Amy Knight's Blog

Dear Ms. Westfall,

                This year has been a difficult one for me in terms of managing my time and trying to reach a good compromise between school, my grades and my life outside of school.  I have come to the conclusion that I was trying to do far too much.  Taking both art and music left me with only one study a rotation and the Upper school musical left me behind and struggling in geometry.  The honors English program was, in one way, a shining light in this year.  It gave me a push to read some fabulous novels: novels which I thoroughly enjoyed and which were, in some cases, emotionally very stimulating.  Yes, I guess I do sometimes live vicariously through the characters in the literature I read.  However it was also a factor that contributed to the anxiety and stress that I struggled with all year long.

                Anyone who knows me knows that I am a painfully slow processor.  Writing is very difficult for me and my first drafts are awful.  One only needs to see my stream of consciousness writing on, for example, a timed history essay to see what I mean.  Therefore, when I sit down to write a reading letter it is never a fifteen minute exercise.  The time it took to write my reading letters did eat into time I could have used to study for the grammar quizzes or to work on the writing issues that cause me problems.  I have had some struggles in English class this year, especially with the mechanics of the language; not so much when I’m writing but when I have to analyze the components and although I thoroughly enjoyed reading for honors, the letters took time that I probably could have put to better use.  I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t feel like an honors English student.  Being the perfectionist I am, I treated everything like an assignment and perhaps I should have weighted the class work more heavily than the honors reading letters.  If I had done this, I may have been more relaxed and possibly even more comfortable with the actual class assignments.  A prime example of what I mean would be my recent “Merchant of Venice” quiz, where I just couldn’t get ahead enough to read the material before class, and therefore was really lost trying to understand my peers as they read. This resulted in a grade which will significantly affect my overall grade but which was in fact a small ten-point quiz compared with writing a reading letter or producing an essay.

                In closing, I have learned so much this year in English and I have had the opportunity to read so much wonderful literature (especially in the story unit) that I feel I have grown tremendously as an English student.  I enjoyed receiving feedback on the blog and I really learned a lot from attending the literary rally!  I am however nervous about whether or not I can continue to read and write at the pace of this year and still maintain my grades, which ultimately – and sadly – seems to be all that matters. Perhaps the best way for me to sum up the honors program is by saying that it was a wonderful luxury that I’m not sure I can afford. 

                                                                                                   Love,

                                                                                                             Amy Knight

Dear Ms. Westfall,

                I have finished The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy and I must admit that this was an excellent choice of book to follow A Tale of Two Cities. My initial response to this novel was that it was rather lightweight.  I felt that the author tended to be repetitive: pushing the same points and the same set of attributes and emotions in her characters without ever hinting at any possible development.  Looking back this works out very well, because when the action does start it is fast-paced and surprisingly intense and any lack of development is immediately forgotten.

                Compared to Dickens this is an easier read, but no less enjoyable.  The time period and the setting are both written with attention to detail and consistency and the dialogue is also true to the period and extremely humorous.  I can just hear the six-foot tall Percy Blakeney drawling lines like, “La, m’dear! you don’t say so.  Begad! who was the bold man who dared to tackle you—eh? (Orczy, 179)

                I mentioned before that when the action started the novel moves very fast, and the reader is quickly swept along in the adventure.  The revelation that the foppish Percy is really the Pimpernel, makes  Marguerite’s journey even more vital.  Not only is she attempting to save the famous hero who she has inadvertently put in danger, she is also trying to save her marriage.  The author very successfully builds suspense within this novel.  It is over half-way through the story before the reader actually discover who the Pimpernel actually is, and by that time they are invested in both the story and the characters, especially the relationship between Sir Percy and Marguerite which has been made to seem so dysfunctional.

                This novel is more overtly romantic than A Tale of Two Cities but the fact that it is told mostly from Marguerite’s perspective was ever so slightly annoying.   Yet I was also very shocked when Blakeney did show his “true”emotion.  After Marguerite left and he revealed his hidden feelings for her, I felt that his actions were out of character.  The author says, “ he knelt down upon the terrace steps…he kissed one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade there, where her tiny hand had rested” (Orczy, 515). Even “madly, blindly, passionately in love” as he was supposed to be, this action seemed unrealistic. It appeared more of an expression of the author’s overly romantic nature and I was glad to see that, if this was the case, she held it in check for the majority of the piece, because to have Percy Blakeney dissolve into a love-struck idiot would have been far less convincing than either of his other two personas. 

