The Psychological Benefits of Green Exercise

By Emily Senn

Despite being a developed society, America’s poor diet and fitness choices make it one of the unhealthiest countries in the world. Researchers consequently promote exercise, proclaiming its physical benefits as a major solution to obesity and other health issues. Paradoxically, though, many Americans still remain unmotivated to visit a gym or workout, despite the wealth of information they possess about the physical improvements of exercising. Amidst the overemphasized research on purely physical aspects lies a hidden element that many don’t consider: the specific psychological benefits of exercise in an outdoor setting.  It is generally accepted that both physical movement and presence in nature are inherently positive activities, but what happens when these two elements are combined? While many researchers contend that exercise may produce considerable physical improvements, that emphasis marginalizes the overwhelming psychological benefits attributed to outdoor activity and discourages those new to exercise from experiencing the holistic benefits of green exercise.

Researchers often overlook the psychological benefits of green exercise because the physiological differences between outdoor and indoor exercise are admittedly negligible, particularly in cardiovascular activities. Minor variances are to be expected; for example, runners experience minor physical differences when running on a flat surface versus uneven terrain. The motion of the foot stresses slightly different muscles and joints depending on the environment. Similarly, the cardiovascular differences are minute. A study comparing the physiological variances of two modes of running discovered that “there was no significant difference between trail and treadmill running for both heart rate and RPE [Rated Perceived Exertion]” among collegiate runners (Abramczak, et al., 2005, p. 27). This abundant research overemphasizes the physical differences, even though they are insignificant. A considerable amount of information exists regarding the psychological benefits of outdoor exercise; however, American society ignores evidence for the sake of grasping tangible research with visible outcomes. These physical benefits seem to be the chief motivator for people to exercise at all. Such an emphasis limits the term “healthy” to only the physical results of being fit and toned, rather than encompassing the mental  benefits that should be included as well.

With an expanded definition of health, the psychological advantages of exercising outdoors take on a greater importance. Many are aware that being in nature yields positive feedback within our brains, thus explaining the recent movements to “opt outside”. Physical activity continues to demonstrate its importance in society as well, being advertised everywhere as the solution for numerous physical and mental issues. As a result, “knowing that both physical activity and nature independently enhance health, the term Green Exercise was coined to signify the synergistic health benefits derived from being active in green or natural places” (Barton, et al., 2016, p. 26). This commendatory combination is clearly beneficial to overall health, particularly psychological well-being. 

The enjoyment of green exercise, alongside the vast psychological benefits, has emerged as one of the most prominent advantages when compared to machines like treadmills. Regardless of the number of benefits it offers, any activity will likely be disregarded if people find it unenjoyable to participate in. People know that exercise will benefit them, but many find the activity unpleasant, choosing not to engage in it. A study examining the link between exercise environment and enjoyment levels reveals green exercise may be the solution for people who find physical activity bothersome. In one of the experiments, participants either exercised inside on a treadmill or outside on a brisk walk, with standard mood and enjoyment tests administered before and after the activity. The study recorded the participants experienced the most enjoyment when exercising outdoors (Plante et al., 2007). Under the assumption that both environments were equally as physically demanding, the increased enjoyment in the outdoor setting likely comes from the psychological advantages. Indoor gyms tend to exude an atmosphere of anxiety, competition, and confinement; whereas natural areas are inherently freeing, without judgment. Ultimately, people will enjoy their workout in the setting that they are most comfortable in – for most, that is nature.

In addition to enjoyment, green exercise improves self-esteem and mood immediately upon starting. One does not need to embark on a ten-mile hike to reap the benefits of green exercise; rather, research shows that mental improvements occur most effectively in short doses. In a study determining the best “dose” of green exercise, researchers Jo Barton and Jules Pretty concluded that mental health benefits would be apparent particularly in “those who are currently sedentary, nonactive, and/or mentally unwell […] if they were able to undertake regular, short-duration physical activity in accessible green space” (Barton et al., 2010, p. 3951). Popular culture often pressures people into believing that in order to look and feel great, they must participate in lengthy, strenuous workouts daily. However, this study suggests that the psychological benefits of green exercise are attainable. Mood and self-esteem increased in only the first five minutes of outdoor activity, making green exercise an ideal alternative for less active people.

Evidently, green exercise has abundant psychological benefits; however, it is one’s perception that initially drives these benefits. When people view an environment positively – rather than negatively – they are more likely to obtain its health benefits. A study for the International Journal of Stress Management explores this link between perception and green exercise using 112 college students. For twenty minutes, the students were assigned to either walk around campus, to watch a virtual campus tour while on a treadmill, or to watch a virtual campus tour without any exercise. After analyzing the mood and enjoyment tests administered before and after the experiment, the researchers found that “an outdoor exercise environment might be more enjoyable and energizing but not necessarily relaxing. […] Because being outdoors creates a more scenic experience and provides fresh air and the sights, sounds, and smells of the outdoors; exercise may be more revitalizing” (Plante, et al., 2006, p. 116). While running on an indoor treadmill may feel methodical and mindless, resulting in relaxation, exercising outside requires the mind to be alert to its surroundings and creates stimulating energy that kickstarts heightened mood and self-esteem. As most people workout in the mornings, one conclusion that can be drawn is that people exercise in an attempt to energize and awaken their minds for the day, thus supporting the argument to engage in green exercise rather than indoor activity. Mental benefits can almost be guaranteed, so long as those participating in green exercise perceive the outside environment to be positive and enjoyable. 

