After reading both Vampires in the Lemon Grove and Sleep Donation, I feel that the tone of Karen Russell’s writing has become much clearer to me. I very much enjoyed both works, and there are a few characteristics that begin to stand out both during and after reading them.

It is possible that it was not her intention, but I have found that both of her writings displayed a tone of stress, worry, and contemplation. Nothing felt resolute, and the constant state of anxiety on different levels that was stressed in the writing tone made the stories feel that much more real. An attention to detail pushed this even further, but more often than not the detail was in terms of how a particular action elicited certain emotions: how biting into the lemon could not truly satisfy the vampire cravings, how being inside the sleep van made Trish uncomfortable during a donation. The characters questioned themselves constantly, but it was the questioning tone that made us as readers really feel like they did. The voices of the characters are not considered the voice of the author, but there was a connection nonetheless. Amongst all of this seriousness though, her writing is also satirical in some aspects – it has a sharp, “biting” quality that reflects on the issues faces by humanity (or rather, inhumanity but with human qualities in Vampires in the Lemon Grove), without mercy.

When looking towards endings, neither story’s conclusion would be deemed a “happy solution”. Both felt unresolved and contemplative. Russell was not looking to simply guide us to the end of a story, but rather to get a sense for the particular emotions that were emphasized in each piece, whether that be the discontent weaved throughout Vampires in the Lemon Grove, or the guilt and apprehension attempting to hide under confidence in Sleep Donation. The stories seem not to be so much about the characters as they are about the emotions they are overwhelmed with.

In Sleep Donation, Trish is riddled with guilt no matter which way she turns: guilt for using her dead sister’s story as a pitch, guilt for keeping secrets about the illegal exchange of Baby A’s sleep, and of course the guilt of knowing that lives could be lost if she lets her guilt from the former influence her future actions. In conclusion, the situation is not fully resolved, but Trish is able to finally do what she feels is the right thing, whether it truly is in the grand scheme of things or not. Russell’s tone adds to this by bringing into the picture a question of what is worth more – the life of one or the life of many. It allows us to contemplate everything rather than be presented with straightforward facts to simply be accepted.

The tone of Russell’s writing is not just influenced by latching onto particular emotions, however that seems to be the most critical element. Her writing is also very poetic, and she tends to utilize metaphor in her work. This creates a wonderful lyrical reading experience, while still staying true to the emotions of importance and retaining the cutting, reflective qualities.

On a more personal note, I’m very interested in reading the rest of the stories in the Vampires in the Lemon Grove collection. Her story Swamplandia is also going to be added to my list of future reads. I had never been one to read works with such open endings, and although that has it’s own frustrations, I find that it adds a final poetic element to each piece and forces you to contemplate the overall meaning of each work rather than feeling inherently satisfied with a provided ending. I’d like to expose myself to more work of this nature, and hopefully doing so will help me think more critically about the greater significance of writing rather than the straightforward linear elements that usually come to my focus.

Ready Player One - Virtual Reality

 ENTERS CLEARING.

The user exits the forest sequence, and steps into a clearing. This clearing is comprised of a hill, which is decorated with twelve large black stones arranged in in the pattern of a skull.

A map appears in the upper right corner of the screen. The player uses this map as a guide to reach a specified location. In order to do so, they climb atop the hill, and then slowly descend down a cliff face onto an outward ledge. The user is then instructed to utilize their shield as a shovel. The dirt is set aside to reveal a dark tunnel leading underground. The floor of the tunnel is comprised of a mosaic of colorful stones and red tiles. They step inside.

  ENTERS TOMB OF HORRORS.

A new map appears in the upper right corner to guide the player through the Tomb of Horrors. The tomb is very dark. To see, the user must equip their flashlight.

The flashlight creates a circular area of light; only illuminating what it is pointed at. In the areas of vision, the user can see that the walls are dotted with paintings depicting various creatures, such as elves and orcs.