                The denouement of the novel was really well thought out.  It was not only plausible, it left the reader celebrating the cunning of the Scarlet Pimpernel against the “Frenchies” .  I have to admit that even though I am an American, with only a tenuous connection to England, this book made me feel quite patriotic in favor of the British: quite an achievement for a romantic novel.  Baroness Orczy , whom I know absolutely nothing about, deserves credit for coming up with intriguing characters, a really strong and well-thought out plot as well as kudos for creating a novel that is still as exciting a read today as it must have been when it was published in 1905.  Indeed, I was surprised that this novel was written so recently, as the author presented such a convincing portrait of the time period and dialogue of the French Revolution.  Although it does not really compare psychologically or stylistically to A Tale of Two Cities this novel has its own merits and was a truly enjoyable read.

                                                                                Love,

                                                                                Amy Knight

Work Cited

Orczy, Baroness. The Scarlet Pimpernel. Project Gutenberg, 7 March,2006.

                http://www.gutenberg.org/6/60/

Dear Ms. Westfall,

            I have just finished reading  A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.  This novel is a compelling story of the French Revolution that encompasses historical detail, social comment, adventure and even romance.  It took me a little time to warm up to this novel, but it quickly became an engrossing and compelling read. 

            Actually, Ms. Westfall, what I really want to say is that I adore this book.  I was literally in tears at the end of it.  Everything came together to make sense at the end:  Carton’s physical resemblance to Darnay; his vow to “embrace any sacrifice” for Lucie (Dickens 140) and all the foreshadowing of death that led up to Carton’s supreme sacrifice.  There truly is a religious feeling about the end of the novel, Carton’s walk to the guillotine, his final thoughts and the calm and peace he brought to the young seamstress who died before him, is beyond heroic and borders on the divine. 

            Carton is almost a Christ-like figure: a man so disillusioned by what he had seen of the world that he had become cynical and embittered, but who, when shown that there is still a modicum of goodness and love left in the world, sacrificed himself so that it could survive.   Through his sacrifice, he is also granted a rebirth, a new “life” in the hearts and minds of Lucie, Darnay and their descendants. 

            Sacrifice and rebirth is definitely a theme throughout the novel.  Dr. Manette has to sacrifice years of his life in prison, but eventually is “recalled to life” by the storming of the Bastille.  Sydney Carton has to sacrifice his life in order to validate his existence.   It is only through death that he is able to earn both the respect and the love which he has, up until that point, either rejected, found false or trivialized. 

            I tried to determine whether or not Carton’s journey fitted the hero cycle.  He had seemed so far removed from the typical hero, the idea hadn’t really occurred to me.  Once I began to consider it however, his “journey” did fit the hero cycle mode rather well.  I may try to construct a hero cycle for him if I can find the time.

            There is so much to this novel, that I do not think I can do it justice in one reading letter.  Dickens includes so many themes and symbols within this work, that the reader is often forced to think back and reconsider what has happened before, so that they get the full effect of the complexity of the work.  Dickens uses foreshadowing to build suspense and to create tension.  The spilled wine foreshadows the bloody conflicts to come and Sydney’s declaration to Lucie of his willingness to do anything for her or for one she loves, foreshadows his ultimate sacrifice.

            Dickens also uses this novel to put forward his own ideas about revolution and human nature.  Although he seems to sympathize with the revolutionaries on one level, he also seems to be saying that when violent treatment is the cause of the revolution, human nature cannot avoid resorting to that same violence when the tides have turned.  In other words, the revolutionaries sink to the same level as the aristocrats, perpetuating the violence that had driven to revolt in the first place.  However, Sydney Carton rises above this, as a symbol of hope for the future. 

            Carton’s speech at the end of the novel is beautiful.  It creates an image of a new city rising out of the ruins of a revolution-torn Paris, as well as the image of a happy and contented future for Darnay, Lucie and their children.  Having finally found a purpose to his life, Carton willingly sacrifices it, rewarded by the knowledge that he will remain alive in the hearts and minds of those he leaves behind, not as a worthless, drunken cynic, but as a hero and savior.  When he says, “ It is a far, far better thing I do now than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known” ( Dickens 352). Carton speaks from the heart and truly believes in the peace that awaits his previously tormented soul. 

            In the hands of a lesser author, this could have gone so very wrong.  Sydney’s act could have appeared purely selfish, a desperate gesture to gain sympathy and the love of Lucie for whom he undoubtedly has feelings, but Dickens treads very carefully with Sydney’s character and I did not have a single moment where I felt that Carton’s actions were guided by selfishness.  The scene with the young seamstress was almost like a final temptation: a chance to escape; a hint at the potential of life should he decide to back down, but even then, Carton did not waver.  His resolution was powerful, heroic and poignant, in such an understated way, that to consider him selfish was just not an option. 

