I’ve enjoyed reading All the Pretty Horses. It fits well with the curriculum we’ve covered so far, addressing questions about identity that we, as students, ask ourselves.

For me, the most striking element of this book is its syntax. The extended sentences lend momentum to a stream of consciousness style that I have never really familiarized myself with in other reading. Sometimes elegant and at others, frustrating, the style is something I’m glad I got exposure to, especially seeing works by authors like James Joyce and William Faulker as material I’ll encounter in the future.

Equally compelling is the novel’s detail. There are passages that make me slow down as a reader, slow down enough to be deliberate about each word and each sentence. There’s something satisfying about being able to piece together a scene down to the very last “crippled fenceposts propped among the rocks” and the “broadrim hat and bib overalls.” That’s part of the reason why this book is so appealing; it keeps me engaged not only with the characters and plot, but with the setting too.

As I delve into more literature throughout advanced academics, the analyzing tools I’ve gained in this class will continue to play a role. Both the poetry and fiction we’ve unraveled have given me a new perspective on literature; before, I was largely a passive reader, letting words wash over me without much thought. Now, however, I’ve approached what I read with not only a slightly critical eye, but an analytic and observant one. In particular, I’m better equipped to notice allusions, pick up on symbols, identify a common theme that unites chapters, and think about literature in a way a passive reading cannot. I have a newfound respect for authors, poets, and critics. AP Literature is an important class.

See also: AP Literature Chronicles #1

Sea-faring, marine novels are the best. The. Best. My three most favorite books, ever? Yann Martel’s The Life of Pi, Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, and Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues under the Sea. If it deals with a struggle at sea, a journey on the ocean, or anything in between, I’ll probably enjoy it. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate other species of story; I just have a unique love for the marine niche. Oh, Moby Dick and The Odyssey are up there too.

Even re-reading “Old Man” for the fourth time, I’m still picking up on new things. In particular, I would have never noticed the presentation of Santiago as a Christ figure without the extensive Biblical background we constructed for ourselves in class. Each time I’ve read it, I took the writing only at face value, looking for nothing beyond the surface of Hemingway’s direct language. As such, the only reason I’ve enjoyed the book over and over again is because Santiago’s experience is a thrill to savor and his situation evokes strong sympathy; the story’s conclusion is genuinely sad. Now, however, I have been able to pinpoint stronger undertones and more meaningful connections.

One of the themes in The Old Man and the Sea appears to emphasize the relationship between man and nature; that is, humans, despite perseverance, suffering, or luck, are ultimately subject to the whims of Mother Nature. This is most clearly illustrated when sharks eat Santiago’s hard-earned marlin. Like many readers, I feel strongly against what seems like an injustice; he deserved that fish! But alas, I think Hemingway strives to make the point that humans are completely at the mercy of something beyond them.

See also: AP Literature Chronicles #10

Anton Chekov’s The Cherry Orchard is a little perplexing; there are many themes that can be equally supported with no single idea or statement standing out from the rest. It is this characteristic that makes The Cherry Orchard challenging to read and interpret. At the same time, the density of symbols provides another challenge. It seems our class could easily treat the book as a novel, taking considerable time and care to decode its underlying meanings. The brevity of our exposure to the play saddens me just a little; it would have been useful and interesting to have more in-depth discussion. I’m sure there are many unique elements than those that lied beneath the motifs we discussed in class.

A common thread throughout the play was the relationship between characters and passing time. Although the death of her son, Grisha, continues to depress her, Ranyevskaya distances herself from the present by clinging to the past. Contrastingly, Lopakhin makes strides into the future while contesting his memories of a harsh peasant upbringing. He consistently attempts to cultivate himself as the opposite of his past, that is, as a successful businessman. Most notably, however, is Firs’ attitude toward himself and the younger generation. It seems he thinks only in terms of the past, in terms of how the way things used to be. His speech during the play commonly refers to time before the serfs were freed, namely, when the cherry orchard was a successful source of jam. At the end of the play, he is forgotten. This may serve to illustrate that his generation too, is forgotten.

With this, Chekov seems to make the point that the value of the past must be recognized and applied before marching into the future.

See also: AP Literature Chronicles #9 

I’ve always been a sucker for French stuff. The language, history, culture, food, whatever. But as gracefully written as Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary might be, it’s, admittedly, a little disgusting to read.

Well written? Yes. Even as a translation, the eloquence of the French language pervades throughout the book. The most notable aspect, I find, is the overall flow; even with what may seem like disjoint juxtaposition, the clearest example being that between the awards ceremony speech and Monsieur Rodolphe’s seductive discourse, the text seems to flow in a way that’s not only fun to read, but also interesting and easy to understand.