Using the map’s markers as a guide, the user must avoid hidden trap doors in the floor. If they happen to activate one, they plunge down into darkness and return back to their most recent checkpoint.

The tomb holds various rewards for the optional searching of different areas, such as magic items and coins. Searching for these items also runs the risk of encountering enemy creatures that lurk in the darkest areas and guard the most prominent prizes. In the event of being confronted by one, the user is given a brief warning to allow them to equip their weapons, and then must deliver a number of hits in a slow-motion sequence.

The user must pass through six separate rooms before entering the final dungeon. Each room is unique in size, shape, and contents. All rooms have the appearance of being worn down, with the quiet dripping of water from leaks, and crumbling walls and artifacts. The occasional growl or scuttle alerts the user of potential enemies. The sound of a quiet, eerie wind echoes through the corridors between rooms. Upon reaching the final chamber, the entrance is a pitch black void. Nothing is visible until stepping through.

ENTERS FINAL CHAMBER.

The user enters a large square chamber. It is lit by torches, and requires no flashlight to view. The ceiling is high, and the room is filled with massive stone columns. A raised dais stands at the far end of the room. An obsidian throne inlaid with silver and ivory skulls sit atop of it. In the throne sits Acerarak, the demi-lich. A dusty gold crown glints on his head. His skin is withered. His teeth consisted of pointed cut diamonds arranged in a lipless grin. His eyes were large rubies.

When the player approaches the steps of the dais, a cracking sound echoes through the chamber.

Acerarak lifts his head. His ruby eyes glow, and he begins to speak.

BEGIN ACERARAK SEQUENCE.

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - The Ethos of a World

In last week’s class, we discussed various questions that dived into the art of world building. Having read The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, one of the questions stuck out to me:

What is the world’s ethos (the guiding beliefs or ideals that characterize the world)? 

This particular question struck me as important, because the ethos of the world that Junot Diaz had spun was both very similar and very different from that of my own world. To start, the ethos of this world seemed to revolve around doing whatever is necessary for success. Masculinity, taking what is “rightfully yours” and emitting a sense of power and influence seemed to be the key elements of finding one’s ideal self. At the very least, one should try to find their place in the world, and accept it as it is. Characters were expected to conform to society’s expectations – and when they broke out of those boundaries, bad things followed.

Find a girl. Man up. Don’t associate with those that are undesirable (Ybon). Do as your told. Don’t attempt to stand up to those that are more dangerous than you (Trujillo).  Conform, conform, conform. It’s a strange balancing act of acting tough enough to assert yourself and submitting enough to keep yourself out of harm’s way.

It is the conformity that I find doesn’t fit into my current world’s ethos. Here, people are prized for sticking out and doing everything that they can to differentiate themselves as artists. In Junot Diaz’s world, sticking out meant being lonely, getting sent to prison, being beaten and of course, getting murdered.

Oscar did not fit into the masculine and outgoing standard that his world had set for him, and thus he was out of place, and therein the story lies. Beli chose to be involved with men who were no good for her rather than heeding the warnings of La Inca, and thus she experienced suffering for her own inability to conform.

What I can relate to is the need to find one’s “proper” place. Past conforming to society standards out of fear of repercussions, or trying your hardest to stick out for the sake of the spotlight, at the end of the day both Diaz’s world and my own expect you to settle down and find your place in the world that is the path of least resistance. 

Lola was shunned for taking chances, traveling and making “questionable” decisions. No good was to come of Beli’s risky relationships. Had either of them made what the ethos of the world would deem reasonable, safer life choices (of which their family would have also agreed with), and found nice, honest men, didn’t bicker with or embarrass their family, and lived the lives others expected of them, their paths would have been less rocky.

