TyroCity: Major English Notes

A Day in the Life of "Salaryman"

Major English XII Notes — Sat, 12 Jul 2014 05:41:42 +0000

A Day in the Life of “Salaryman”
– John Burgess

Background (With the compassion of 2 different stories)

A slave is a person who works extremely hard under a horrible condition. He also needs to work for a long time but with very limited benefit. In George Orwells Down and Out in Paris and London, Orwell says that the dishwasher is a slave. However, is not salary-man in A Day in the Life of Salary-man by John Burgess also a slave? Actually, the answer is no. In my opinion, dishwasher is a slave, but salary-man is not.
First of all, their working hours are distinctly different. According to Orwell, George works from seven in the morning until a quarter past nine at night for six days a week. Sometimes he has to go to work on his off day too. Differently, salary-man only works from ten past nine in the morning till seven in the evening for only five days, and he does not need to work on his off days. The lunch break of Salary-man and dishwasher are different too. As George says, This was our slack time-only relatively slack, however, for we had only ten minutes for lunch, and we never got through it uninterrupted (Orwell 64). In contrast, salary-man has much more time than dishwasher during the lunch break. The salary-man does more things during this break than the dishwasher does. Over lunch, they talk of their passion, golf At lunch, salary-man sometimes manages to stop into a driving range on the roof of a building near his company (Burgess 255). Moreover, salary-man and dishwashers lives after work are totally different. For dishwasher, he has nothing to do after work because he has only few hours left and not even enough for sleeping. Nevertheless, the salary-man has a good life after work. He may have been included in a dinner at a nearby restaurant and enjoy his moment.

And the writer thus, compares and tabulates a single day life in the story by giving the following distinct background in the lines that follows.

Zeroing in on Science Friction

Major English XII Notes — Sat, 12 Jul 2014 05:41:42 +0000

Background: From Physics to Fiction

As a physics major in the 1960s, Goshgarian and a few friends were drawn to their English professor, the late James Hensel, whom he calls “the teacher of all teachers.” Goshgarian named a character in Elixir for Hensel, and another is named for former WPI president Harry P. Storke.

“We were literature geeks in an otherwise science geeky kind of place,” Goshgarian says. “In the afternoon, after classes were out, we would meet up in Jim Hensel’s office to talk about everything from Charles Dickens to Tolstoy to Albert Einstein.” The young Goshgarian put his writing talents to use as an editor of Tech News and the Peddler, and started an offbeat humor magazine called Absolute Zero.

“I was reading science fiction by the pound,” he says. By his sophomore year, Goshgarian knew that he would work with words rather than atoms. “I liked words. I could see them and manipulate them. I could not see atoms, didn’t quite believe in them.” After earning a master’s degree and doctorate in English, he joined the English faculty at Northeastern University.

In the early 1970s Goshgarian’s department head challenged him to create a new elective to boost enrollment. He saw his chance to teach quality science fiction as a reputable literary form. Some 30 years later, his courses are popular and well-respected, although parents occasionally balk, “My child is taking what?” In addition to science fiction, Goshgarian teaches a detective fiction class and has developed courses in horror fiction and modern bestsellers. He also offers a graduate-level creative writing seminar.

Required reading for Goshgarian’s classes ranges from Edgar Allen Poe to Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clark and Dean Koontz. A centerpiece of the science fiction curriculum is Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Discussions are supplemented with movies and guest speakers, which have included best-selling authors Stephen King, Tess Gerritsen, Robert B. Parker and Michael Palmer.

Goshgarian wants his writing students to learn “the ability to look at another person’s writing the way a carpenter looks at a house–to study the architecture of it, the freshness of the language, the narrative thrust that keeps the story going. And to see that the bones have flesh on them, that you have characters who are interesting and aren’t cardboard cut-outs.

“My goal is to make them better readers, too. That’s the secret of good writing. We do a lot of close reading. That’s what Jim Hensel taught me, way back at Worcester Tech.”

The Penalty of Death

Major English XII Notes — Sat, 12 Jul 2014 05:41:42 +0000

The Penalty of Death
by H.L. Mencken

Analysis

At last, a writer who fully understands that all society wants from the justice system is “a healthy letting off of steam” (Mencken). In his satirical essay The Penalty of Death, H.L. Mencken, through use of humor, exaggeration, and mocking euphemisms and anecdotes, satires America’s use of capital punishment. His essay attacks in particular the purpose of the death penalty and the public’s light treatment of “hanging a man (or frying or gassing him)” (Mencken). Mencken’s informal essay is persuasive in the sense that it is satire and uses irony to support his thesis.