Often, people are unconscious of how they perceive an environment; subtle variances in exercise settings unknowingly contribute to the psychological advantages obtained, particularly those that appeal to the senses. For the International Journal of Environmental Health Research, a study investigates the effect of sensory experiences on exercise. Participants either rode on a cycling machine with their auditory, visual, and olfactory senses blocked, or rode on the same cycling machine under a simulation of an outdoor forest setting. The tests administered before and after the experiment indicated that the neglect of senses resulted in increased tension and tiredness, whereas the forest simulation produced opposite effects. Furthermore, the full-sensory conditions indicated a lower perceived exertion than the sensory-occluded conditions (Wooller, et al., 2015). As the natural environment occupies all five senses, it also invokes mindfulness, sharpens indirect attention, and consequently improves mental health. This subconscious sensory interaction in outdoor settings confirms that mental benefits of green exercise are mainly attributed to one’s senses and perception. Still, people lack this vital knowledge about green exercise, leaving them to rely only on the physical benefits of exercise as motivation.

Despite these psychological motivations to incorporate green exercise into daily living, the majority of research concerning exercise focuses solely on the physical benefits and visible results. For experienced athletes, this knowledge only adds to their drive to exercise; however, for those less experienced, the pressure to look and perform a certain way proves to be intimidating. A study that explored the affective outcomes of exercising in outdoor and indoor settings found the psychological results for regular runners did not change significantly. However, the research suggests that the data may be different for more inactive participants, who might feel less comfortable inside a gym than regular runners (Turner, et al., 2017). Environmental factors notably influence new exercisers, but the life-changing potential offered by outdoor exercise is overlooked in the shadow of daunting physical expectations. Positive perception is vital to reaping the benefits of green exercise, but inactive people hesitate to try it when their preconceived notion toward exercise is negative. 

For many, just the thought of going to a gym is unnerving. The term “gymtimidation” accurately describes the common embarrassment felt by those who feel unfit to work out publicly, so they resolve to not exercise at all. The sight of extremely fit people often lowers self-esteem and heightens the fear of judgment. Green exercise aids in lowering these psychological barriers, transforming exercise into an activity people learn to enjoy and desire. This natural alternative to gyms creates “more opportunities for exploration and discovery of natural stimuli,” which reinforces the “intrinsic motives necessary for sustaining a physical activity routine” (Lacharite-Lemieux, et al., 2015, p. 738). Outdoor exercise is affordable, readily available, and provides a comforting environment for people to initiate an active lifestyle.

Green exercise is the ideal solution for less experienced, inactive people, providing substantial psychological improvements and increased energy. Outdoor activity breaks down the mental barriers created by the physical expectations from gyms and the overemphasis from researchers. The benefits of exercise and nature have previously been explored separately as advantageous to health; the combination of these two elements created green exercise, which offer the benefits of both. Unfortunately, this knowledge goes unnoticed by most Americans, wasting the potential results of green exercise. In order to cultivate a healthier lifestyle, people should incorporate outdoor activities into their daily lives to gain the holistic and psychological advantages green exercise has to offer.

References

Abramczak, J., Hayes, L., & Johnson, C. (2005). The physiological differences of outdoor trail 

running versus indoor treadmill running. Journal of Undergraduate Kinesiology 

Research, 23-29. 

Barton, J. & Pretty, J. (2010). What is the best dose of nature and green exercise for improving 

mental health? A multi-study analysis. Environmental Science & Technology, 44, 

3947-3955.

Barton, J., Wood, C., Pretty, J., & Rogerson, M. (2016). Green exercise for health: A dose of 

nature. Green Exercise: Linking Nature, Health, and Well-Being (26-28). New York, 

NY: Routledge.

Lacharite-Lemieux, M., Brunelle, J., & Dionne, I. (2015). Adherence to exercise and affective 

responses: Comparison between outdoor and indoor training. The North American 

Menopause Society, 22, 731-740.

Plante, T., Cage, C., Clements, S., & Stover, A. (2006). Psychological benefits of exercise 

paired with virtual reality: Outdoor exercise energizes whereas indoor virtual 

exercise relaxes. International Journal of Stress Management, 13, 108-117.

Plante, T., Gores, C., Breeht, C., Carrow, J., Imbs, A., & Willemsen, E. (2007). Does exercise 

environment enhance the psychological benefits of exercise for women? International 

Journal of Stress Management, 14, 88-98.

Turner, T., & Stevinson, C. (2017). Affective outcomes during and after high-intensity 

exercise in outdoor green and indoor gym settings. International Journal of 

Environmental Health Research, 27, 106-116.

Wooller, J., Barton, J., Gladwell, V., & Micklewright, D. (2015). Occlusion of sight, sound, and 

smell during green exercise influences mood, perceived exertion, and heart rate. 

International Journal of Environmental Health Research, 26, 267-280.


A History, A Society: A Poem

By Truleigh Kelly

Author’s Introduction

            I wrote this poem in Introduction to Western Civilization as my final project. I wanted to express my love for poetry and excitement for history while also covering every major part of history we discussed in class. I chose poetry not only because I love to write it, but also because poetry has the ability to communicate so much with so little. In other words, I could distill the entirety of a historical event into a single line or stanza. History tells a story, and the best way I knew to tell that story was through poetry, which, in and of itself, is meant to capture the beauty and sorrow of our lives, and in this case, of the history that precedes us.