But, ultimately, as many of my classmates will agree, the plot is dissatisfying—so far, anyway. Flaubert creates the character of Emma Bovary in a way that squeezes out any room for the reader to like her. Her unrestrained eloping is enough to make anyone at least cringe. Meanwhile, Charles Bovary’s absentminded, innocent ignorance emphasizes the sense of futility that I, as a reader, feel. At parts, I want to reach into the page, grab Charles, shake him by the shoulders and say, “Open your eyes!” In fact, when Charles leaves for Yonville, leaving Emma alone with Léon after the opera, my respect for Charles’ discretion hit rock bottom.

This book, more than any other, has me looking forward to the conclusion. There’s some sense that the way the plot is developing isn’t even relevant to what is still to come; again, the interactions presented so far all seem so futile. Either way, I hope Emma learns a lesson. I’m counting on you, Flaubert.

See also: AP Literature Chronicles #8 

EDIT:
By the way, I hit 25K views today!
That deserves a triple rhyme.
Anyway, whoever does, thanks for reading!

Lately, I’ve started to really enjoy Poetry Workshop days. The fact that a given poem can have multiple interpretations makes for interesting discussion.

Moreover, though, I’ve been learning to read poems at a deeper level. I used to take most poems only at face value; my admiration rarely when past, “Oh, those are pretty words,” or “oh, that sounds good.” For example, when I first read William Carlos Williams’ The Red Wheelbarrow back in 8^th grade, I took it only for what appeared on paper: a quirky grouping of elegant but almost stupidly simple language. But on closer reading, I would’ve never expected a child’s death to be the evocative force behind the poem.

Similarly, I’ve begun to see many poems from my past readings in a different light. Now that I know how to break a poem down into its speaker, occasion, attitude, and message, it’s easier to understand a poem past its superficial layer. What I’ve come to appreciate most is how much connotation can be drawn from just a few seemingly trivial lines.

I’ve also found myself wondering how rhyme scheme may play a role in a poet’s message. From my first impressions, it seems that rhyming poems are more playful, even immature. On the other hand, non-rhyming ones read more seriously or ironically. I figure that analyzing which words are rhymed—or not—may provide some insight. But, if not, I can always simply enjoy the sing-songiness of a rhyming poem.

During these past few weeks, my respect for poets has increased considerably. There’s more technique to the art than I’d realized. But the effort that poets put into making a poem makes them that much more fun to pick apart.

See also: AP Literature Chronicles #7

Jane Eyre, for me, has been the most enjoyable reading selection so far in AP Literature. From the very first chapter, I found the first-person narration refreshing; unlike that of the omniscient narrator in Jane Austen’s Emma, the main character’s voice in this novel allows the reader to become personally attached right away.

And as I continue reading, I keep finding more and more reasons to like the book. In particular, the character, Jane, is compelling, down-to-earth, and very easily commands the reader’s respect. Her narration is frank and straightforward, especially in that it’s a retelling of her past. Moreover, I really admire Charlotte Brontë’s style, which I’d characterize as precise, plain, and powerful. Namely, the forthright symbolism and simple diction serve to color this novel without over-ornamentation.

But what I’ve enjoyed most about Jane Eyre are the class discussions we’ve been able to have because of it. Decoding the novel’s symbols, subtle insinuations, and internal meanings is, simply put, extremely satisfying. Our discussions are always enlightening.

For example, when we talked about the Chapter 20 garden passage, part of me applauded Brontë’s mastery while the other part of me kicked myself for not noticing the biblical allusion before. Following the motifs, such as the color red, birds, and groupings of three, has also been very intriguing. It seems that with each page, my liking for Jane Eyre grows. It’s a wonderful positive feedback mechanism.

On another note, as I put the finishing touches on my first few college application essays, I’ve also been giving my Hamlet essay close attention. It’ll get considerably busy within the coming weeks, so it’s a good thing I like writing. Surprisingly, the intense reading that we’ve been doing over the past couple weeks has been of great use; the authors we’ve covered so far inspire me to keep my writing creative and original while at the same time, logical and impactful.

As always, looking forward to reading more writing!

See also: AP Literature Chronicles #6

One sentence into Jane Eyre and I knew I was going to like the book. It’s been an unfortunately long time since I’ve read a novel written in first person. So far, it has been a refreshing experience.