            There is so much one could analyze in this work: comparisons; foreshadowing; themes; social commentary and political commentary, but contrary to my expectations, it will be the characters, and specifically, the character of Sydney Carton, who will come to mind when I think of this book.  From the depths of what threatened to be a rather dry, moralistic novel, emerged one of the most romantic, skillfully developed characters I have ever come across.  I have not read any other books by Dickens, but I get the sense that Sydney Carton may not be typical of his characters.  It will be interesting to see how he compares to other Dickensian heroes. 

                                    Love,

                                                Amy Knight

Work Cited

Dickens, Charles. A Tale of Two cities. New York: Bantam Books, 1981. Print.

Dear Ms. Westfall,

            I am continuing to read A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens and I am now completely caught up in the story.  In my previous reading letter, I think I said that I was finding the characters rather dry and one-dimensional.  I can now state that this is no longer the case and although some of the characters seem more like personifications of ideas, for example the Marquis d’Evremonde, who embodies the greed, callousness and entitlement that was representative of the aristocracy during the French Revolution, other characters such as the brash lawyer, Mr, Stryver, the mild-mannered Mr. Lorry and the fussing but eternally loyal Miss Pross, have developed into believable, if slightly humorous, individuals.

            Then, of course, there is Sydney Carton. You said in your response to my last letter, that Dickens was much more of a realist and less of a Romantic, portraying people as real within their setting and time, and yet there is Sydney Carton. The debauched, unambitious and troubled lawyer, may be one of the most romantic characters I have ever met in a novel.  I am totally in love with Sydney Carton!

            Dickens’s decision to make Carton the physical double of Darnay only serves to show the contrasts between the two characters.  Darnay should, I suppose be the hero.  He is morally upright, denouncing his uncle, the Marquis, and turning down the fortune that he would have inherited.  He is a gentleman with all the social graces and accomplishments necessary for such a title, and he cares for Lucie, as is shown by the sincere proclamation of his love for her that he makes to Dr. Manette.   However, he comes across as incredibly boring.  His words of love sound like bad poetry, something he might have worked on perhaps a little too long.  They are stilted and sadly lacking in passion.  When he states that “If ever there were love in the world, I love her”( Dickens 121) it almost sounds as if he knows that love is the emotion he is supposed to feel but that he hasn’t actually given it much thought or consideration.  Also Darnay’s use of the word, “ disinterestedly” (Dickens 121) in his statement of love, struck me as decidedly odd.  Even though it probably carried a slightly different meaning in Dickensian times, the word made me cringe.  I doubt that I would ever want to be loved, “ disinterestedly.”

            When Sydney Carton speaks to Lucie, inebriated as he is, there is absolutely no doubting his sincerity or the mental anguish his confession causes him.  His speech is given without expectation of Lucie returning feelings and his words are at once a reflection of his insecurity and of some past event that has led him to his current state.  “In my degradation, I have not been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father…has stirred old shadows that I thought had died out of me” (Dickens 138). suggests that Carton suffered in the past and though there is no explanation, Dickens creates enough of a mystery to draw the reader in to sympathy with Carton. 

            I have to admit that I read this chapter of the novel several times.  I almost grew to despise Lucie for responding to Sydney’s statement, “I know very well that you can have no tenderness for me; I ask for none” (Dickens 138). with the cruelly blunt question, “Without it, can I not save you, Mr. Carton?” (Dickens 138). Did she really have to so matter-of-factly state that she felt no tenderness for him?  What was wrong with her?  Did she have no compassion?   Why couldn’t she see that concealed within this damaged and distressed man there was more passion and more sensibility than Darnay would ever be capable of.  Or was it that, because she loved Darnay, Sydney was to her a mere shadow of a man she already possessed.  I struggled with this for a while, convinced that I would never have allowed Sydney Carton to leave, sure that I would have been able to “rescue” him and turn his life around.  But then I stopped.  It all came back to Dickens being a realist, not a romantic. I was applying my romantic ideals to Lucie, and real life doesn’t work like a romantic novel.  Dickens obviously has a plan for this odd, triangle of Lucie, Darnay and Carton and, as yet,  I don’t know what it is.

            I know that I have concentrated primarily on characters in this letter, when there is so much else going on, but as I said before, I have become quite enamoured with Mr. Carton and it was his character that dominated my thoughts on the novel over the last couple of weeks.  I hope that once I have completed the book, I will be able to write a little more objectively on the work as a whole and provide a more complete analysis of Dickens’s purpose for this novel. 

                                                            Love,

                                                            Amy Knight

            Work Cited

Dickens, Charles. A Tale of Two cities. New York: Bantam Books, 1981. Print.

Dear Ms. Westfall,

                I have just started to read A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.  I was interested in reading this novel partly because of what we are studying in history class and partly because it is the time period I chose to write about in my own creative writing.  However, right from the opening lines it was obvious that Dickens had some sort of agenda for this book and it was also very clear that the reader should pay attention to comparisons and duality in this work.  The title A tale of Two Cities hints at this, but if you were in any doubt the opening lines push the point home, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…”  (Dickens 1).