 

Topics Covered

Galileo

John Locke: Second Treatise of Government

Mary Astell: Questioning Women’s Submission

Louis XIV

Abbe Sieyes: The Third Estate

Voltaire

Wordsworth

The Monroe Doctrine

French Revolution of 1830

The First Opium War

Recession of 1873

The Scream

The Hague Convention of 1907

The Great War of 1914

Nazi Germany

World War 2 1939

Looking Forward: A Greater World

 

 

 

 

 

Inventions, Ideal Intentions, a star scattered sky, and a pope who wouldn’t listen

Heliocentrism and Catholic pretension

Galileo tried, but no one dared stir tension

 

Then there was Hobbes

Conclusion of Absolutism: Who is to be in charge?

Locke argued the nature of Law and God

 

Freedom, Choice, Morals

The Earl of Shaftesbury and Locke had no quarrels

The kings have no right to bring court into session

Failed succession, a Glorious Revolution

All acts of Men

 

“But what of women?” said Mary Astell

With paper and fresh ink, she began to rethink

The submission of Women

In agreement with Locke concerning political representation

“Women have a voice,” she declared to the nation

And stirred the beginnings of a feminist political vocation

 

 

 

In her home, England

Ruled Louis XIV, who feuded with feudalism—

The Edict of Nantes, frustrated Huguenots, absolute monarchy—

And died a murderer of the French Protestant Minority

 

Then came Abbe Sieyes and his organized views

The French Revolution and The Third Estate his muse

Wrote to his king a pamphlet to be read

From Artists, Merchants, Manufacturers

Demanding the right to vote—to say what must be said

Established in 1789, the common people of France were given their time

 

Then steps in an author—rather, a philosopher,

Voltaire to be exact

Freedom of Religion: Church and State should separate

His criticisms, the Roman Catholics refused to enact

 

Then Wordsworth expressed his dismay

In ways that only a poet could say

Published “The Prelude” and Lyrical Ballads

Coolidge concurred and made their work valid

 

 

Next, the Monroe Doctrine against European concern

America agreed internal meddling would not occur

A doctrine against Colonialism presented to the President

Made apparent the concern of each political party resident

 

Meanwhile, in France, a revolution began

Intending to overthrow King Charles the Tenth

With the creation of a Constitutional Monarchy, Europe had succeeded

Three days were all that they needed

 

At the same time, China declared war on the United Kingdom

Prompted by Opium, they sought trade relations freedom

China had lost and Britain regained composure

With trade rights to Hong Kong, the United Kingdom found closure

 

From having goods to trade to having nothing to eat

The Recession of 1873 assured America and Europe’s financial defeat

With the Coinage Act at its core, the government desired silver no more

Gold was its standard, until 1879 when protective tariffs kept money safe over time

 

 

 

 

With all that had happened, academics went awry

Expressionism took its course, began its rise

Edvard Munch felt the need to create a peculiar scream

One that could be felt within the colors of his painting

A person holds their face in horror at the earth

Yearning for an old love—for Artistic Rebirth

 

Later, the Hague Convention of 1907

Resulted in naval weapon suppression

Until the World War’s ascension

 

The great powers of Europe fought unhinged

As Germany and Austria-Hungary infringed

Imperialism, Nationalism, Militant Men

America swore it would never happen again

 

But Hitler stirred his country to restlessness

A Jewish-demeaning socialist

Who left Germany hopeless

 

 

 

 

An Aryan race is what he desired

The death of millions is all he acquired

He who was found dead in his bunker

Left Germany no choice but to surrender their plunder

 

Meanwhile World War II

A deadly battle of Ally and Axis

Soviet power succeeded, despite madness

 

Lives lost, despair, and joy kept hidden

Men, Women, Animals, Children

With buildings bombed and bodies buried

Berlin and Germany became Adversaries

 

Peace Treaties were signed and the League of Nations formed

Uniting our Countries, establishing political norms

Scientists

Feminists

Authors

Many have shaped the world that now prospers

 

 

 

These events, these dates, these significant losses

Shaped our countries, expanded them, made them blossom

But history, as we know, is a cautionary tale

And some seek success, to no avail

 

Decisions are ranked and voices are heard

As we take from our past and apply what we’ve learned

Every day is an opportunity for Peace and Prosperity

A chance to attain Universal Solidarity

Deepest Dreams: Poems Exploring the Depths of Nature, History, and Faith

by Evan Rhoades

 Author’s Introduction

The poems in this collection explore everything from the natural world and history to faith, death, and spirituality. They are grouped roughly by their themes, and if I have written poetry that “tells the truth, but tells it slant” as Emily Dickinson would say, then each participates in an apprehension of the sublime, the cathartic, the beautiful, the true, the good, and the enchanting—engaging with something that we seek, even if we did not know it before turning the page. If you, dear reader, leave one poem with a deeper understanding of some unexpressed piece of yourself… if you find a feeling akin to a growing warmth in a space you had not realized was cool or a much-needed release of something you did not know you were holding onto, or perhaps, even, a sense of kinship with the words on the page—a sense that something was said that you had thought many times before but could never put into words—then it is truly poetry that you have read.

Salvatore Quasimodo sets a lofty standard for this type of creative expression: “Poetry... is the revelation of a feeling that the poet believes to be interior and personal which the reader recognizes as his own.”

If poetry can bring this experience about, if it can enchant the soul in a thoroughly disenchanted age, then it serves as its own reward. My hope, therefore, is that these poems would bring your deepest dreams, feelings, and questions into the light, that we might explore and marvel at them together, and, perhaps, rediscover a piece of that enchantment that has been lost.

