Christina Bonvicin
2.27.2009
Mark Twain and His Story Morals
Mark Twain is a very humorous writer. But his humor isn't the "laugh out loud" type of humor some people really like to read. It's a dry sense of humor that not many people will catch onto until pointed out by someone else. It's the kind of humor that makes you stop and think "Oh, wait, that was funny in a not-so-funny way. It was demented." Twain's humor is pretty demented too. I mean, take "The Story of the Good Little Boy." You think it'd be a straight out story about a good little boy, right? The good little boy does good things for others and gets repaid good things. Not quite. Twain takes this overused concept and spins it so that his main character, Jacob Blivens, ends up not having the good life he believes he would have by being good.
In the story he addresses the issue of being overly good and not being rewarded for it in the way you expect. In his other short story, "The Story of the Bad Little Boy," the opposite is true. His main character, Jim, is being reward for being an absolute terror all throughout his life. He gets everything he's ever wanted with no consequences at all. At least, her has no consequences when he's actually living. Once he dies, however, is a different matter all together that I couldn't really take about even if I tried because Twain doesn't go into Jim's afterlife with him.
In any case, Twain's humor is dry and not much like the American Romantics. He's very much for the realism that is the world and how things do work in the world. His "Good Boy/Bad Boy" stories, you can clearly see his take on the world. That some things just are not always worth the time it takes to be good all the time, and that some times being bad is gets you farther in life than you think. Then again, this could just be my own thoughts of what Twain was trying to say in his stories. I truthfully wouldn’t know it that was what Twain was thinking when he wrote his stories unless I asked him.
In “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County,” Twain’s message is not to brag to a stranger, especially there after leaving something valuable with that stranger. Which, in today’s world it really isn’t a problem to leave something of value with a stranger since most of us (the ones with common sense) don’t go around trusting complete strangers with our valuables. Then again, he could have just been saying that you shouldn’t brag in general. Again you would have to ask Twain himself, as I’m a mere student coming up with morals based on what happens in the story.
Twain is writing to the American people of the late nineteenth century. I guess he doesn’t want them to be so overly emotional that they brag to everyone they meet, or try to do good by everything they do in order to be recognized for it. He’s a very humorous writer, and his stories read like oral stories. I could practically hear the slow, leisurely voice of Wheeler telling his story of Jim Smiley and his jumping frog in “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” His stories nowadays may not be read for moral purposes anymore, but morals can still be picked out. I recommend goody-two-shoes read “The Story of the Good Little Boy” so that maybe they stop being so good and living their life in the “I must always be good attitude.” Being bad once in a while isn’t that bad.
A part of Twain’s writing that stood out to me was from “The Story of the Good Little Boy.” It goes: “But somehow nothing ever went right with this good boy; nothing ever turned out with him the way it turned out with the good little boys in the books. They always had a good time, and the bad boys had the broken legs; but in his case there was a screw loose somewhere; and it all happened just the other way.” Then Twain went on to talk about how poor little Jacob Blivens broke his legs because he caught Jim Blake stealing apples from a tree. It stood out to me because bad things happen to the good. As the quote goes “Only the good die young.” Well, that was basically what Twain was backing up in the story.
By the time I finished that short story, I felt really bad for little Jacob. All he wanted was to be the good little boy in a Sunday-school book, and one that didn't die in the end. But, he died in the end and he wasn't put in a Sunday-school book either. He was made into a Mark Twain story, which is just as good though. In the end, I believe that Twain wrote these stories for people to realize things about situations that you shouldn't put yourself into. Or, if you put yourself into those situations, make sure you get yourself out of them the right way.
Feb 27, 2009
Feb 20, 2009
Writing Equals Change?
Christina Bonvicin
2.20.09
Writing Equals Change?
Does writing have the power to enact social change? A better question would be “Can writing have the power to enact social change?” Really, the question of writing changing society is a question of the people who are reading the writing. If only a bunch of high school students are only reading the writing, I doubt it would enact much of a worldwide, or even an America-wide, social change. The change would most likely be only be a few selective students, or, if the teacher was lucky enough, the whole class or grade.
If the president of the United States, on the other hand, read the piece of writing and was moved by it, the possibilities are endless. If really depends on what that specific president believes would be the best line of action. He could possibly think that the social change would be bad for the nation or world, and would not pass any ideas onto Congress to approve. If he thought the change would better the nation and/or the world, then he would most likely pass the ideas onto Congress. Congress would then either approve or deny the idea, through many debates through the pros and cons of the change. If the change is a success, then the president could brag to other countries, and then more countries would enact the social change, causing, possibly, a worldwide change.