Should The Penalty of Death be taken literally, the thesis would explicitly be: “What I contend is that one of the prime objects of all judicial punishments is to afford the same grateful relief (a) to the immediate victims of the criminal punished, and (b) to the general body of moral and timorous men” (Mencken). As a satire however, Mencken ridicules this statement as he supports it, and therefore his thesis is implicit, expressing his criticism of the American treatment of the death penalty. Mencken speaks satirically in the essay as an upstanding citizen patriotically supporting his country’s justice system while, also patriotically, offering helpful suggestions to improve it. The syntax is kept simple and many colloquialisms and clichés are used to give the speaker a personal, conversational voice. Mencken writes mainly for the pro-death penalty audience, as this “patriotic” perspective is exaggerated to the point where it mocks these advocates. This tone is achieved through exaggeration, such as the first “argument against capital punishment” that is discussed, saying “that hanging a man…is degrading to those who have to do it and revolting to those who have to witness it” (Mencken). Mencken does not mention the obvious arguments against the death penalty, such as a person’s right to life, instead exaggerating the American priority on a person’s own comfort. Also contributing to the sarcastic, mocking tone is euphemism, such as the repeated use of “katharsis” as a blatant replacement for “revenge”.

The essay is structured at first in a problem-solution form. Mencken wastes no time refuting the two “arguments against capital punishment” that open the essay, and offers his satirical thesis about “grateful relief” as a solution to the problem of the death penalty’s apparent uselessness. The “grateful relief” solution is, of course, ironic; it implies that that absurd goal is the only real reason that American uses the death penalty. Through example, he supports his argument of katharsis until arriving at the issue of a prisoner’s lengthy stay on death row. Here, Mencken’s true intentions start to emerge as he begins sympathize with the condemned criminals. He describes how it is unjust that “a murderer, under the traditional American system, is tortured for what, to him, must seem a whole series of eternities” (Mencken). Now that the criminal is being viewed as human again, the Mencken’s moral argument of whether the death penalty is right becomes apparent. This ends the essay with the message that all people should be treated ethically, which is effective after the completion of four or five paragraphs that claim the death penalty is not ethical. The essay’s abrupt end, without any sort of conclusion, may be jarring to the reader but also ensures that the reader is actively thinking about Mencken’s final message when the essay is put down.

In these final paragraphs, Mencken uses strong imagery such as being “tortured…a whole series of eternities” as an appeal to pathos and ethos, stimulating the reader’s emotions and sense of ethics. While this appeal to pathos closes the essay on a serious note, the rest of the satire appeals mostly to ethos and logos. Logos is present everywhere, particularly in Mencken’s refute of an executioner’s misery and his introduction of katharsis as a reason for the penalty, which he, in sarcasm and irony, supports heavily. As the essay is a satire, ethos is called on in nearly every point Mencken makes, as he suggests “you’re not anything like the people I’m mocking, are you?”

The Penalty of Death is very effective in its delivery of Mencken’s opinions. Mencken’s sense of humor makes it clear from the beginning what he intends to discuss and how he will do it, and his detailed support of his satirical thesis “katharsis” makes his message enjoyable as well as informative. His satirical voice is believable as pro-death penalty American, but his meaning is clearly driven home when the essay, like the life of a doomed prisoner, is ended before its natural close. As Mencken suggests, maybe the judicial system needs a new “healthy letting off of steam”.

Dream Variations

Major English XI Notes — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 05:41:42 +0000

Dream Variations
by Langston Huges

Summary of Dream Variations

The poem Dream Variations by Langston Hughes is a nostalgic lyric which poignantly expresses the singer’s wish for a carefree life away from color persecution and racial discrimination. This poem is notable for its musical changes. In Hughes’s own words, his poetry is about “workers, roustabouts and singers, and job hunters… in New York, ….in Washington or… in Chicago- people up today and down tomorrow, working this week and fired the next, beaten and baffled, but determined not to be wholly beaten…”

The poet wants to enjoy different types of games in some sunny place. He likes to move and dance until the end of the happy day. Then in the evening he wants to rest under a tall tree until it is dark. This is his dream. But the reality is different. He has to work in spite of the hot sun. He keeps on working as if he were dancing and moving round. Because he is very busy, the day passes so quickly. He feels weak in the evening and wants to have a rest. But his desire to take a rest is incomplete. His desire to find a tall, slim tree remains incomplete in the city.