 

Storied Silence

Two grandparents gone

Two getting older.

A call from two grandsons

Phone pressed longingly against aged ear.

 

Grandma is no longer young.

She cannot hear as she once could.

Calling louder into the void

I find in return

The sighs and signs

Of an aging life.

 

Grandpa speaks more to cats than to friends

Though he can paralyze a deer

With a single bb pellet

And cry softly at his mistake

His aim to startle, not to harm—

His shot added to the list

Of memories best

Left forgotten.

 

How selfish to act

As if they will outlast me

Simply because they have come this far

Outrunning the hounds of time.

 

How cowardly when,

Like Schrӧdinger

I dare not release

The dreaded future.

 

As if I could, at any moment

Find in the familiar dial tone

A weeping silence.

 

I refuse to open the box

For fear of what may lie inside—

Grandpa’s cats alone

Crying for food or friend.

 

Grandma’s soot-stained floorboards

Never again to hear her requests

For a repeated phrase—

A repeated life.


“You must picture me alone in that room, night after night, feeling the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. At last I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.” —C. S. Lewis

 

Strange Waters

The waters seemed cold

Unwilling to look back at me

As I stared down death.

 

The sea raged with violent passion

Seeking to dissuade me

But my course was set.

 

The thunder tore sky asunder.

The air was charged with the storm—

Charged to rend my courage in two.

 

Neither my will nor my body could stand the pressure

Nor my soul, for I would surely die.

Was this truly the way to life?

 

There, below the masthead

There, along a plank made from a dead tree

I pledged my soul.

 

And when a dreadful baptism

Prepared me for eternity

It was under the deep blue waters

That I finally went out to see.


Omnipresence, Omnipotence, and Omniscience

A trinity of power

In, through, outside of all things

Yet personally present in every moment.

 

You shape this world with Your being

Yet I cannot find, cannot touch—

You, imbuing reality with existence itself.

 

From time immemorial to futures unknowable

Angels rejoice when we turn to You.

But do You not ordain from the foundation of Creation?

 

Power unstoppable, will unbreakable

You allow creation to deny Your divinity

All for love?

 

To some it seems a jest, the irony of it all

But how can You laugh

When nothing is unexpected?

 

How can the Creator,

Girded in splendid glories

Be steeped in humility?

 

Humble in knowledge

Using wisdom

To aid the foolish.

 

Humble in power

Through generous restraint

Your Love contending with judgment.

 

Even in creation

You refuse to reveal yourself—

Hiding in plain sight.


Why is it so rarely mentioned, the humility of my God?

Perhaps because, like any who are truly humble,

You have no need to boast, and instead, bless.

 

Commend Your God to Us

Fire spreads over barren bush

Igniting wood with wonder.

Flame reveals to him who looks

Creation naming its creator.

 

Son of Adam, come and see—

Come find what can be found.

Listen to this burning bush

That lies on holy ground.

 

You are sent to build and break

The strongest dynasties

A mirror for His will to wake

And part the sullen seas.

 

When, like Ozymandias,

Your legacy lies in dust

Let the plaque on which you rest

Commend your God to us.

 

For then, on that same holy ground,

Where first your soul was framed

Shall you enter into that fount

Where clouds of witnesses proclaim

 

I am! I am!

And no other name.


Pax Romana

Roman peace they called it,

Though two words had never been

So unlawfully wed.

 

May they call the cut of the throat

And deathly silence

peace?

 

The subjugation of nation upon nation

Complete with Panem et Circenses

The baking of blood in the sands with the baking of bricks in the sun

Creating the arch, the aqueduct, the resilient roadway.

 

The deadly spilling of life-blood in sport

Brought decadent streams of water to house and home

And the realization that man is most mortal

When bellies are full, hearts held hostage by desire.

 

Into this wasteland came a man

Who offered not to feed the flesh

But to sustain the spirit with living waters

And the body with His blood.

 

His message carried on the roadways

Built as if made for His nail-torn hands

By the blood of the least of these—

Crossing to faith in the face of fear.

 

The terrified cries of men upon the battlefield

No louder than slaves heaping stone upon stone;

Their lifeblood as precious as any warrior’s,

Spilled down the drains they wrought.

 

For these, the eternal wellspring came.

His word spread as that same blood,

A sea rushing over a barren desert

For they were a thirsty people.

 

Some for Death, whose cross He hung from

Some for Life, which He gave to the deserted,

Though they first deserted Him.

 

The Roman peace they called this age

But not for Rome or Reason's sake

Nor because borders failed to break,

For break they did in battle.

 

A war waged on fronts unseen

Where angelic swords gleamed

And demonic hordes convened

To treat with death till its defeat.

 

At battle's end, the Word did spread

That God and man will justly wed

Already—not yet—Pax Christi at last—

And until then, our souls recast.

 

You, Conquerer 

You, conquerer, crossed the Atlantic.

Your ships cut the waves.

Thinking yourselves like Peter

You reached out, lacking faith.

 

Like Jacob, you hunted a blessing

For some desired Destiny.

“Manifest”—you claimed to have captured it

Seeking white gold in dark fields.

 

Your homestead rose

From pools of blood—

Primordial arrowheads

Broke upon your dead steel.

 

My Natives you slew

My Africans you enslaved;

My Virtues you extolled

While you dug the Graves.

 

It is written:

Whatever you do

For the least of these

You do for me.