On a smaller scale, if the major of a city or town were to read the piece of writing the same thing could happen. Only instead of having to go through the Senate and House of Representatives, the major would most likely have to go through a small city or school council, depending on the type of change, to get the approval he or she needs to start the programs that would get the social changes going throughout the city.
In all, the change depends on the person reading it. If I was just the one reading a piece of writing and it affected me enough to change me, that’s just one person. Really not much of a change, in all honesty. But if the president of the United States wanted to change some social aspect of Americans’ lives, and Congress backed him (or her, I’m holding out hope), then the changes are most pronounced and could possibly be spread worldwide. Thus, I do believe that writing has the power to enact social change… but only if the person reading it is in some form of political power, such as the president or a major of a city.
2.20.09
Writing Equals Change?
Does writing have the power to enact social change? A better question would be “Can writing have the power to enact social change?” Really, the question of writing changing society is a question of the people who are reading the writing. If only a bunch of high school students are only reading the writing, I doubt it would enact much of a worldwide, or even an America-wide, social change. The change would most likely be only be a few selective students, or, if the teacher was lucky enough, the whole class or grade.
If the president of the United States, on the other hand, read the piece of writing and was moved by it, the possibilities are endless. If really depends on what that specific president believes would be the best line of action. He could possibly think that the social change would be bad for the nation or world, and would not pass any ideas onto Congress to approve. If he thought the change would better the nation and/or the world, then he would most likely pass the ideas onto Congress. Congress would then either approve or deny the idea, through many debates through the pros and cons of the change. If the change is a success, then the president could brag to other countries, and then more countries would enact the social change, causing, possibly, a worldwide change.
On a smaller scale, if the major of a city or town were to read the piece of writing the same thing could happen. Only instead of having to go through the Senate and House of Representatives, the major would most likely have to go through a small city or school council, depending on the type of change, to get the approval he or she needs to start the programs that would get the social changes going throughout the city.
In all, the change depends on the person reading it. If I was just the one reading a piece of writing and it affected me enough to change me, that’s just one person. Really not much of a change, in all honesty. But if the president of the United States wanted to change some social aspect of Americans’ lives, and Congress backed him (or her, I’m holding out hope), then the changes are most pronounced and could possibly be spread worldwide. Thus, I do believe that writing has the power to enact social change… but only if the person reading it is in some form of political power, such as the president or a major of a city.
Feb 13, 2009
Price of a Child Assignment
Christina Bonvicin
The Price of Freedom
The seconds on the clock ticked by slowly. Very, very slowly. The classroom was silent, every student engaged in their own thoughts. One girl had her iPod in her ears, eyes closed as the bell rang. As if on cue Demi Gimondi got up, picked up her messenger bag and walked out of the room without a glance back at the rest of her classmates. She couldn’t, honestly, care less about them than what she already did. They were nothing to her. Besides she had more important matters to attend to than to bother with preppy girls and guys in her new boarding school. She weaved her way across Waverton’s campus, the winter chill hardly bothering her like it would most of the other girls in Waverton Academy.
She got to her English Lit class practically on time. Practically being the key word. She prayed the professor didn’t see her as she walked into class two minutes late. Professor Elizabeth Richards was a stickler when it came to being on time to class. Demi walked into the classroom slowly, glad to see that Professor Richards’ back was to her students, writing on the board.
“Ah, Miss Gimondi, so glad you could join our class today.” Demi cringed, watching as the old bat turned around to glare at her. “I believe this is the tenth time you are late this semester.”
“Actually, I believe it is only the eighth time this semester, Professor Richards.” Demi couldn’t help her flip response. It came natural to her, just as breathing did. The professor’s glare became more pronounced in her face, the wrinkles deepening to show her true age.
“Take out your books,” the professor barked. Everyone in the class jumped to attention and moved hurriedly to take out their Price of a Child books. Demi took her sweet time, setting her bag down lightly on the floor near her feet before bending to get the book out of her bag. By the time Demi straightened up the class had already begun a discussion about chapter six. Luckily Professor Richards didn’t seem to notice, or, honestly, didn’t care.