The characters themselves may have their own individual ethos that they live by, but I believe that all things considered, the world as a while consists of an ethos that idealizes the things that most of the characters are not. Had this not been the case, Oscar’s far less than masculine, nerdy ways would not have brought upon him the problems he was bound to face, and the story itself would not have been able to provide the struggles that make up its very core. The characters recognize the ethos of the world. Some try to work towards it and wish they had become what the world expected them to be. Others resist, working against the grain, desperate to find themselves through the act of rebellion.  

No one in the apartment is awake, but it isn’t quiet. A chorus of frogs sings outside in the pond, the dry, cold air from the vent blows quietly as it sends chills up my spine, and the low hum of the air conditioning unit goes on and on relentlessly. The darkness outside makes it seem like it should be quiet, but the more I take notice, the louder and louder the collective noise becomes, broken only by the screeching of wheels in the distance or the loud croak of a bullfrog.

A dim lamp sits on the opposite end of the room, the light barely reaching the desk – my fumbling hands lit by the bright screen of the laptop.  My pen scratches across the tablet furiously; the poorly made nib has been overused and sharpened nearly to a point. A mug of once hot, fragrant lavender tea, now cold and forgotten, sits off to the side. Above the desk lies a cluttered cork board, scattered with tokens of inspiration that do not seem to inspire when you are running thin on time and trying to keep your trembling hands steady.

Every now and then a muffled snore or shuffle will come from the bedroom, and I’m reminded that I can’t afford the luxury of a good night's rest - not tonight. I know that others have it worse, but being keenly aware of the strain that lack of sleep will put on my body the following day has a way of dampening my spirit. I know that this night, this week, this month is merely a blink in time in the grand scheme of things, but anxiety seeps in and I can’t look away.

The blue light of the clock by the door seems to burn into my mind, even when I’m not stealing glances. 1:15 AM. 3:37 AM. 4:45 AM.  There is a progression of emotion that comes with the stages of time passing, and I try to drown my doubts with music that I’ve played time and time again. I keep the sound low, and my tired mind latches onto the rhythm that it offers.

The chair seems to become less and less comfortable the longer I stay put. Cramped into a corner, the little desk feels claustrophobic, and the dim lighting doesn’t help much. A small flash drive blinks a bright orange aside a tangle of cords protruding from the laptop. The clutter is frustrating. During the brief moments that I set down the pen, my fingers don’t seem to function properly. They were so molded into the shape of the pen and the abrupt, repetitive movements of the strokes that even typing becomes a challenge.

I reach a point where I have done all that I can do. The laptop is closed, the light switch is off, and I stagger through the darkness, reaching out for the door, grasping thin air. The sterile bathroom light is incredibly bright, and it burns my eyes as I go through the motions, still compelled to treat this like any other night. I crawl into bed while it is still dark, not wanting to see the sun rise. The fan buzzes above me and the blankets feel heavier than they should. My racing thoughts begin to dim.  A mourning dove calls softly outside.

There is a sinking feeling.

I blink.

The unwelcome alarm rings out from my phone on the other side of the room. My eyes sting. If only the sun would stay down for a few more hours.

True Grit and the American Mythology

After reading True Grit, I can clearly see why it would be a reflection of American mythology. 

The primary mythology displayed is that of the Western. Having seen multiple Western films prior to reading this, I already had a feel for how a frontier story would come across. True Grit did not fail to provide. First and foremost, the Western as a genre is perhaps the most distinctly American genre there is.

The desert setting, the cowboy figures, and the rough and tumble, risky business plots are inherently American in that they reflect some of the most romanticized days of the country’s history. They seem to shout out “freedom!” and “justice!” and emphasize the role of hard work and determination in a successful life. In this case, Mattie pushes through her struggles to avenge her father’s untimely death, and although she faces many hardships, her bravery was rewarded when justice was served in the end.

I feel that that is a reflection of the greatest American mythology of which the American Dream is grounded upon: hard work leads to success. Whether that be saving up money for a new house, or persisting in serving justice in a murder case, it all can be derived from that same basic statement. Alongside hard work leading to justice is the concept that wrongdoings will come back to bite you. Villainous characters get tastes of their own medicine – Tom Chaney can’t escape his actions forever, and he loses his life as a result of not taking responsibility for his actions.