 

O Father, forgive them

For they know not what they do.


Sojourners

I reach across the current

Of airwaves, like an invisible dance—

Calling for my familiar partner

Over sea-wide expanse.

 

Nothing reaches back.

No hands clasp mine.

No eyes glow an inviting amber

In the natural noonday sun.

 

Only her shadow lies before me.

The screen never bright enough

To bring her beauty

Beyond its dim, rectangular cell.

 

When did we exchange electric touch

For energy found in coiled wires

And trade wives

For WiFi waves?

 

We fling wide our hopes

Cast through the ether-net

Only to find those we love

Equally as pixelated

As our poetry.

 

Wishing we could see beyond our limited world

We have become pocket-pilgrims

Journeying to shrines

Made by other’s lives.

 

Only to find

That no one ever lived

Who lived vicariously

Through mirrored faces.


Canopy

Under a canopy of stars

Lies a little town

That nature has known

Far longer than I.

 

The colors seem vibrant here

Enriched by the land, the air,

The mountains that tower

Over distant houses.

 

A fitting meeting place

For brothers to gather

And drink of Diana’s bounty:

A world not our own.

 

We look to the stars

And see another land

That we cannot reach

But cling to nonetheless.

 

We look to the trees

And thank them for strengthening our houses;

For suffusing our sun-bathed souls

With visions of golden-green Cyprus.

 

We peer into the night

Which shines upon the stars—

An ever-present backdrop

To the cosmic dance.

 

Arms ‘round one another

We welcome the mystery

Of young days turning

Long nights burning


With the passion of fellowship

And the heat of words

That none shall know

Save our jocund company.

 

Lamplight pierces the darkness

As we descend from our lunar throne

Memories drifting on the wind behind

Songs sailing along the roads ahead.

* * *

I wake to the temptation

Of leaves whispering my name.

Thrown aloft by autumn wind

They beckon me to join them.

 

My companions lounge with me

As I lay down in a hammock of blue

Gazing up languidly at the clouds

That skid across an azure sky.

 

My journey home is of no consequence—

My cares but a passing concern—

And for the first time in many moons

I feel the coaxing pull of peace

Upon my restless soul.

 

A brief stay here has confirmed to my heart

That under this canopy

I could lay down worries and fears

That have rested long upon my shoulders.

 

Yes, I could call this place home—

But not because of nature’s spell.

Rather, because of the men I’ve met here

Who make it so.

 

Nature’s Lover

When beside the noonday sun,

You’re overcome with white-winged hope

Lovely whispered longings come

 

As grass stirs atop the slope.

Look you not behind.

The wind, like sea-soft soap—

 

And simple psalms you soon shall find.

When you sing o’er Nature’s din

Then spring forth, O soul confined!

 

Quick comes a maiden answering

Flower-fair with pool-blue eyes

To sing with you atop the rise.

 

Then, where sun and flame comprise

Most precious melodies

Surely she shall claim the skies

 

And offer you the breeze.

 

Weeping Willow

The weeping willow sighs

Her hanging branches

Lightly shading

The forest floor.

 

Sun shines through her gaps;

Golden rifts in her emerald wall

Pulsing, glowing, gleaming

Around ribbons of green.

 

Her leaves and branches flow in the wind

Moving to some invisible current

As if the earth were a riverbed

And she swaying seaweed.

 

Her solemn, enchanting figure

Swirls about in eddies and storms

Each leaf—choices once made—

Clothing her in a tumult of jade.

 

But winter freezes her greenery

Shattering her jade into razor-shards—

Regrets that, falling, tear at her roots

Despair drowning her in drifts of snow.

 

So, she seeks the summertime

When leaves surround her,

Pressing in on all sides,

Hiding her face from the sun.

 

Content to bloom alone

Behind her mournful vale

She entices her leaves to grow

Keeping her from daylight’s gale.

 

Probing light aims to pierce

Her self-erected fortress

To reveal her barren bark

Kept hidden for an age.

 

And in such times of deadly solitude

When branches refuse the gentlest touch

Then does the Gardener enter in

To caress the saddened, dying bush.

 

With care and comfort, he reaches out

And prunes back the impenetrable leaves

He opens up her emerald wall

And breaks through her illusory sheen.

 

For when the sun shines clear that morn

And Willow looks, expecting scorn—

The pain and sorrow and hurt she’ll see

Will be left—fluttering harmlessly—in the breeze.

 

The Muse

She may be found in the shadows

Of a sundial, turned just so—

Light reflecting off morning dew

Bearing her whispers back to you.

 

Perhaps her likeness may be formed

By stirring embers in wood-born fire

Seas of grass waving in western winds

Still forests, beckoning with slow-turning petals.

 

Her voice, all sweet-tongued nectar

Trails a bold black

Upon the page of time

Where pen and quill bespeak divine.

 

Her legacy formed by the words

Of those who have known her

For a brief time, between stanzas

Only to lose her

At the turning of the page.

 

Nothing known of her is certain

Save that she comes and goes as she will

Leaving tender hearts behind

Shattered by attempts to pursue.

 

But some, beaten and bent into fullest form

By the journey to her shores

Find what it is they tirelessly sought

And give back to man a message:

 

“She is only for those

With the will to bend

And the courage to break

Upon Destiny’s tide.”

 

Destiny

Leaves fall

On cool ground

Chasing winds

Long gone now.

 

Steps trod.

Lives cross

Fallen scarlet

Open spaces.