In truth Demi liked the book. She had already read the whole thing and needed to backtrack to stay with her class. She found the characters somewhat interesting, but the plot was bland. She did rather like the ending. A bittersweet ending was the best ending in her eyes. She hated the overly romantic and happily-ever-afters. Bittersweet endings were right up Demi’s literature alley.
Demi was brought out of her reverie, hearing the old bat’s voice right next to her. Demi looked at her professor before opening the book to the chapter they were currently discussing.
“Miss Jefferson,” the professor said, calling on the girl to Demi’s left side, “your thoughts on the chapter?”
Jaelyn started off into a lengthy ramble about the chapter, covering everything from the discussion of Mercer’s family’s well being, to the ‘love’ scene in the bedroom, and all the way to when Mercer and Zilpha went back to Zilpha’s house in West Chester. Demi drifted in and out of the long monologue, thinking about what could possibly happen to Mercer and her kids. Tyree had given her money and names to help her find Benny, they were taking the steamer to New York and then who knows where. But what would happen to them then? Their lives weren’t set in stone. That was probably what Lorene Cary wanted, for people to take the ending and use their imagination and run with what little basis she gave.
Demi liked when book endings weren’t set in stone. If she didn’t like the ending, she could always rewrite her own in her head, which she loved to do to most of the books she read over the years.
“Miss Gimondi,” came a voice from far away and Demi shook her head to clear her thoughts, looking at her professor with a mildly interested look on her face. “Would you care to share your thoughts on the chapter?” The professor’s voice left no room for argument: Demi would have to say her opinions on the chapter even if she really didn’t want to. Demi blinked and then pursed her lips together, before taking deep breath.
“Well, for one, I love how the family treats Blanche. They don’t like her, her own husband doesn’t like her, except for sex.” The room was silent after this, the students horrified that she dare say that dreadful term. “Tyree treats Blanche like a two-year-old when it comes to correcting her behavior and how she acts with the family, yet wants to take her like a horny seventeen year old when the mood strikes.” Demi rolled her eyes at her preppy classmates gasped at her audacity. Professor Richards didn’t look so taken aback. “Second I really can’t stand Tyree. At all. He raped his wife. She maybe have submitted, but it doesn’t mean that she consented. Tyree raped her without remorse. Before that he cheated on her with Mercer. It may have been a simple kiss but he still cheated.”
She paused, taking a needed breath of air before plunging on. “The only part that I liked was when Zilpha shot whoever was looting through her garden at her house. At least that part was the smallest bit believable. Everything else was just really bad in tune with the story, a lot of information that wasn’t necessarily needed or wanted. I personally got bored reading all the information and was glad when the chapter was over.” And on that note, Demi closed her book and stared up at Professor Richards, practically daring the old bat to say anything to her.
Professor Richards blinked, before turning away from her student and continuing with her lecture about the chapter. Demi smiled to herself, knowing that the old bat’s plans were ruined. Professor Richards was hoping that by catching Demi in her own thoughts, the old bat thinking that Demi didn’t even read the chapter like she was supposed to, that Demi wouldn’t have been able to give a satisfying response to her question. ‘Well, it didn’t work,’ Demi thought to herself, a smile still on her face as Professor Richards assigned the class to read chapters seven and eight.
“Just because I’m late all the time,” Demi mumbled to herself, grabbing her bag off the floor as the bell rang, “doesn’t mean that I don’t care about my class or my grades, thank you very much.” And with her simple sentence Demi Gimondi was gone to her advanced statistics class, once again not bothering to wait around for any of her classmates. She had her freedom, she didn’t need to wait for any body. Just like Mercer.
The Price of Freedom
The seconds on the clock ticked by slowly. Very, very slowly. The classroom was silent, every student engaged in their own thoughts. One girl had her iPod in her ears, eyes closed as the bell rang. As if on cue Demi Gimondi got up, picked up her messenger bag and walked out of the room without a glance back at the rest of her classmates. She couldn’t, honestly, care less about them than what she already did. They were nothing to her. Besides she had more important matters to attend to than to bother with preppy girls and guys in her new boarding school. She weaved her way across Waverton’s campus, the winter chill hardly bothering her like it would most of the other girls in Waverton Academy.
She got to her English Lit class practically on time. Practically being the key word. She prayed the professor didn’t see her as she walked into class two minutes late. Professor Elizabeth Richards was a stickler when it came to being on time to class. Demi walked into the classroom slowly, glad to see that Professor Richards’ back was to her students, writing on the board.