The night comes painfully reminding him that he is black, not white; like the night which nobody likes. In this poem the poet longs for the freedom of a less complicated world. This nostalgic look at Africa was typical of the work of many writers at that time.

The first stanza describes the poet’s dream. He wishes for a carefree life away from color persecution and racial discrimination. In his dream even the nigh is not black: it is only dark. In the first dream he is not in the city. He is completely engrossed in the rural area. But in the second stanza, he dreams after the tiring day’s work. The dream to take a rest under a tree remains unfulfilled. The first stanza describes his nostalgic feelings which he enjoyed in the past. In the second one his dream is incomplete. There are different types of dreams described in the poem. That’s why the poem is entitled ‘Dream Variations’

In the first stanza, there are nine lines, but in the second one there are eight lines. In the first stanza we find twenty-two stressed syllables and in the second there are twenty-one stressed ones. In the first stanza mostly we find unstressed syllables between stressed ones, but in the second stanza we find two lines where there is not an unstressed syllable between the stressed syllables.” Dance! Whirl? Whirl! … A tall, slim, tree … “This quick tempo matches with the sense. To quote Alexander Pope, “The sound must seem an echo to the sense”.

To The Moon

Major English XII Notes — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 05:41:42 +0000

by P.B. Shelley

The poet, P. B. Shelley, reflects on the timeless journey of the moon. The poet feels that the moon has grown tired of climbing the heaven and looking upon the earth continuously. It looks pale because of its endless journey – its ascent in the heaven, which it keeps steady and looking below on the earth with a similar constancy.

The moon is all alone in the company of the stars. It is outlandish (strange) in the company of stars which have a different birth and origin. The moon goes on in its endless journey waxing and waning alternately. It changes its face from time to time to express its disgust form the world. The moon is not getting the companion of its heart’s desire. It is in search of a companion suited to its noble birth, and like a joyless eye that does not find an object worth its graces; the moon too keeps steadily changing. The poem is a short lyric. The entire poem does not contain more than six lines.

But within a network of six lines only, the entire Shelley has been contained. It is short, lyrical, elegant and graceful. The theme is a conventional one. The poet speaks of the moon. The moon is personified. Seen through the colored glass of the poet’s imaginative sensibility, the moon assumes not only glow and beauty, but even a majestic charm, a personality. The moon is stately, noble, and elegantly born. It becomes enriched with an individuality which far excels the graces of the stars that only twinkle round her. The poet offers the moon with feelings of his own mind. The moon feels strange among the stars of a different birth in the same way as the poet Shelley felt odd among the people that crowded round him- people of a distinctly low origin, nobility and birth. The poem is intensely subjective, and the charm of the moon is the charm of the poet’s personality. He stood alone and companionless in the multitude of men, who were so indifferent to his passion for a millennium on this earth. He sung, he cried, he thundered and even wept, but the world went on unheeding. The moon becomes the symbol of revolution, which carries on the message of peace all alone and single-handed.

Each of the stars is a flaming sun, and the moon is supposed to be a fragment detached from the earth. But Shelley holds a different opinion. He thinks that the moon has no companion. It is all alone and solitary. It is lonely in the company of stars. The stars do not belong to the same kind. The moon is nobly born. The stars have an inferior birth and have a different origin.

The moon is seeking constancy, but the moon itself is not constant. He is constantly changing in shape and size. The moon is never the same even on two consecutive nights. This change is due to the fact that the moon cannot find anyone whom he can love faithfully. Actually, nothing in the world remains constant. They keep on changing.

The poem is rich with images but the images lack clarity. In the last two lines, the image does not exactly fit in and lacks expressiveness. The poet compares the waxing and the waning of the moon with the joyless eyes of one who finds no object worth its constancy. But the waxing and waning of the moon is not happily expressed in the image. The poet here means to say that the waxing and waning of the moon may be likened to the unsteady eyes of a man who is in search of an object pleasing to his sight. Like the eyes of a man who is in search of beauty as responsive as the steadiness of his eyes, the moon seems to be changing its face form time to time. The change expresses a joyless feeling as the eyes of a man not finding a suitable object for his eyes were as a joyless expression. The other image of the moon – or a wanderer wandering companionless- among the stars of a low birth has both clarity and expressiveness. The first image of the moon being considered as a wanderer, pale with climbing the heaven is very suggestive and contains a rich note of pathos sublimated by rich and personal feelings. The lines are musical. The single image has been varied and seen through different angles. This one-sentence poem describes the joyless moon that does not find anything constant in this world. It is itself inconstant. That is why it seems to be in quest of constancy.

