Last Two Short Stories.

What I enjoyed most about the second of these stories, 'The Nothingness Forest,' was its fairytale overtones. I know that I already noted this in class, so it seems a little like a cop-out to rehash it here, but hey. The fairytale aspect to the story should perhaps not be surprising when we consider that Ekstrom is a Scandinavian writer; these countries have a strong tradition here.

There is something slightly magical, otherworldly, about the entire piece. 'There's an excitement in the air,' Ekstrom writes- perhaps the crackle of magic. The journey of the infant and dog to the woods seems almost charmed; the boy on the bike has been delayed by the loosening of his shoelace, the lady beating rugs has dust in her eyes; it is 'as though [they are] enveloped in a cloak of invisibility.'

The child walks into the forest 'as though pulled by a string,' and the forest itself is certainly an old, almost mystical place. It is when they enter the forest, in fact, that a sense of foreboding, common to fairytales, sets in. Just before entering, 'the temperature falls a few degrees,' and once inside, it is as though the forest itself is trapping them: 'a fallen tree blocks their way with its pointed roots.' The dog senses it, aided by the calls from the searchers. But it is as though the forest has possessed the girl, driving her to push away her only companion, as he smacks him in the jaw.

Like Hansel and Gretyl, and countless others, she finds herself marooned in the woods, alone. Interestingly, at this point, the fairytale ends: 'so that's what the world is like.' Interestingly, this is juxtaposed with a 'Once upon a time.'

The Gifts of War's main talking point, probably, is the word uttered by the mother; but, really, what was said is irrelevant- its importance lies in the significance of it being spoken. The climax of the story is fantastic. Interestingly, what 'they had done' to the mother is seen by Frances as 'dreadful,' and we are left to wonder whether or not the older woman was better off in her stoic existence. For Frances, the other's coming of age made Vietnam 'an irrelevance,' and is described by Drabble as 'an unknown wound.'

It is clear that the older woman here has been irrevocably altered, but, frankly, it seemed more like a snapping, almost a breakdown, than a positive realization.

Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha

Since I read the book all in one sitting, I'll post an overall response here.

What I, and I imagine most people, found most interesting in this book immediately was the narrative voice. For me, its absolute authenticity was the most striking feature; as someone who used to be a 10-year-old British boy, I could certainly identify easily with much of the psychology behind Paddy's words and actions, even though I experienced and did little of what Paddy does.

As the book progressed, however, what struck me most was the shift in power in the relationship between Paddy and his brother. Initially, Paddy is very much the dominant force, mainly because he doesn't seem to care about Sinbad, and Sinbad is unwilling to fight back. It's not an unusual sibling relationship; the younger trails behind the older, who in turn treats them abysmally- not maliciously, just because that's what older brothers do. So, Sinbad plays along with Paddy, who gives him the mouldy faux communion bread, and tries at every opportunity to get him into trouble: 'Francis didn't lift the seat! I shouted.' Here, the violence enacted upon Sinbad is casual, meaningless, and with no real intent: 'I kicked Sinbad when he was wiping the seat with his sleeve.' Sinbad comes to expect it, worried to play a leper in case he gets kicked.

Nevertheless, Sinbad is always present, always comes back for more abuse uncomplainingly. Perhaps he idolises his older brother to an extent. As the troubles at home become more and more pronounced, however, there is a shift. Partly this is because Sinbad (now Francis more often) retreats into silence whilst Paddy wants to talk about the situation between their parents, but it becomes even more significant when Francis transfers this silent resentment into his dealing with Paddy.

One of the most poignant scenes of the novel comes when Paddy tries to make amends to his brother, and shelter him from the turbulence at home: 'I was going to look after him.' Paddy even calls him Francis intentionally, only to be met with a harsh coldness: 'leave me alone, he said.' Later, equally heart-wrenchingly, Paddy is still trying to reach his brother, who has taken silence to extremes (scene starts p.239). Paddy kicks his brother in this scene, but everything is different. Now, he kicks Francis simply to elicit some kind of response- he gets none. As he subsequently explains: 'I wanted to help him... when he wouldn't do what I wanted him to I couldn't help going back to annoying him, frightening him, hitting him. Hating him. It was easier.'