                Dickens goes on to describe the age in which the novel is set, laying out recent historical events as examples of how different, and then again how similar, the social climate is in France and England at this time.  It is only after this lengthy setting of the scene which primes the reader to be conscious of comparisons and differences, when the actual narrative begins and we meet the first characters of the story. 

                We are given a wonderful account of what it was like to travel by coach in England during the winter, the passengers being forced to walk beside the coach in order to prevent the whole outfit being stranded in the mud of the country roads.  Dickens’ description is very detailed both of the surroundings, “ There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none,” (Dickens 4) and of the passengers and their physical state, especially when a rider is heard approaching. “The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation” (Dickens 6). Dickens is a writer who leaves very little to the reader’s imagination and yet I have the feeling that hidden in all the detail, he also wants to put across a very serious point or message.

                After the initial chapter, the action and the story move quite quickly.  The character of Lucie Manette is introduced and the mysterious message “Recalled to Life” is explained when Mr. Lorry informs Lucie that her father, who was presumed dead is actually still alive in France.  He had been a prisoner in the Bastille for eighteen years, only recently being released during the storming of the prison.  Dickens shows his strength as a writer in conveying the emotional drama and tension in this situation through sentences like, “A shiver ran through her frame, and from it through his.  She said in a low, distinct, awe-stricken voice, as if she were saying it in a dream, ‘I am going to see his Ghost! It will be his Ghost – not him’” (Dickens 22).     

                When Lucie is finally reunited with her father, Dickens masterfully fills the scene with emotional tension and also visual tension, using the shadows of the room to hide Lucie until she gains the courage to present herself, almost like a ghost herself.   The recognition scene takes almost three entire pages of the book and contains both description and emotionally charged dialogue.  And as it ends, Dickens makes his point, “He had sunk in her arms and his face dropped on her breast: a sight so touching, yet so terrible in the tremendous wrong and suffering that had gone before it, that the two beholders covered their faces” (Dickens 41). I feel that this is the crux of what Dickens wanted from this passage: he wanted the reader to know the suffering from which Dr. Manette is only just being released.  It is like a “return to life” and it is also another comparison: the comparison of previous despair to new found happiness. 

                I have not read enough of this novel to be able to see where exactly Dickens is taking this story or what he wants to achieve by these comparisons, but I can see that duality as well as the idea of rebirth is probably going to feature very prominently in the story.  I am finding it a little difficult to concentrate on the story because I am so focused on looking for themes or comparisons, but I hope that as it progresses, Dickens can win me over with his writing style and get me to relate to his characters, which up until now have seemed rather one-dimensional.         

                                                                                                Love,

                                                                                                Amy Knight

Work Cited

Dickens, Charles. A Tale of Two cities. New York: Bantam Books, 1981. Print.

Dear Ms. Westfall.

                I have now finished reading Damage by Josephine Hart and I must confess that this book really surprised me.  As I mentioned in my previous letter, I was very quickly drawn into the emotionally intense situation of the main character’s affair with the charismatic but darkly mysterious Anna Barton.  The author made no attempt to hide the fact that things were going to end badly, but I never for one minute expected the dramatic and violent end to the affair and the total and utter devastation that was caused by it.

                The main character continues to become more and more obsessed with Anna, needing to see her and spend more and more time with her in order to satisfy his desire for her.  His actions call for more elaborate deceptions on his part and despite the arrangements moving ahead for Anna and Martyn’s wedding, the reader is thrust violently into the deception, feeling almost as guilty as the main character himself, just for knowing about what is truly going on. 

                Just when it seems as if there will be no release, the author “pulls the plug.”  Her method of doing so, is so quick, so subtle that for a second the reader is literally left reeling.  Martyn’s discovery of his father, naked with Anna, comes about so plausibly, so reasonably that one doesn’t even question how he happens to be there.  It has a horribly inevitable feel about it and the author, by keeping the description so straightforward and unemotional ultimately makes the scene even more crushing.

                The main character is the first to see Martyn as he enters the room, “Framed in the doorway, he seemed to rock forwards and backwards on the narrow landing.  I rose to help him.  He raised his arms above his head as if to ward off a terrible blow.  Then, like a child moving backwards, robotically, step by step from undreamed-of evil, he fell silently over the banister to his death on the marble floor below”  (Hart 169).

                There was an incredible sense of finality about the whole thing and through it the author manages to convey the fragility of life.  Not just life, but the stability of what had appeared to be life up until that moment.