The letter ‘A’

Major English XI Notes — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 05:41:42 +0000

The letter ‘A’
by Christy Brown

Summary of The letter ‘A’

Christy was born on the 5th of June in l932. He had 2l brothers and sisters. His birth was difficult and his mother almost died when he was born. When Christy was 4 months old, his mother saw that something was wrong with him. He could not hold his head up, his hands were twisted, and he could not eat correctly. His parents took Christy to the hospital. The doctors told his parents that he was stupid and that there was no hope for him to get better. Christy’s mother did not believe the doctors. She took care of Christy herself. She did not leave him at the hospital. She wanted to show people that Christy was not stupid. She treated him normally, like her other children.

When Christy was 5 years old, he could not speak or even sit up by himself. He always moved in funny ways. His mother tried to teach him to talk. She would show him pictures and ask him questions. Christy understood his mother, but he could not answer her.
Christy could use his toes to touch things, especially the toes on his left foot. One day in December, Christy’s life changed. He was watching his brother and sister doing math problems on a small chalkboard with yellow chalk. Christy wanted the yellow chalk, so he took it with his left foot. He drew on the chalkboard and everyone was looking at him. His mother took the chalk and drew the letter ‘A’ on the floor. She told Christy to copy it. Everyone waited. He tried, but he could not do it. His mother asked him to try again. This time, Christy drew the letter ‘A’. His mother cried because she was so happy. Now Christy could write. People could know what he was thinking about by looking at his writing.

Duchoux

Major English XII Notes — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 05:41:42 +0000

Complete Chapter

While descending the wide staircase of the club heated like a conservatory by the stove the Baron de Mordiane had left his fur-coat open; therefore, when the huge street-door closed behind him he felt a shiver of intense cold run through him, one of those sudden and painful shivers which make us feel sad, as if we were stricken with grief. Moreover, he had lost some money, and his stomach for some time past had troubled him, no longer permitting him to eat as he liked.

He went back to his own residence; and, all of a sudden, the thought of his great, empty apartment, of his footman asleep in the ante-chamber, of the dressing-room in which the water kept tepid for the evening toilet simmered pleasantly under the chafing-dish heated by gas, and the bed, spacious, antique, and solemn-looking, like a mortuary couch, caused another chill, more mournful still than that of the icy atmosphere, to penetrate to the bottom of his heart, the inmost core of his flesh.

For some years past he had felt weighing down on him that load of solitude which sometimes crushes old bachelors. Formerly, he had been strong, lively, and gay, giving all his days to sport and all his nights to festive gatherings. Now, he had grown dull, and no longer took pleasure in anything. Exercise fatigued him; suppers and even dinners made him ill; women annoyed him as much as they had formerly amused him.

The monotony of evenings all like each other, of the same friends met again in the same place, at the club, of the same game with a good hand and a run of luck, of the same talk on the same topics, of the same witty remarks by the same lips, of the same jokes on the same themes, of the same scandals about the same women, disgusted him so much as to make him feel at times a veritable inclination to commit suicide. He could no longer lead this life regular and inane, so commonplace, so frivolous and so dull at the same time, and he felt a longing for something tranquil, restful, comfortable, without knowing what.

He certainly did not think of getting married, for he did not feel in himself sufficient fortitude to submit to the melancholy, the conjugal servitude, to that hateful existence of two beings, who, always together, knew one another so well that one could not utter a word which the other would not anticipate, could not make a single movement which would not be foreseen, could not have any thought or desire or opinion which would not be divined. He considered that a woman could only be agreeable to see again when you know her but slightly, when there is something mysterious and unexplored attached to her, when she remains disquieting, hidden behind a veil. Therefore, what he would require was a family without family-life, wherein he might spend only a portion of his existence; and, again, he was haunted by the recollection of his son.

For the past year he had been constantly thinking of this, feeling an irritating desire springing up within him to see him, to renew acquaintance with him. He had become the father of this child, while still a young man, in the midst of dramatic and touching incidents. The boy dispatched to the South, had been brought up near Marseilles without ever hearing his father’s name.

The latter had at first paid from month to month for the nurture, then for the education and the expense of holidays for the lad, and finally had provided an allowance for him on making a sensible match. A discreet notary had acted as an intermediary without ever disclosing anything.

The Baron de Mordiane accordingly knew merely that a child of his was living somewhere in the neighborhood of Marseilles, that he was looked upon as intelligent and well-educated, that he had married the daughter of an architect and contractor, to whose business he had succeeded. He was also believed to be worth a lot of money.