Ceremony Wrap-Up

The close of Ceremony makes even more explicit what has been clear throughout the novel; Silko's very strong affinity for her Native American heritage. Tayo is healed not only by the Native America medicine man, Betonie, but by an almost mystical Native American girl, and alongside her, the very land itself. Those set in opposition to those ideals- and they are Native Americans, too, as well as Whites, are portrayed by Silko as monsters. They are drunk, disloyal, and brutal. Silko paints them as odious, capable of great atrocity and disrespect.

This comes to a head with the pseudo-crucifixion of Harvey, an act which makes the slightly ambiguous nature of who Silko blames even more so. For it is Emo, a Native American, who is the most evil character- symbolic 'flashing yellow eyes' are evident on his glasses as they reflect the fire, and his impaling of Harvey is described as 'witchery'- the same 'witchery' that brought Whites into the world; and who performs the witchery? Native Americans. So where does the blame lie here? Silko seems to be suggesting that the most atrocious acts are those of the Native Americans who reject their own culture, or dabble in great evil (both), rather than any external race.

Ceremony from 120 to Picture Page

In this section, the standout for me was the start of Tayo's recovery. This begins immediately after his visit to Betonie. Nowhere is this more obvious than during his truck ride with Harley and Leroy. Previously in the novel, Tayo had clearly shown himself to be at unease around his erstwhile friends; he refused to join in their laughter, and was especially peturbed by the fact that this merriment is alcohol-induced.



However, though initially reluctant to get and subsequently stay in(to) Leroy's truck, Tayo begins to show signs of being better throughout the journey. He remains in the truck because he realizes that 'they had been friends a long time; they were the only ones left now'- ie, he feels a cameraderie that had long been missing. Whereas in the bars previously, Tayo clearly felt removed from his friends, on this occasion 'he wished the truck would never stop moving, that they could ride like that forever.'



Inevitably, the ride doesn't last forever; and when it ends, Tayo is confronted by more unpleasantness- but this time, the catalyst for his misery comes from outsiders, rather than his friends.

Ceremony, to p.120

What struck me most about the reading so far for Ceremony is the imagery of flies. I found it especially interesting because in my culture, the fly is presented is wholly unsavory, unhygenic, and even horrifying. Personally, I feel that I have a live and let live attitude towards every creature except the fly; upon reflection, that's probably a terrible way to feel, but still.

In the Native American culture of the novel, however, the fly is presented as one of the most important and admirable of the Earth's creatures. It is the fly who went to 'the mother of the people... asking forgiveness.' This is explained by Josiah to Tayo when the latter is found swatting merrily. Tayo had thought that flies 'are bad and carry sickness' because '[his] teacher said so.' This demonstrates nicely the disjunction between Native American and White (and, in all fairness, Black and Mexican) culture that Silko seems very keen to emphasize throughout the novel.

There are, of course, many other images of flies, and most are negative. The drunks in Gallup are 'like cold flies stuck to the wall,' and Rocky's corpse is festooned with them during the war.

Iranian Short Stories

The first of the stories that we read, , I really enjoyed. On a first read, it's easy to just appreciate the aesthetic quality of the piece without particularly focusing on the plot so much. It's only when you step back and try to work out what is happening that the story becomes slightly puzzling; but not in a bad way.

Additionally, there is a significant degree of satisfaction when the 'a-ha!' (not the band) moment hits, and we feel that we understand what is happening. For what it's worth, here's my interpretation (which I think I also offered in class, which is when it occurred to me.):

Zenzele

There is no doubt that Zenzele's conclusion is something of a tear-jerker; however, what I found most poignant was not the revelation of the narrator's impending death, but rather her reflections of her life. This is especially relevant for the 'coming of age' theme.

The death of the un-named lover of our narrator is a moving moment in the book (as death scenes usually are). However, its full impact, though slightly foreshadowed at the time, is not fully realised until the conclusion of the narrative.

Also of interest is that, although the novel is presented as a letter from mother to daughter, it is the former's coming of age that we are privy to, rather than the latter's. In fact, we learn the bare minimum about the younger woman; simply her characteristics, which are idealized by her doting mother, rather than her development.