Similarly, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to sit down and thoroughly pick apart some good poetry. As such, I’m really looking forward to the poetry unit not only because I’m excited about the new poets I’ll encounter, but also because I’m eager to revisit some familiar names. My favorite poet is T.S. Eliot. Robert Frost and Maya Angelou are up there too.

Two summers ago, I had the opportunity to work with Minnesota poet, Jack Krietzer, at Macalaster College. He was unique, to say the least, wearing a red cape while he taught and asking all of us summer creative writing students to call him by his alias, “Word Man.” Nonetheless, it was a rewarding class; I came out of it with polished essays, a bunch of short stories, a bundle of poems, a lot of fun memories, and a ton of new friends. It was interesting

to learn the nitty gritty of poetry,
from someone who wrote it profess’nally.

Speaking of writing, I’ve really enjoyed working on the Hamlet essay. In all honesty, I was surprised by how useful the peer editing sessions were; I got some insightful feedback. My only wish is that we had more time! Admittedly, I’m a somewhat slow reader; I need time to absorb and edit. And although we had 10 to 15 minutes to read and review what was, on average, only two to three pages, I felt a bit rushed. An extra five minutes per essay would’ve helped considerably.

In any case, I’m glad that we have full-fledged essay assignments once in a while. I enjoy articulating what I think through writing—mostly because I’m better at it than through speaking. But more importantly, I hope we get to write some of our own poetry, not just read and interpret others’. Either way, I’m eager for what’s up next.

See also: AP Literature Chronicles #5

I’ll admit, I’m not much of a play person. I’ll always prefer something beefier, something longer lasting, something like, say, a novel. There’s just more to chew in the latter.

However, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy Sophocles’ Oedipus the King. Ignoring the incest, I was appreciably amused, watching the king unwrap his own doom. It was a bit like watching a horror movie, really, where the audience spends much of their time waiting for a known fate to manifest. Being aware of the ending beforehand allowed me to savor every bit of irony as it came up; Sophocles took every opportunity to weave in biting wit, from the blind prophet Tiresias’ vision to Oedipus’ ultimate blindness to truth. It was an enjoyable read.

Although only an act into Hamlet, I’ve welcomed the return to William Shakespeare’s plays in my English class this year. Although not someone I’d typically read for pleasure, Shakespeare has never failed to impress me with oddly beautiful metaphors, rich dialogues, and his uncanny accuracy in the art of bottling human nature.

Even before I’d read any of his plays or sonnets, I’d heard about and accepted Shakespeare as the paragon of playwrights. Everyone knows him by name, whether they’ve actually read his work or not. But only after reading Romeo and Juliet in my freshman year could I truly appreciate the name. It was unlike anything I’d read before, it was English put together in a way that was challenging to read but somehow deliciously so.

Admittedly, Shakespeare takes a little decoding to get through. Since the word orders, idioms, and even simple expressions are so far from contemporary, a few lines in a play may end up taking a considerable amount of time to comprehend. And it’s somewhat of a pain having to avert my eyes to notations at the bottom of a page only to translate a few words. Doing so is, unfortunately, very distracting and makes the play seem needlessly disjointed. If I could read without those pauses, I’m sure I could appreciate Shakespeare even more. But there’s really no one to blame for the gap; the language difference adds as much flavor as it does distraction.

See also: AP Literature Chronicles #3

I’d heard of Jane Austen, her Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. But the first time I’d ever heard of Emma was on a summer assignment notification. Not the best initial acquaintance.

While reading the novel independently, I found that it was, admittedly, difficult to stay attentive. Almost immediately, as a suburban male high school student, I was turned off by the gossip, the romance, the matchmaking that Emma seemed to revolve around. The main character wasn’t all that easy to sympathize with; it was challenging to assimilate her into my mind as a protagonist. I did, however, begin to admire Jane Austen’s writing. Although her complex sentence structures almost needed a chisel and hammer to get through, the analogies, relations, and descriptive language that she wove captured my well-deserved reverence.

My true enjoyment of the novel came only when we, as a class, were able to discuss it, decode it. I was genuinely fascinated by some of the parallels that were drawn, like those between the author’s own uncertain social environment during the Napoleonic Wars and the dangers of uncertainty in Emma. Walking out of our first few discussions, I’d gained an entirely new liking for the book.

Perhaps what confuses me most is that I liked Emma as much as I did. One of my favorite authors has always been Ernest Hemingway, most notable for his brevity and directness. But Jane Austen, embodying a style that is nearly the opposite, in my mind, was surprisingly palatable. Even though she’ll never make it to my favorite authors list, I can easily see why Austen novels are well-respected.

I look forward to the excellent literature still to come!

See also: AP Literature Chronicles #2