Why should he not go and see this unknown son without telling his name, in order to form a judgment about him at first and to assure himself that he would be able, in case of necessity, to find an agreeable refuge in this family?

He had acted handsomely towards the young man, had settled a good fortune on him, which had been thankfully accepted. He was, therefore, certain that he would not find himself clashing against any inordinate sense of self-importance; and this thought, this desire, which every day returned to him afresh, of setting out for the South, tantalized him like a kind of itching sensation. A strange self-regarding feeling of affection also attracted him, bringing before his mental vision this pleasant, warm abode by the seaside, where he would meet his young and pretty daughter-inlaw, his grandchildren, with outstretched arms, and his son, who would recall to his memory the charming and short-lived adventure of bygone years. He regretted only having given so much money, and that this money had prospered in the young man’s hands, thus preventing him from any longer presenting himself in the character of a benefactor.

He hurried along, with all these thoughts running through his brain, and the collar of his fur-coat wrapped round his head. Suddenly he made up his mind. A cab was passing; he hailed it, drove home, and, when his valet, just roused from a nap, had opened the door.

“Louis,” said he, “we start tomorrow evening for Marseilles. We’ll remain there perhaps a fortnight. You will make all the necessary preparations.”

The train rushed on past the Rhone with its sandbanks, then through yellow plains, bright villages, and a wide expanse of country, shut in by bare mountains, which rose on the distant horizon.

The Baron de Mordiane, waking up after a night spent in a sleeping compartment of the train, looked at himself, in a melancholy fashion, in the little mirror of his dressing-case. The glaring sun of the South showed him some wrinkles which he had not observed before — a condition of decrepitude unnoticed in the imperfect light of Parisian rooms. He thought, as he examined the corners of his eyes, and saw the rumpled lids, the temples, the skinny forehead:

“Damn it, I’ve not merely got the gloss taken off — I’ve become quite an old fogy.”

And his desire for rest suddenly increased, with a vague yearning, born in him for the first time, to take his grandchildren on his knees.

About one o’clock in the afternoon, he arrived in a landau which he had hired at Marseilles, in front of one of those houses of Southern France so white, at the end of their avenues of plane-trees that they dazzle us and make our eyes droop. He smiled as he pursued his way along the walk before the house, and reflected:
“Deuce take it! this is a nice place.”

Suddenly, a young rogue of five or six made his appearance, starting out of a shrubbery, and remained standing at the side of the path, staring at the gentleman with eyes wide open.
Mordiane came over to him:

“Good morrow, my boy.”

The brat made no reply.

The baron, then, stooping down, took him up in his arms to kiss him, but, the next moment, suffocated by the smell of garlic with which the child seemed impregnated all over, he put him back again on the ground, muttering:

“Oh! it is the gardener’s son.”

And he proceeded towards the house.

The linen was hanging out to dry on a cord before the door — shirts and chemises, napkins, dish-cloths, aprons, and sheets, while a row of socks, hanging from strings one above the other, filled up an entire window, like sausages exposed for sale in front of a pork-butcher’s shop.

The baron announced his arrival. A servant-girl appeared, a true servant of the South, dirty and untidy, with her hair hanging in wisps and falling over her face, while her petticoat under the accumulation of stains which had soiled it had retained only a certain uncouth remnant of its old color, a hue suitable for a country fair or a mountebank’s tights.

He asked:

“Is M. Duchoux at home?”

He had many years ago, in the mocking spirit of a skeptical man of pleasure, given this name to the foundling, in order that it might not be forgotten that he had been picked up under a cabbage.
The servant-girl asked:

“Do you want M. Duchoux?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he is in the big room drawing up his plans.”

“Tell him that M. Merlin wishes to speak to him.”

She replied, in amazement:

“Hey! go inside then, if you want to see him.”

And she bawled out:

“Monsieur Duchoux — a call.”

The baron entered, and in a spacious apartment, rendered dark by the windows being half-closed, he indistinctly traced out persons and things, which appeared to him very slovenly looking.

Standing in front of a table laden with articles of every sort, a little bald man was tracing lines on a large sheet of paper.
He interrupted his work, and advanced two steps. His waistcoat left open, his unbuttoned breeches, and his turned-up shirt-sleeves, indicated that he felt hot, and his muddy shoes showed that it had rained hard some days before.

He asked with a very pronounced southern accent:

“Whom have I the honor of —?”

“Monsieur Merlin — I came to consult you about a purchase of building-ground.”

“Ha! ha! very well!”

And Duchoux, turning towards his wife, who was knitting in the shade:

“Clear off a chair, Josephine.”