                Anna, as quickly as she came, removes herself from the whole thing “Dressed and combed and looking hideously calm, she said, ‘It’s over.  It’s all over’” (Hart 170). It is only then that the reader really has a moment to take in everything that has happened, the fact that Martyn bore a resemblance to Anna’s brother who committed suicide, unable to deal with his attraction to his own sister, and also the connection to Peter who has also known Anna for years and to whom she occasionally returns.  It is only now that the extent of the “damage” really emerges.

                The remainder of the book is the main character’s sterile telling of the collapse of his marriage and of what remains of his life. The author successfully maintains the clinical, analytical tone right to the end and it truly makes reading this novel all the more intense.  I was physically drained by the end of the story, as if I had been taken in, tossed around and then slammed against a wall. The final words were like a knife in the stomach, “For those of you who doubt it – this is a love story. It is over.  Others may be luckier. I wish them well” (Hart 218).

                This is definitely not a book for the fainthearted.  It describes passion with an intensity which is seductive, but it leaves one in no doubt that such passion comes with risks.  Anna Barton becomes, as the novel progresses, an almost supernatural figure somewhere between a fallen angel and a vengeful demon.  The attraction the main character feels for her is totally understandable and undeniably real, and, like him, the reader is always completely aware of the danger involved in the attraction.  I felt like an accomplice in the whole affair, which at times was very uncomfortable.

                I did feel sorry for the main character because he was only too aware of the destruction he was hurtling towards, but he was nevertheless unable to help himself.  It was almost as if the restraint he had shown throughout the rest of his life contributed to his dramatic fall, leaving him vulnerable to the lure of strong emotions when he could least afford them, and when he had so much more to lose. 

                Perhaps the moral of this tale, if indeed there is one,  is that one should be willing to take the risks early, get hurt when there is less to lose, or at least be very, very sure that you can live with the sacrifice if you choose to compromise.  Or perhaps it is just a mind-blowingly good story about psychological and erotic obsession which should not be overanalyzed and which should be enjoyed for the profound physical reaction it can create in the reader.  Both disturbing and intriguing, this book will definitely be a read I will remember for a very long time.

                                                                Love,

                                                                                Amy Knight

Work Cited

Hart, Josephine. Damage. New York: Ballantine Books, 1991. Print.

Dear Ms. Westfall,

           I am currently reading Damage by Josephine Hart .  I wasn’t totally sure what to expect from this book as the critics list it as a “noir tale of mutual obsession“ and I was nervous that it would be a badly written, out-to-shock work of light fiction.  However, after reading the opening page, I knew that this was going to be a book that would make me think.  As I kept reading, I realized that not only would it make me think, this book was probably going to make me question my preconceptions about love and relationships. 

                The main character is a successful doctor, married, with two grown up children.  He is settled, financially secure, respected in the community and the head of a stable and loving family.  It appears that he has everything and yet on only the second page he writes, “ Had I died at fifty I would have been a doctor, and an established politician, though not a household name.  One who had made a contribution, and was much loved by his sorrowing wife, Ingrid, and by his children, Martyn and Sally…..But I did not die in my fiftieth year.  There are few who know me now, who do not regard that as a tragedy” (Hart 2). The reader is forewarned of the disaster that slowly unfolds in the subsequent pages. The trouble begins when he, for interestingly we never find out the name of the main character,   meets the girlfriend of his son, and recognizes in her, a quality that he has searched for in his own life, a certain something to which he can relate and to which he is undeniably attracted.  In the character of Anna Barton, he catches a glimpse of what his life might have been and he quickly becomes obsessed with her and the potential emotional freedom she embodies.  Against his own better judgment, and driven on by an almost animalistic desire for what Anna seems to offer him, he starts an affair with her.

                 This novella is truly shocking and there have been several times where I have found myself physically shaking.  The main character speaks with such honesty and such analytical clarity about his emotional and psychological state, that one cannot help but empathize with him, even though his actions are dangerous, deceitful and, I venture to guess, ultimately destructive.  The object of his obsession and the cause of his mental suffering, Anna Barton, is also beautifully described.  She is both enigmatic and sinister, “The woman who stood before me was tall, pale with short black wavy hair swept off her face.  She was a figure in a black suit and smiled not at all” (Hart 30). And yet, the main character deftly tries to explain what happened between them on that first meeting, “The shock of recognition had passed through my body like a powerful current.  Just for a moment I had met my own sort, another of my species…I had been home” (Hart 30). However, although Anna seems to return this feeling, she carries emotional baggage from a past that she speaks of matter-of-factly, and it is strangely disconcerting when she carelessly enters into the emotional turmoil of an affair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  The author gives hints into her past yet keeps the whole truth hidden, so that the reader is both relieved and intrigued as each piece of information is offered.  The relationship that develops between the narrator and Anna is tense, euphoric and savage.  It is so much in total contrast to what one would normally consider love, that it is unnerving.  Love, as represented by the main character’s other life with his beautiful, loving but dispassionate wife and his clever, well-adjusted, successful children, is reduced to a lackluster, shallow emotion bordering on a dutiful charade. 