 

A leaf is stuck

Carried about

On a man's tread.

 

Both unaware

Of their destination.

Support for Online Schooling

By Katana Liebelt

Think of a major change in life—positive or negative. My major change was becoming an online student. Since I was bullied during middle school, I was homeschooled during my freshman year of high school. Unfortunately, homeschooling didn’t work for me, so I became an online student in my sophomore year. I initially hated online learning. The courses were intense. They dove right into the material instead of gradually introducing it. Each course seemed to require students to complete several activities that took me all day. Nevertheless, by the end of that year, I adjusted to online learning. In fact, I grew to love its independence. I discovered that I learn most subjects best in an online environment. Four years later, as a college student, I still enjoy online learning.

Whether the institution is high school or college, online schooling has increased in popularity over time. The National Education Center for Education Statistics conducted a study from fall 2015 and fall 2016 to compare how many college students enrolled in online courses (Integrated Postsecondary Education Data [IPED]). In fall 2015, “29.8% of college students took any [number] of online courses” (IPED). In fall 2016, “31.7% of college students took any [number] of online courses” (IPED). While this is a small increase, it still shows that as time passes, more college students become interested in online school. Another example of increasing online school enrollment occurred gradually from 2012 to 2015. In 2012, 25.9% of college students enrolled in online courses (Allen and Seaman 11). In 2015, 29.7% of students enrolled in online courses (Allen and Seaman 11). Again, although this change is gradual, these statistics demonstrate college students’ increasing attraction to online learning.

A more drastic, long-term increase in online school enrollment occurred in Humboldt Virtual Education Program, a full-time online high school in Kansas. In 1999, when the program was first established, only 66 students enrolled (Von Dehre). However, in 2014, over 6,000 students enrolled (Von Dehre). Humboldt Virtual Education’s increase demonstrates that high school students are also drawn to online learning. Overall, these increases demonstrate the growing popularity of online schooling. Unfortunately, just because something is popular doesn’t mean it’s good (Brownell 269). Nonetheless, online school is becoming popular among high school and college students, most likely due to its flexibility and increased opportunities.

 As a result, online school is a beneficial way for high school and college students to learn. Therefore, more of these students should learn online. While I prefer full-time online learning, I recognize that this does not work for everyone, as it certainly has drawbacks. Thus, hybrid learning—defined as teaching courses via online and in-person—will be included in the definition of “online school”. Learning online, at least some of the time, is a beneficial alternative and a great way to learn.

Online school provides flexibility. A Gale Opposing Viewpoints article confirms this by stating that online schools provide “greater individualization and flexibility than traditional ‘brick-and-mortar’ schools” (“Online Education”). This flexibility occurs because most programs are asynchronous—meaning students can log on anytime to complete schoolwork (Lei and Lei). Although Simon A. Lei and Stacy Y. Lei’s article focuses on hybrid schools, they explain that being asynchronous is a benefit full-time online schools share with hybrid ones. At both the university and high school level students are able to not only access course materials anytime, but they have access to their materials anywhere. Several institutions offering online programs—for example, Corban University—emphasize how online learning fits students’ schedules and can be done wherever the student prefers (“Online Programs”). It is important not to form opinions solely based on advertisements or promotional materials. Students and their families confirm online schools’ promise more flexibility. For instance, according to a 2017 parent survey conducted by full-time K12 online school Connections Academy, 48% of parents cite greater flexibility as their reason for choosing this institution (Connections Academy 7). This statistic explains that flexibility is a factor in choosing online learning. Although, no evidence, as of yet, indicates that Connections Academy offers this option. Thus, one could argue that just because parents sought Connections Academy for flexibility does not necessarily mean the school is flexible. However, since I attended Connections in high school, I agree that it is flexible, despite having strict due dates that one can easily fall behind on. Connections has more flexibility than in-person classes because it allows individuals to work on assignments on their own schedule and provides them with the freedom to work ahead. I also had the option to work anywhere that had Internet, so I completed school at different locations besides my house, which provided variety.

In short, online schools allow students to work anytime, at any location. Online learning opens up a variety of opportunities for students, especially high schoolers. In-person schools in rural areas may be limited in classes due to location and costs (“Online Education”). Online schools can provide these students with opportunities to take AP and Honors classes or different extracurricular classes (“Online Education”). Limited resources no longer have to hinder students from receiving a quality education. Additionally, online schools enable students with learning, physical, and mental disabilities to still obtain an education (“Online Education”; Von Drehle). Students once limited by their struggles now have a greater chance to succeed. For instance, David Von Drehle’s Washington Post article covers Humboldt Virtual Education Program’s 2018 high school commencement ceremony. The program’s director, Jody Siebenmorgan, explains that the program includes students with diverse situations: academically talented, juvenile delinquency, foster care, teen mothering, and sickness (qtd. in Von Drehle). One example of a diverse situation regards a girl’s completing school while having a double-lung transplant (Von Drehle). Online learning enabled this student to keep up with her schoolwork and gave her an educational opportunity she would not likely have had otherwise. In fact, Humboldt Virtual Educational Program provides most of its students with an education they would not have received otherwise (Von Drehle). This high school is an example of how online schools can give students second chances in education and perhaps life.