Mordiane then saw a young woman, who appeared already old, as women look old at twenty-five in the provinces, for want of attention to their persons, regular washing, and all the little cares bestowed on feminine toilet which make them fresh, and preserve, till the age of fifty, the charm and beauty of the sex. With a neckerchief over her shoulders, her hair clumsily braided — though it was lovely hair, thick and black, you could see that it was badly brushed — she stretched out towards a chair hands like those of a servant, and removed an infant’s robe, a knife, a fag-end of packe-bread, an empty flower-pot, and a greasy plate left on the seat, which she then moved over towards the visitor.

He sat down, and presently noticed that Duchoux’s work-table had on it, in addition to the books and papers, two salads recently gathered, a wash-hand basin, a hair-brush, a napkin, a revolver, and a number of cups which had not been cleaned.

The architect perceived this look, and said with a smile:

“Excuse us! there is a little disorder in the room — it is owing to the children.”

And he drew across his chair, in order to chat with his client.
“So then you are looking out for a piece of ground in the neighborhood of Marseilles?”

His breath, though not close to the baron, carried towards the latter that odor of garlic which the people of the South exhale as flowers do their perfume.

Mordiane asked:

“Is it your son that I met under the plane-trees?”

“Yes. Yes, the second.”

“You have two of them?”

“Three, monsieur; one a year.”

And Duchoux looked full of pride.

The baron was thinking:

“If they all have the same perfume, their nursery must be a real conservatory.”

He continued:
“Yes, I would like a nice piece of ground near the sea, on a little solitary strip of beach — ”

Thereupon Duchoux proceeded to explain. He had ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred, or more, pieces of ground of the kind required, at different prices and suited to different tastes. He talked just as a fountain flows, smiling, self-satisfied, wagging his bald round head.

And Mordiane was reminded of a little woman, fair-haired, slight, with a somewhat melancholy look, and a tender fashion of murmuring, “My darling,” of which the mere remembrance made the blood stir in his veins. She had loved him passionately, madly, for three months; then, becoming pregnant in the absence of her husband, who was a governor of a colony, she had run away and concealed herself, distracted with despair and terror, till the birth of the child, which Mordiane carried off one summer’s evening, and which they had not laid eyes on afterwards.

She died of consumption three years later, over there, in the colony of which her husband was governor, and to which she had gone across to join him. And here, in front of him, was their son, who was saying, in the metallic tones with which he rang out his closing words:

“This piece of ground, monsieur, is a rare chance — ”

And Mordiane recalled the other voice, light as the touch of a gentle breeze, as it used to murmur:

“My darling, we shall never part — ”

And he remembered that soft, deep, devoted glance in those eyes of blue, as he watched the round eye, also blue, but vacant, of this ridiculous little man, who, for all that, bore a resemblance to his mother.

Yes, he looked more and more like her every moment — like her in accent, in movement, in his entire deportment — he was like her in the way an ape is like a man; but still he was hers; he displayed a thousand external characteristics peculiar to her, though in an unspeakably distorted, irritating, and revolting form.

The baron was galled, haunted as he was all of a sudden by this resemblance, horrible, each instant growing stronger, exasperating, maddening, torturing him like a nightmare, like a weight of remorse.

He stammered out:
“When can we look at this piece of ground together?”
“Why, tomorrow, if you like.”
“Yes, tomorrow. At what hour?”
“One o’clock.”
“All right.”

The child he had met in the avenue appeared before the open door, exclaiming:

“Dada!”

There was no answer.

Mordiane had risen up with a longing to escape, to run off, which made his legs tremble. This “dada” had hit him like a bullet. It was to him that it was addressed, it was intended for him, this “dada,” smelling of garlic — this “dada” of the South.

Oh! how sweet had been the perfume exhaled by her, his sweetheart of bygone days!

Duchoux saw him to the door.

“This house is your own?” said the baron.

“Yes, monsieur; I bought it recently. And I am proud of it. I am a child of accident, monsieur, and I don’t want to hide it; I am proud of it. I owe nothing to anyone; I am the son of my own efforts; I owe everything to myself.”

The little boy, who remained on the threshold, kept still exclaiming, though at some distance away from them:

“Dada!”

Mordiane, shaking with a shivering fit, seized with panic, fled as one flies away from a great danger.

“He is going to guess who I am, to recognize me,” he thought. “He is going to take me in his arms, and to call out to me, ‘Dada,’ while giving me a kiss perfumed with garlic.”

“To-morrow, monsieur.”

“To-morrow, at one o’clock.”