              Creating emotional tension is definitely one of Josephine Hart’s strong points.  I could feel the main character’s tension, the struggle within him and the gnawing obsessive thoughts that began to consume every moment of every day, to the point where I was left breathless.  Yet, this is not some overly graphic, racy novel that is written to be erotic.  It reads more like a confession, a straightforward, honest analysis of a life that went off the rails. There are also moments of incredible subtlety, for example at the first lunch when Martin brings Anna to meet his family and  the narrator, who has kept his first meeting with Anna secret, states, “We all sat down to lunch – Ingrid, Sally, Anna and I, and Martyn.  But of course in reality Ingrid and I sat down with Sally.  And Martyn – a different Martyn, tentative, undeniably in love- sat down with Anna” (Hart 32).  So far, from the narrator, there has been little to no finger-pointing, no efforts to gain sympathy, just a personal account from one man’s perspective, explaining or trying to explain, how and why he sacrificed everything and everyone around him for a chance at something that he felt had eluded him all his life, but the tension and the pressure is already there and his very anonymity is frightening.  The implication is that this could be any man.

              I almost dread to think how this novel will end.  There can be no good ending, not when one considers that early line, previously quoted, but I am curious to see if the author can maintain the psychological element of this novel and not sink into a base, sensual description of the affair.  I promise that if it progresses too far down that path, I will willingly leave it unfinished, for this is a depressing story; one which poses a lot of questions regarding honesty in love and relationships, and suggests just how dangerous a person can be once they have been “damaged.” 

                                                            Love,

                                                                     Amy Knight

Work Cited

               Bart, Josephine. Damage. New York: Ballantine Books, 1991. Print.  

Dear Ms. Westfall,

         I have finished the collection of stories by Charles de Lint entitled Dreams Underfoot.  They continued to be an interesting set of pieces and, surprisingly,  I enjoyed the change of scene from all the historical novels that I have read recently.  I was intrigued by your comment about Neil Gaiman and although I have not read any of his more adult works, I have read Coraline and The Graveyard Book, so I thought a comparison would be interesting.

                There are some similarities between the writing of Charles de Lint and Neil Gaiman but I think that they are in tone and style more than in the subject matter.  Both writers are experts of description and they both put a lot of time and effort into creating atmosphere and giving the reader a sense of scene.  However, I feel that Neil Gaiman tends more towards the horror genre, with dark, sinister settings, that are lightened  with darkly humorous episodes and characters.  Charles de Lint, on the other hand, aims for realistic descriptions of the seedier side of city living: the slums, run-down areas inhabited by outsiders such as drug addicts, homeless people and misfits.  His method of lightening this, often depressing, tone is by inserting the fantastic: elements of fantasy, faerie and other worldliness. 

                A good example of De Lint’s style comes in the story “Paperjack”  where he writes, “Once past the City Commission’s lawns on the far side of the river, the land starts to climb.  It’s just a lot of rough scrub on this side of the hills that make up the Beaches and every summer some of the hoboes and other homeless people camp out on it.  The cops roust them from time to time, but mostly they’re left alone, and they keep to themselves” (De Lint 387). Here we see de Lint’s descriptive style, and how firmly he wants to set the scene before the introduction of the fantasy element later.  As a contrast a passage from Neil Gaiman’s Graveyard book, shows a similar technique but with the emphasis more on the gruesome, horrific elements, “The street door was still open, just a little, where the knife and the man who held it had slipped in, and wisps of nighttime mist slithered and twined into the house through the open door” (Gaiman 7).  Here, in just one sentence, Gaiman is already suggesting something dark and menacing building up the suspense before the action.  Again this is in contrast to De Lint who strives to portray a very ordinary, urban scene so that when he does choose to introduce the magical or mystical element it stands out, despite the subtlety that de Lint often uses, for example in the story “Timeskip” when he introduces the ghostly figure, “ When he reaches the streetlamp in front of the old Hamill estate, he wipes his eyes with a brown hand.  Then he fades away” (De Lint, “Timeskip” 69).

                Perhaps with Neil Gaiman’s works being directed at a younger audience he brings the two works I have mentioned to a happy, satisfying conclusion, but I feel that although De Lint does the same thing in some of his short stories, these tend to be his less satisfactory stories.  I feel that when he aims for a positive ending, his stories become rather contrived and mundane.  The ending of “Pity the Monsters” is disappointing in this way, for after building up the suspense, Harriet’s escape came too easily, leaving me with the feeling that I had been  deprived of something:  a rush or a gasp, or just that intake of breath that so often happens in de Lint’s  more negative stories. 