Online colleges can also provide students with opportunities to work towards degrees they couldn’t otherwise earn. According to Best Colleges’ 2019 report, a majority of students choose online college because their existing commitments prevent them from taking in-person classes (9). In 2016, 50% of college students cited “existing commitments” as a reason “for choosing online vs. on-campus learning options” (“2019 Online Education” 9). In 2017, 49% of students cited this reason, and in 2018, 47% of students cited it (“2019 Online Education” 9). These statistics demonstrate that online schooling has removed the obstacle of outside commitments for the college students’ educational journey. They indicate that for a majority of college students online schooling gives students the opportunity to learn new trades and pursue their dreams. Whether students need assistance in completing high school or fulfilling career goals, online schooling can remove the obstacles and open up educational opportunities, which can lead to more opportunities in life.

Full-time online school—taking every class completely online—may not work for every student. Therefore, hybrid learning presents a valid alternative by allowing students to learn through both online and in-person classes. It is still considered online school while including in-person elements. Lei and Lei explain that hybrid learning has the best of both online and in-person courses. Hybrid learning’s online benefits include access to online materials, visual modes of learning, the ability to see assignments ahead of time, and the ability to catch up on assignments (Lei & Lei). Its in-person benefits include some face-to-face interaction, auditory modes of learning, and personalized assistance (Lei & Lei). Face-to-face social interaction counteracts isolation which is a common drawback to online learning (“Online Education”). Hybrid learning has additional benefits unique to itself, like saving the time and cost of commuting to class (Lei & Lei). Since students meet less frequently, than they would for in-person classes, they don’t need to travel to class as often. As with everything, hybrid learning still has its drawbacks. Lei and Lei explain that students need excellent time management to do well. They also acknowledge that students cannnot see nonverbal cues which are imperative for communication (Brownell 200).  Another drawback is that students may underestimate the rigor required for hybrid classes. Despite these drawbacks, hybrid learning is an effective alternative to completely online learning because hybrid offers the benefits of both modes.

An important argument against online learning—full-time or hybrid—includes lack of student motivation, especially among high school students. However, online teachers can help their students stay motivated. Forty-two Canadian online teachers gave advice about motivating high school students based on their own experiences (Murphy & Rodríguez-Manzanares). These tips include, but are not limited to, offering prizes for participation, “communicat[ing] one-on-one” with students, reaching out to struggling students, finding face-to-face opportunities, creating threads for students to discuss personal or controversial subjects, using a motivational voice either through video or word choice, and creating assignments worth the students’ time and effort (Murphy and Rodríguez-Manzanares). Elizabeth Murphy and María A. Rodríguez-Manzanares explain that teachers need to establish a social presence with their pupils to increase student motivation. They explain that students may feel isolated since online learning does not provide nonverbal cues. In essence, if teachers effectively communicate and facilitate open communication with their students, students can gain motivation. Fortunately, online college students most likely do not struggle with motivation in the same way that high school students struggle. One factor could be due to age: In 2018, 82% of online college students were adults, and 60% of these students fell between the ages of 25 and 54  and 20% of these students were greater than 54 (“2019 Online Education” 34). College students, especially as they age, typically become more mature and thus more motivated. On the other hand, high school students are still young and have not always gained internal motivation.

Of course, online school will not work for every student. Some prefer in-person classes, which is acceptable because the best type of schooling depends upon students’ learning styles. Nonetheless, online schooling is an excellent way for students in high school or college to learn. It offers flexibility and opportunities since students can take all online classes, some online classes, or hybrid classes. I challenge all college students to take at least one online course during their educational career or to encourage a fellow student to do so. Perhaps they may discover that online schooling perfectly fits their varied learning styles.


 

Works Cited

Allen, I. Elaine and Jeff Seaman. “Distance Education Enrollment Report 2017.” Digital Learning Compass, Babson Survey Research Group, May 2017, onlinelearningsurvey.com/reports/digtiallearningcompassenrollment2017.pdf.

Brownell, Judi. Listening. 6th ed., Taylor & Francis, 2018.

Connections Academy Full-Time Virtual School for Grades K-12 Efficacy Research Report, Pearson, 3 April 2018, www.pearson.com/content/dam/one-dot-com/one-dot-com/global/Files/efficacy-and-research/reports/audited/Connections-Academy-research-report.pdf.

Gale. “Education”. Gale In Context: Opposing Viewpoints, Empower, n.d., go-gale-com.chemeketa.idm.oclc.org/ps/aboutJournal.do?contentModuleId=OVIC&resultClickType=AboutThisPublication&actionString=DO_DISPLAY_ABOUT_PAGE&searchType=TopicSearchForm&docId=GALE%7C0287&userGroupName=oregon_chemeke&inPS=true&rcDocId=GALE%7CA602231376&prodId=OVIC&pubDate=120190922.

Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System (IPEDS). “Table 311.15.” National Education Center for Education Statistics, U.S. Department of Education, Jan. 2018, nces.ed.gov/programs/digest/d17/tables/dt17_311.15.asp?current=yes.

Lei, Simon A. and Stacy Y. Lei. “Evaluating Benefits and Drawbacks of Hybrid Courses: Perspectives of College Instructors.” Education, vol. 140, no. 1, Project Innovation, 22 Sep. 2019. Gale In Context: Opposing Viewpoints, go-gale-com.chemeketa.idm.oclc.org/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=Journals&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&searchType=TopicSearchForm&currentPosition=3&docId=GALE%7CA602231376&docType=Article&sort=Relevance&contentSegment=ZXAY-MOD1&prodId=OVIC&contentSet=GALE%7CA602231376&topicId=00000000LVY5&searchId=&userGroupName=oregon_chemeke&inPS=true.