The landau rolled over the white road.

“Coachman! to the railway-station!”

And he heard two voices, one far away and sweet, the faint, sad voice of the dead, saying: “My darling,” and the other sonorous, sing-song, frightful, bawling out, “Dada,” just as people bawl out, “Stop him!” when a thief is flying through the street.
Next evening, as he entered the club, the Count d’Etreillis said to him:

“We have not seen you for the last three days. Have you been ill?”
“Yes, a little unwell. I get headaches from time to time.”

Afro-American Fragment

Major English XII Notes — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 05:41:42 +0000

by Iangston Huges

Summary
The poem Afro-American Fragment by Langston Hughes is an expression of longing of home, which is in the community of the blacks. The poet’s forefathers were brought into America from their homeland, Africa, hundreds of years age. Only history books and their songs remind him of their past. He can’t speak even their language. He has to speak the un-Negro tongue, that is, English. The rhythm of their music has lost its strength in course of time. But this song has been inspired by collective unconscious of his race. He longs for his ancestral home, which he thinks is impossible to live in. And he is not properly respected in the lands of the whites. That is why he feels that he has been dislocated.

In the 17th century Africans were sold as slaves in America. The poet’s forefathers may have been brought to America more than three hundred years age. So he finds Africa very far in time and in place. Black Americans do not remember anything about their past. They know what history books have told them and what their ancestral songs have evoked in their minds. Unfortunately, the songs are not sung in African language. They are sung in a strange un-Negro tongue that is in American English. The rhythm of the songs has been weakened in the course of time.

However, this song is inspired by the folksiness of American Negroes. This song is the expression of the collective unconscious of the race. This song brings back the memory of Africa, which is a mere dream for the American Negroes. They have not been properly treated in the land of the whites, and they can’t now go back to Africa. So they feel that they have been dislocated. Africa is the unknown place for them.

“Some vast mist of race” is an example of metaphor. The black race has been compared with the mist which has covered a large area and which is difficult to understand. More than that it means, millions of African people living in America formerly as slaves and later as free citizens, and they have tried to preserve their ancestral heritage in the form of folksongs. They have forgotten the African language, but the tradition has been retained in the un-Negro tongue. To use Carl Jung’s phrase, it is the collective unconscious of the black Americans. “So long / So far away / Is Africa” is a refrain. It has added to the intensity of feeling. In the concluding lines, the refrain has been modified to express his attitude to Africa, which is now dark and obscure. The poet feels dislocated in white America because the blacks are not properly respected. They are treated as non-human. Negros in America can’t go to their ancestral home Africa. It makes the poet’s feeling clear that Africa is not only far away, but also very difficult to understand because of its dark face. So poet feels that he has been lost without a place.

The poem is a fragment, that is, a part which is broken off, detached or incomplete. It represents his feelings of dislocation. His forefathers were brought into America from Africa as slaves and in America he is not properly treated. He feels that he is neither an American nor an African. He is only a part detached from both Africa and America. “This song of atavistic land,” in the poem means that the song was originated in Africa. It had been unseen for many generations, but it has reappeared in the poet’s mind. This song sings the glorious past of the Afro-American people in their native land Africa. When the black people sing this song they remember their spirituals, and they feel very proud of their happy past and their free life.

Theme of the poem:
The theme of the poem is that the speaker misses Africa, time has caused his memories to fade, which arouse great emotions to him, the speaker puts the reader in his place.

The Mad Gardener’s Song

Major English XII Notes — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 05:41:42 +0000

by Lewis Carroll

Summary and Critical Analysis

The poem ‘The Mad Gardener’s Song’ by Lewis Carroll contains the several disjointed stanzas which have a stupid mad logic as a common factor. The first line of each stanza begins with “He though he saw….” And the third line of each stanza with “He looked again, and found it was”. This revised vision leads the personal to a conclusion in the last two lines of each stanza. However, the conclusion does not match the premise from which it is drawn.
The poem starts in a common way that the speaker thinks that he saw an elephant practicing a flute but suddenly the stanza encounters with something very uncommon that the elephant practicing the flute comes to be the letter form his wife which is the bitterness of life, for him. Similarly the poem begins and ends with nonsense rhyme. The speaker says in the second stanza he thinks he saw a buffalo on the chimney but when he looks it again he finds the buffalo was his sister’s husband’s niece whom he doesn’t like because he was burden for him that’s why he wanted to send him to Police Station.