“Ah, Miss Gimondi, so glad you could join our class today.” Demi cringed, watching as the old bat turned around to glare at her. “I believe this is the tenth time you are late this semester.”
“Actually, I believe it is only the eighth time this semester, Professor Richards.” Demi couldn’t help her flip response. It came natural to her, just as breathing did. The professor’s glare became more pronounced in her face, the wrinkles deepening to show her true age.
“Take out your books,” the professor barked. Everyone in the class jumped to attention and moved hurriedly to take out their Price of a Child books. Demi took her sweet time, setting her bag down lightly on the floor near her feet before bending to get the book out of her bag. By the time Demi straightened up the class had already begun a discussion about chapter six. Luckily Professor Richards didn’t seem to notice, or, honestly, didn’t care.
In truth Demi liked the book. She had already read the whole thing and needed to backtrack to stay with her class. She found the characters somewhat interesting, but the plot was bland. She did rather like the ending. A bittersweet ending was the best ending in her eyes. She hated the overly romantic and happily-ever-afters. Bittersweet endings were right up Demi’s literature alley.
Demi was brought out of her reverie, hearing the old bat’s voice right next to her. Demi looked at her professor before opening the book to the chapter they were currently discussing.
“Miss Jefferson,” the professor said, calling on the girl to Demi’s left side, “your thoughts on the chapter?”
Jaelyn started off into a lengthy ramble about the chapter, covering everything from the discussion of Mercer’s family’s well being, to the ‘love’ scene in the bedroom, and all the way to when Mercer and Zilpha went back to Zilpha’s house in West Chester. Demi drifted in and out of the long monologue, thinking about what could possibly happen to Mercer and her kids. Tyree had given her money and names to help her find Benny, they were taking the steamer to New York and then who knows where. But what would happen to them then? Their lives weren’t set in stone. That was probably what Lorene Cary wanted, for people to take the ending and use their imagination and run with what little basis she gave.
Demi liked when book endings weren’t set in stone. If she didn’t like the ending, she could always rewrite her own in her head, which she loved to do to most of the books she read over the years.
“Miss Gimondi,” came a voice from far away and Demi shook her head to clear her thoughts, looking at her professor with a mildly interested look on her face. “Would you care to share your thoughts on the chapter?” The professor’s voice left no room for argument: Demi would have to say her opinions on the chapter even if she really didn’t want to. Demi blinked and then pursed her lips together, before taking deep breath.
“Well, for one, I love how the family treats Blanche. They don’t like her, her own husband doesn’t like her, except for sex.” The room was silent after this, the students horrified that she dare say that dreadful term. “Tyree treats Blanche like a two-year-old when it comes to correcting her behavior and how she acts with the family, yet wants to take her like a horny seventeen year old when the mood strikes.” Demi rolled her eyes at her preppy classmates gasped at her audacity. Professor Richards didn’t look so taken aback. “Second I really can’t stand Tyree. At all. He raped his wife. She maybe have submitted, but it doesn’t mean that she consented. Tyree raped her without remorse. Before that he cheated on her with Mercer. It may have been a simple kiss but he still cheated.”
She paused, taking a needed breath of air before plunging on. “The only part that I liked was when Zilpha shot whoever was looting through her garden at her house. At least that part was the smallest bit believable. Everything else was just really bad in tune with the story, a lot of information that wasn’t necessarily needed or wanted. I personally got bored reading all the information and was glad when the chapter was over.” And on that note, Demi closed her book and stared up at Professor Richards, practically daring the old bat to say anything to her.
Professor Richards blinked, before turning away from her student and continuing with her lecture about the chapter. Demi smiled to herself, knowing that the old bat’s plans were ruined. Professor Richards was hoping that by catching Demi in her own thoughts, the old bat thinking that Demi didn’t even read the chapter like she was supposed to, that Demi wouldn’t have been able to give a satisfying response to her question. ‘Well, it didn’t work,’ Demi thought to herself, a smile still on her face as Professor Richards assigned the class to read chapters seven and eight.
“Just because I’m late all the time,” Demi mumbled to herself, grabbing her bag off the floor as the bell rang, “doesn’t mean that I don’t care about my class or my grades, thank you very much.” And with her simple sentence Demi Gimondi was gone to her advanced statistics class, once again not bothering to wait around for any of her classmates. She had her freedom, she didn’t need to wait for any body. Just like Mercer.
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