                This collection of stories by Charles de Lint has intrigued me enough to make me want to read one of his full length novels.  I would like to see how he develops both character and scene in a longer work and also see how he decides to conclude a longer work.  Revisiting Coraline and The Graveyard Book by  Neil Gaiman and  has   also peeked my interest in reading one of his more adult books to see how he develops his interest in the dark and macabre when he is writing for an older audience. 

                                                                Love,

                                                                Amy Knight

De Lint, Charles. “Paperjack.” Dreams Underfoot. Ed.Terri Windling.

   New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 1993. 366-397. Print.   

- – - . “Timeskip.” Dreams Underfoot. Ed.Terri Windling.

   New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 1993. 69-83. Print.   

Gaiman, Neil. The Graveyard Book. New York: Harper Collins Publishers, 2008. Print.

Dear Ms. Westfall,

             I am currently reading Dreams Underfoot by Charles de Lint and I must say that this book was a complete change for me.  It was only once I started reading this novel that I realized that it was not in fact a novel, but a collection of short stories that are connected by situation, theme and occasionally characters.  The setting for all these stories is the city of Newford, a modern, urban world with its seedy neighborhoods, depressing, concrete and steel architecture and more than its fair share of interesting characters.  All of the stories have the feel of urban legends and most, in one way or another, tackle the subject of magic, other-worldly creatures or legendary events.

              Charles de Lint really manages to create a realistic world.  In fact, some of the stories in this collection do not read like urban fantasy and almost coming across as hard, graphic realistic fiction.  His characters are compelling, especially Jilly Coppercorn who appears in what was probably my favorite story of the collection, “Winter was Hard.”   This story contains the best aspects of Charles de Lint’s writing: descriptions of the urban landscape; strange, ethereal creatures who eke out an existence, while remaining distant from the regular world of Newford but who have a profound effect on the lives of those they do choose to touch.

             This was a very poignant story, and De Lint drew me in to the point to where I could guess the ending but nevertheless didn’t want it to happen. By that time however, I was so invested in the story that I had to read on and De Lint did not disappoint.  The ending was both sad and uplifting and I felt, it showed off De Lint’s special talent for the bittersweet closure.   

             Of all the stories in the collection, those that ended either sadly or with poignancy did seem to be the most successful.  De Lint has a way of bringing you down gently, whilst making you think of the adventure that you have just had (or read about ).  I enjoyed that aspect of this collection very much.

           There were other stories in the collection that were more straightforward, with simpler plots that relied on description and the fantasy element to carry them.  One of these was the first story,     “Uncle Dobbin’s Parrot Fair,”   which contained pure fantasy elements.  Each character contained some sort of magic within them, often magic that they couldn’t control or that frightened them either because of its strength or its power to change them.  When the two main characters, Ellen and Reece,  finally have to confront the visual symbols that represent their own personal magic, there was a wonderfully creepy and fantastic duel of the elementals: “Looking down, she saw what he had seen, a bird’s head poking gossamer from between her breasts…Her own magic, leaving her because she didn’t believe.  Because she couldn’t believe, but –“ (De Lint, “Uncle” 39). At the same time Ellen is seeing her magic depart from her body, on the beach Reece’s own magical symbol, the booger, is pacing at the water’s edge threatening to attack (De Lint, “Uncle” 39). This is the kind of unbelievable situation that De Lind handles so well though description.  He manages to merge the fantastic seamlessly into the urban world of his characters.  An example of this is taken from the story, “Freewheeling”: “He stond on the rain-slick street, a pale fire burning behind his eyes.  Nerve endings tingling, he watched them go – a slow parade of riderless bicycles” (De Lint, “Freewheeling” 84). 

            I am interested to see more of Charles de Lint’s stories, to see if I can get even more of a feel for what inspires him and also get to the bottom of the stylistic techniques he uses to create such a real, yet fantastic world.  This may take some more in depth analysis, but at the moment I am really just enjoying the change of pace from the other books I have read and the new, more modern setting of these stories.

                                                                                                  Love,

                                                                                                           Amy Knight

Works Cited

De Lint, Charles. “Winter was Hard.” Dreams Underfoot. Ed.Terri Windling.

   New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 1993. 147-163. Print.   

- – -.  “Uncle Dobbin’s Parrot Fair.” Dreams Underfoot. Ed.Terri Windling. New

       York: Tom Doherty Associates, 1993. 17-42. Print.   

- – -.  “Freewheeling.” Dreams Underfoot. Ed.Terri Windling. New York: Tom

         Doherty Associates, 1993. 84-102. Print.

