. After dinner emily asked me if I wanted a further tour of the upstairs rooms and I agreed. She brought me to the attack room, looked like any normal old room, bed night counter with a bunch of little trinkets. i then took the last gulp of the wine that was on my glass from dinner and little that I know that this would be the last liquid that I would ever consume. Complete feeling in my body had vanished and the room faded to black.

Comparison

“A Rose for Emily” is told in third person limited perspective. Third person limited could be perceived as being told from the viewpoint character. It can be used very objectively, showing what is actually happening without the filter of the protagonist’s personality, which can allow the author to reveal information that the protagonist doesn’t know or realize.

The narrator has more information about Miss Emily, her father and the town that the main character would ever reveal to the reader.

When a main character is the narrator, the story is told from a particular perspective, in this case, we would probably be even more sympathetic towards Emily than we are through the narrator’s version.

We certainly would get to know Miss Emily’s heart better.  The story does not give us insight into her thinking, only that we assume she murdered Homer Barron so that he would never leave her.  We don’t get to hear Emily’s thoughts through the narrator, that would be a nice touch. 

But the essence of horror would be minimized if Miss Emily told the story, we would see the whole experience through her eyes, she would probably rationalize her behavior.  

However I chose to take a completely different approach in telling this story. In my version of this story, “The Late Truth,” I chose to go with first person narration. First person narrative is a point of view where the story is narrated by one character at a time. This character may be speaking about him/herself or sharing events that he/she is experiencing.

While this character may share details about others in the story, we are only told what the speaker knows. An author may switch from character to character, but still use first person narrative. This way, we may learn about what other characters think and feel, but we are still limited in our knowledge because we must rely on what the character shares.

As a reader, we are not only limited by what the character shares, but what the character knows. He/she may not have all the information or knowledge about events. We would also not know what other characters are thinking. 

In “The Late Truth,” because we only see Homer Barron’s Point of view and know only his thoughts we only get one side of the story and it is very limited in information but it is interesting to get into Homer Barron’s head as the story unfolds because he was unknowing of the events that was about to take place and had no knowledge of the townspeople reaction to him and Emily’s relationship. It is certainly an interesting twist to the original story.

Thesis Statement

In the original version of “A Rose for Emily,” the story is told in third person limited perspective narration which means that the narrator is basically just telling the story from a wide open perspective. The readers are allowed to see everything that is happening within this small town. This includes inside Emily’s home, the entire town and Homer Barron’s actions. This type of Narration is not very limited at all but in my retelling i decided to go with a completely different approach. I chose to retell “A Rose for Emily” in first person narration from Homer Barron’s point of view in the story. Although this type of narration is very limited but it is also an interesting way to get a different side of the story that your not able to see with the original story. It is very interesting because with this new point of view we are able to get into Homer Barron’s head and understand his emotions towards Emily in a deeper sense where as with the original version of the story, because it is told in third person narration we are only able to just vaguely understand how Homer feels about Emily only by sight and facial expressions but with my version, because it is told in first person narration we are given more details about Homers feelings towards Emily because we are able to see his thoughts.

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Project #1

Young Goodman Brown

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Retelling

‘Little Salem Village’

Today is the day. I take the people of this Salem village and convert them, and expel the ‘love of god’ out of them. This may not be a simple task, since this village is heavily religious, but everyone is capable of being corrupt. This could be proved by the amount of people I already converted. Getting the ones with the weakest faith in god was definitely a good start. Have them attend my gatherings, go back to their village and help manipulate the citizens, making them easier to catch for me when the time comes. If I could maintain this cycle, the people of Salem will be under my arms, and most importantly, my control.

Now, I was on my way to the gathering in the middle of the forest. Then I laid my eyes upon this young lady with a knotted pink ribbon tying her hair, frightened out of her skin. I try to remember if I ever saw this one in the Salem town I found the others, but I can’t recall. I observe her from my hiding spot to hear what she is talking about to herself.

“A dear God, please let him be safe.” she said to herself. “Why did I ever let him out of my hands and make him go in to these dreadful woods? If only a persuaded him more vigorously…”

Who is this man she speaks of? I haven’t encountered anyone in my journey yet. I need to know. When she approached the tree I was stealthy waiting behind, I approach her with a greeting:

“Hello, you seem to be los-”

“AAHHHH” she screamed, as she back peddled, tripping over a tree branch and falling on the ground. Little did she know, she wasn’t alone after all. She’s lonely, afraid and helpless. This will be easier than I thought.

“Oh, Im so sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.”

“Get away from me!” she said. “Who are you?!? and-and why are you following me???”

“Im sorry to have startled you ma’am. If there is anything I could do to help you, I’ll gladly give you a helping hand. Here, let me help you up.” As I extend my hand she starts to crawl back, avoiding me.

“Im looking for my husband. Have you seen him?”

“Can’t say I have. I’ve been traveling alone for a couple hours. What does he look like?”

“He’s a-” she paused and started reading me, trying to figure me out.

“Here, let me help you”

I extend my staff to her so she could get up. Not knowing what powers I possess in my priceless staff, she grabs on and her demeanor, her trust towards me changed.