Similarly, the speaker thinks that he saw a rattle snake which questioned him in Greek but latter on next look it was the middle of next week and he has regret for it that it cannot speak. Again, he thinks that he saw a Banker’s clerk descending from the bus but he finds it was a hippopotamus and if he stay for the dinner, there won’t be enough food left for them. Similarly, he thinks he saw a Kangaroo working at a coffee-mill but in real it was a Vegetable- Pill which can make him ill if he eats it. Next he imagines a coach driven by four horses standing besides his bed but it turns out to be a bear without head. He pities upon it thinking that it is waiting to be fed.

Similarly, the poem moves ahead with disjoint stanzas and mad logic. The speaker thinks that he saw an Albatross fluttering round the lamp but it was a Penny-Postage-Stamp in real and he advised it to go home because the nights are very damp. The garden door opening with a key turns out to be double role of three and he thinks that all its misery is clear to him. Finally the argument that proved he was the Pope turns out to be a bar of soap and he thinks that it takes away all the hope.

The Mad Gardener’s Song is composed in nine disjointed stanzas. These stanzas are similar and related only in that they follow the rhyme scheme ab ab db and all of them have a mad logic. The first line of each stanza begins with “He thought he saw….” And the third line of each stanza is “He looked again and found it was….” The last two lines carry the conclusion of the stanza but the conclusion does not match the premise from which it is drawn.

In conclusion, the whole poem is nonsense. It is simply a humorous poem written for the purpose of laughing and entertaining. If we see it deeply, it somehow turns as a satire for those people whom the poet doesn’t like and wants to show his anger to them.

Whatever is the reason, but in common this is a nonsense poem written with mad logic. The poem associates disparate elements without any intention of making sense. Although the cause and effects don’t match some stanza seems to be meaningful. Hence, the use of the uncommon style and nonsense logic as a common factor, this poem has become the example of a nonsense rhyme.

Lord Byron’s Love Letter

Major English XII Notes — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 05:41:42 +0000

by Tennessee Williams

A spinster and an old woman are seen in a dark room, talking. In the mean time the door bell rings and a matron who has come to see the Mardi Gras festival calls in. She notices a stuffed bird and expresses her sympathy for it. The spinster tells that it is stuffed. Her husband is outside in the street.

They have come to have a look at Lord Byron’s love letter that the two women have. The letter had been written to the spinster’s grandmother when she had met Byron on the steps of the Acropolis in Athens.

Soon the husband too is called in and the old woman explains how the grandmother had met Lord Byron. The spinster reads the account from a diary. They had gone to Greece to study the classic remains of the oldest European civilization. On the step, she saw Byron. He comes to give her the gloves she had dropped somewhere, the exchange of the gloves allows them to share the warmth of their hands. Love starts thus.

After this, they stop the diary and prepare to show the letter. They tell them soon after that Byron died while defending his country and the grandmother renounced the world and preferred to live in loneliness. She even wrote a sonnet in his name. The spinster recites the poem for the visitor.

At his stage, Tutwiler, the matron’s husband goes to the door and prepares to run away. The wife too rises to follow. The spinster asks them to pay for the letter as that is the trend there. But they run away without caring a work and the two women are left cursing the callous visitors.

contributed by Mahesh Paudyal

The Day of the Dead

Major English XII Notes — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 05:41:42 +0000

by Octavio Paz

Plot Summaries:

Zombies rule the world, except for a small group of scientists and military personnel who reside in an underground bunker in Florida. The scientists are using the undead in gruesome experiments; much to the chagrin of the military. Finally the military finds that their men have been used in the scientists’ experiments, and banish the scientists to the caves that house the Living Dead. Unfortunately, the zombies from above ground have made their way into the bunker.

The Dead have conquered earth, leaving just small groups of people out of their clutches. One group made up of both scientific and military personal, hiding in a bunker somewhere in Florida tries to get in contact with other survivors of the zombie infestation, but find themselves quite alone in this new world. Desperately searching for a cure and therefore indulging in strange experiments to overcome this strange transformation into zombies, the scientists loose the faith of the military, resulting in a race against death while the zombies take over the facility.. Only common sense can save them now…

– Submitted by Matt Puskas & Mark Logan

To Bobolink for Her Spirit

Major English XII Notes — Sun, 08 Apr 2012 05:41:42 +0000

by William Inge

This is a One Act play with the following highlights…

Setting/Staging
Exterior; Casting totals include 4 children (two boys/two girls)

Short Synopsis
Short play about the dedicated autograph hunters who lie in wait for celebrities outside of one of New York’s famous restaurants.

Casting Information

Total: 7
Male: 3
Female: 4