 Dear Ms. Westfall,

                                After having read A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams, I managed to find the time to watch the movie version of the play starring Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh.  It was wonderful to see a visual interpretation of the play and there were many aspects of the movie that helped me to get a better understanding of the characters.  However, my first thought was with regards to color.  In my first reading letter, I had mentioned that color seemed very important to Tennessee Williams.  The fact that the movie was filmed in black and white was therefore obviously a little frustrating, although the director did a good job focusing instead on the sounds and music that Williams described in his stage directions.  I guess you could say that this was the best compensation for the handicap created by the black and white film medium.

                                There was however no handicap when it came to portraying the characters.  A play is not meant to be read, it is meant to be a total experience, seen, heard and felt by the audience and in this, I felt that the movie definitely succeeded in capturing the essence of what Tennessee Williams wanted to portray.  The actors were, in my opinion, brilliantly cast.  From the moment Blanche emerged from the steam of the train onto the platform I was struck by how closely she came to my own mental image of her.  She was at once fragile, seductive and, something that came across even more clearly in the movie, quite neurotic.  Her flowing gown added to her Romantic, ethereal look, but I loved the way that Vivien Leigh still managed to give the character of Blanche a dangerous, vaguely sinister side too. 

                                The character of Stanley was also very close to how I imagined him.  He was perhaps younger but his boorish attitude and his total lack of social graces made me cringe from the first moment I saw him.  His mumbling voice and the sneering, condescending way in which he both spoke to, and looked at, Blanche and Stella sickened me.  Marlon Brando was, though I feel he would not take this as a compliment, perfect for the role.  He had the physical power and the “dumb quarterback” looks that obviously have some sort of appeal to some women, but although I felt perhaps a second of sympathy for him when, still in his drunken state, he gave in to tears over Stella’s leaving, I found myself still doubting why anyone would have put up with his arrogance and his violence.

                                Perhaps the most intriguing part of the movie and one which, for me, clarified something that I was not able to see clearly after just reading the play, was Kim Hunter‘s portrayal of Stella.  I have to admit to being surprised by Stella.  She appears as the plainer, more homely younger sister, but the one who has defied her upbringing, rebelled against the rigid, rules of Southern etiquette and taken her chance with a man who is as far removed from her old life as possible.  This was an aspect of Stella’s character that I had not grasped when reading, but which made a lot of sense on the screen.  The scene in which Stella walks down the stairs towards Stanley is one which really made me realize that Stella shares a lot of Stanley’s wild, animalistic tendencies.  I found her almost ugly at this moment and the reunion between her and her husband was clearly shown to be a physical response, not an emotional response. 

                                This scene made me compare Stella to Blanche even more.  Blanche lives in a fantasy world full of imaginary beaux and fantastic daydreams. She has no real hold on reality, her world and her life is a child’s game of dress-up and make-believe.   Stella, on the contrary, is grounded and physical, responding to her husband’s arrogance and violence like a feral cat, by hissing, spitting and scratching.  The sisters are almost two opposing sides of a whole: Blanche with all the romantic passion and little, if any of the physical drive- as is shown when she pushes Mitch away on their date- and Stella who seems to possess a minimal capacity to imagine or dream and whose response to life is instinctive and physical, not contemplative and wistful. 

                                The movie captures this aspect of Williams’ characters very well but just as I thought that I had come to a better understanding of what Tennessee Williams had intended I was disappointed.  The finale of the movie is not the same as the play and I was completely surprised by the fact that the director decided to give Stella an extra line that basically undid everything that had been done through the rest of the film. We are not left, as in the play, with Blanche being led away by the representatives from the mental institution, but instead we see Stella pick up her baby and go upstairs claiming that she will never go back in to her house, and to Stanley, again.  I fail to see what this adds to the play.  It was almost as if the director wanted to make a falsely happy ending, showing that Stella has the strength to stand up to Stanley and to change to a point where she can escape from the unhealthy relationship she is in.  However, in my opinion, this was contrary to everything Tennessee Williams was saying in his play and contrary to the very character of Stella.

                                I thoroughly enjoyed being able to see the movie after having read the play.  I gained a better understanding of the characters and saw interactions between them that I had not fully envisioned or imagined during my reading of the play. Although I disagreed with the director’s vision of the ending, I was impressed by his interpretations of Tennessee Williams’ stage directions, and despite the movie being filmed in black and white, the whole atmosphere of New Orleans and the South was very prevalent.              

                                                                                                                Love,

                                                                                                                                Amy Knight

                Work Cited

                    Williams, Tennessee. A Streetcar Named Desire. New York: New

                                    Directions Publishing Corporation, 2004. Print.