“Wh-why thank you for helping me, sir.”

“No problem at all. So, you never told me why you’re in this dreadful forest ”

“Well I trying to look for my husband, Mr. Goodman Brown. You and him kinda look alike.”

As we walk side to side, I tell her where this gathering is, and I part ways with young Faith, with her pink ribbon which now has a bit of dirt on it when she fell during our run-in.

I see a figure walking alone. This has to be him. Mr. Goodman Brown. I sneak towards him to hear what he’s muttering to himself.

“-leaving her like this. She tells me she’s afraid and I run off it to this forest? Leaving her to her nightmares? Maybe I sho-.”

He stops walking and looks around him. I know he can’t see me, but it seems like he feels my existence.

“I feel there is evil hidden within these woods. For all I know, an evil presence may be upon me right now.”

He feverishly looks behind him every couple steps, until I present myself as another lonely traveler. If his loved one was as easy to convert, he will be in my hands in no time. If I somehow fail, I guarantee, his experience with me will stay with him for the rest of his life…

 

Essay

The point of view that the story is being told in is a major part of how the story flows and how the author wants their messages to be presented.  A tale told in third person has a perspective from an outside source that has no part in the story.  First person narrative has a character that’s apart of the story telling it from their perspective, with it being from the protagonist or someone observing actions of the protagonist. I will be comparing the narrative of ‘Young Goodman Brown’ and my retelling of the story named ‘Little Salem Village’.  Although ‘Young Goodman Brown’’s  third person limited narrator conveys Goodman Browns emotions throughout the story and a perplexing ending,  this retelling uses a first person narrator to highlight the antagonist’s intentions and how they went on to accomplish them.

In ‘Young Goodman Brown’ the story is told in third person limited with the protagonist being Goodman Brown. We follow Brown as he journeys through the woods for unknown reasons. He leaves behind his wife, Faith, even though she admitted she didn’t want him to go and confessed to having bad dreams lately. While walking in the woods, he meets a man and throughout the story, he observes his demon like actions.  The story concludes with Brown going through life in fear unable to trust anyone even his wife until his inevitable death, leaving the reader wondering if everything he experienced actually happened, or if it was a nightmare.

In my retelling, the story is told in first person with an autodiegetic narrator. The narrator is the old man that traveled with Goodman Brown through the woods. He is thinking to himself, recollecting the actions he had done to the villagers of Salem and plans of a ‘witch meeting’. He meets Faith and converses with her until he was able to possess her. The story ends where the original story kinda began, with the old man meeting Goodman Brown in the woods.

Third person limited and first person autodiegetic points of view both have access to the protagonist emotions they are going through. Since this was the case, I wanted to retell the story through someone else’s perspective, giving the reader access to both Goodman Brown in the original story and the old man’s head in my retelling. One instance where Hawthorne displays Brown’s emotion to a situation was when I was alone in the woods, thinking an evil omen was with him. This is also before he sees a figure in the distance that ended up being the old man: “”There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree,” said Goodman Brown to himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him, as he added, “What if the devil himself should be at my very elbow!”” In my retelling, I assumed the old man was following Brown before the final met face-to-face. When the old man observed Brown, he showed similar features as in the original story: “He feverishly looks behind him every couple steps, until I present myself as another lonely traveler.”

Hawthorne ends their story in a way that leaves the reader invested in the story after reading it by having them question whether Brown’s whole experience was a real or a dream.“Be it so, if you will. But, alas! it was a dream of evil omen for young Goodman Brown. A stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if not a desperate man, did he become, from the night of that fearful dream. On the Sabbath-day, when the congregation were singing a holy psalm, he could not listen, because an anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear, and drowned all the blessed strain. When the minister spoke from the pulpit…and with his hand on the open Bible, of the sacred truths of our religion…then did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading lest the roof should thunder down upon the gray blasphemer and his hearers. Awaking suddenly at midnight, he shrank from the bosom of Faith…when the family knelt down at prayer, he scowled…and gazed sternly at his wife, and turned away. And when he had lived long, and was borne to his grave…” I assumed since the narrator never disclosed to the reader why Brown was going in the woods, it’s even more difficult to think if it were real or fictional. I find this an advantages to third person limited because it leaves the ending to the mind of the audience, forcing them to analyze the story after reading it. If the original story were told in first person through Goodman’s perspective, I believe the mystery conclusion to the story wouldn’t be present. In my retelling, I tried to do the same thing and leave an open ending, but I found it difficult to do with a first person narrator. “If I somehow fail, I guarantee, his experience with me will stay with him for the rest of his life…” Here, I tried to allude if the old man was actually an evil figure or just a figment of Brown’s imagination that haunts him in his dreams.

In conclusion, these two points of views have their advantages and disadvantages. It all depends on what the author wants to show and how they want their message it be delivered to their audience.

 

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Project #1

A Story of an Hour – Josephine

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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.

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My Short Lived Happy Ending

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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.

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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.

 

 

 

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THE PULSE OF LOVE AND EMOTION

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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.

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Project #1

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

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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.

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Homework, Project #1, Week 7

The Woman in The Wallpaper vs The Actual Woman

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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

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