This line of thought also leads to the theme of American morals. Mattie aimed to be a lawful individual, and do things the right way as a good member of society. Even though she and her company may have bent the rules in terms of what could strictly be considered “right” or “wrong” (murder is murder, thieves or not), the morality was still aiming in the direction of justice. We viewed Mattie as a generally law-abiding individual, and although she, Cogburn, and La Boeuf may have taken things into their own hands, we still felt that their actions were warranted, and that their morals were on the right end of the scale – and thus we rooted for their success.

I also feel that an “underdog” theme played a role in the American mythology presented here. A prominent American sentiment is that anyone can rise to the occasion – the poor can become wealthy, the uneducated can become educated, and so forth. So when a young, now fatherless girl (who is also subject to the inherent sexism of the time) seeks to accomplish a lofty goal amongst seasoned, adult male professionals, she is able to do so despite how unattainable others claimed it would be.

And so, True Grit weaves an American mythology: a morally sound underdog’s bravery and hard work overcomes the wrongful actions of a criminal. Justice is served.

Values

A few of my most important values:

1. Kindness
2. Honesty
3. Loyalty
4. Ambition
5. Empathy

The graphic novel, Persepolis, has an extreme sense of honesty to it as an autobiographical work. The author's telling of her past feels extremely real and shows a raw version of her life - flaws, mistakes and all. Marjane Satrapi  does not work to cover up the unruly moments of her past, but instead uses them to construct a believable world that we can further empathize with. Herself as a character is not portrayed as a hero, but rather a person just like anyone else placed in the particular circumstances that life has thrown at her - it is this that seems to shine through in regards to the value of honesty.

Stefan Zweig to Wes Anderson

Upon reading a selection of Stefan Zweig's works, including the short stories, A Star Above the Forest, A Summer Novela, and The Governess, I was quickly drawn into the characters and absorbed by the writing style I was presented with. Although I had never seen The Grand Budapest Hotel before this viewing, I was familiar with Wes Anderson's work and thus had a general sense for the visual style his films maintain. In reading these selections, I felt a similar reaction to that which I would experience during a Wes Anderson film. Although two completely different mediums, I found that they seemed connected, and the film's style felt as if it was a translation of the written style of Zweig.

Perhaps the most compelling similarity of both the written works and the film was the attention to detail. Everything felt in place and grounded to the world that was being spun. The tiniest details and subtleties were touched upon in Zweig's writing - to the point in which I could clearly picture the scenes described, and seemed to feel the emotions of the characters as they worked through their complex thoughts. The film relied heavily on detail as a stylistic choice. Every aspect of the set was carefully thought out, so that even when the setting might not be familiar to the viewer, it still felt believable and absorbing. The attention to detail in both works helped to create a romanticized layer of “realness”.

Even the style of dialogue in Zweig’s work shone through in The Grand Budapest Hotel – particularly through M. Gustave. The dialogue felt refined, and almost poetic at points. The general mood of the writings translated to the film just as well. Even the darkest moments still maintain a light, airy quality. All of the short stories that I read had a theme of loss to them – whether that be along the lines of a physical loss of life or a more emotional loss of innocence or youth.  Still, I never felt burdened when reading them - almost as if I was viewing things through a rose-tinted glass. A similar effect is achieved in Wes Anderson’s film – the very pastel color palate was certainly used to it’s advantage, and the flat staging drew the viewer out just enough to provide a pleasant, story-book feel – even in it’s darker moments.

After reading a selection of Stefan Zweig’s work and watching The Grand Budapest Hotel, it is clear that Wes Anderson’s film was influenced by multiple defining traits of the written pieces – attention to detail, mood, and dialogue are surely just a few of the ways that the Zweig’s writing was translated into the film.