Murphy, Elizabeth and María A. Rodríguez-Manzanares. “Motivating High School Students in Online Courses is Difficult.” High School Alternative Programs, edited by Noah Berlatsky, Greenhaven Press, 1 Jan. 2015. Gale In Context: Opposing Viewpoints, go-gale-com.chemeketa.idm.oclc.org/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=Viewpoints&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&searchType=TopicSearchForm&currentPosition=8&docId=GALE%7CEJ3010924223&docType=Viewpoint+essay&sort=Relevance&contentSegment=ZXAY-MOD1&prodId=OVIC&contentSet=GALE%7CEJ3010924223&topicId=00000000LVY5&searchId=R6&userGroupName=oregon_chemeke&inPS=true.

“Online Education.” Gale Opposing Viewpoints Online Collection, Gale, 2 Jan. 2019. Gale In Context: Opposing Viewpoints, go-gale-com.chemeketa.idm.oclc.org/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=Reference&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&searchType=TopicSearchForm&currentPosition=2&docId=GALE%7CPC3010999233&docType=Topic+overview&sort=Relevance&contentSegment=ZXAY-MOD1&prodId=OVIC&contentSet=GALE%7CPC3010999233&topicId=00000000LVY5&searchId=&userGroupName=oregon_chemeke&inPS=true.

“Online Programs.” Corban University, 2017, www.corban.edu/academics/online-programs/.

“2019 Online Education Trends Report.” Best Colleges, contributed by Melissa Venable,  BestColleges, 2019, www.bestcolleges.com/perspectives/annual-trends-in-online-education/.

Von Drehle, David. “Proof That Online School Works: My Daughter.” The Washington Post, 15 May 2018. Gale In Context: Opposing Viewpoints, go-gale-com.chemeketa.idm.oclc.org/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=FeaturedContent&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&searchType=TopicSearchForm&currentPosition=4&docId=GALE%7CA538839159&docType=Article&sort=Relevance&contentSegment=ZXAY-MOD1&prodId=OVIC&contentSet=GALE%7CA538839159&topicId=00000000LVY5&searchId=&userGroupName=oregon_chemeke&inPS=true.

 

East is Up: An Analysis of Twenty One Pilots’ Use of Movement and Cardinal Directions

By Solomon Taylor

Twenty One Pilots is a unique phenomenon in the music industry. Composed of a drummer and a multi-instrumentalist frontman, they are known for their cryptic yet personal lyrics and their dedicated fanbase. While the majority of the academic world glances past them as just another band catering to teenagers, the depth of their lyrics merits much closer study than your average Ed Sheeran or Taylor Swift song. Over the course of five studio albums to date, Twenty One Pilots has constructed a rich world of metaphoric language and symbolism that reflects their Christian roots and gives a voice to the emotions felt by millions of their fans around the world.

Despite their popularity in the music world, there are only about five academic pieces written on their music, all of which are from undergraduate studies. The two that were most similar to my own thesis discussed the way certain lyrics revealed the band’s background (Larasatika, 2017) and presented an analysis of the figurative language in their Vessel album (Syuhudi, 2016). This minimal coverage is a far cry from the kind of value that music has been given for the vast majority of human history. Music has always been a way for cultures to pass on their stories, values, and histories, from the emblematic stories of the Native American tribes to the epics of Odysseus and Beowulf to the religious texts of the ancient Israelites. Given that the rhymes and rhythms of music are what make it so easy to remember, the meaning they convey has always been essential. Those who created music would do so because they wanted their audience to remember their message with a greater degree of accuracy compared to what a conversation or a written message would elicit.

Given the prevalence and accessibility of music today, it would be expected that the message would be considered more important than ever. However, the emphasis on the content of music has largely been set aside in favor of aesthetic qualities like the singer’s range and the chords they put together. While the aesthetic is a critical part of music as well, that role is secondary to the meaning. It is designed as a tool to better convey the artist’s message, making a love song lighthearted or bringing a weightiness to a deep thought. When the artist instead prioritizes the sound of the song over its message, its impact becomes unpredictable. Listeners still have the potential to remember the content just as well, filling their heads with mindless fluff. Alternatively, they can feel justified in tuning out the content for the sake of its musicality. Both approaches lead to a kind of apathy toward music, allowing it to stagnate until the industry eventually devolves into nothing more than an aesthetically pleasing bubble, devoid of any real substance.

To address this increasingly pervasive problem, it is the duty of the academic field to publish critical analyses about today’s music. The music industry requires feedback in order to grow. This criticism should be based on two standards that have been used across countless mediums. First, the music should be technically well-crafted and aesthetically pleasing. Even more importantly, the music must convey a message that deserves repeating. Given its prevalence and broad appeal, music plays an instrumental role in shaping the culture. Duty requires that it be held to a particular standard. If music is able to meet both of these goals, it should be celebrated as an example for other artists to emulate. Twenty One Pilots has a unique ability to convey deeply philosophical ideas in unusual and genre-stretching ways. The bulk of my thesis will explain in depth why this ability makes them a prime candidate to introduce this kind of analysis.

Twenty One Pilots enters the scene surrounded by aesthetic music. Instead of jumping on the pop music bandwagon, however, they set themselves apart with a carefully chosen band name. It comes from the twenty-one pilots in Arthur Miller’s play “All My Sons,” all of whom are killed because their manufacturer chose to sell faulty airplane parts in an effort to keep his business running (Miller, p. 106). As Tyler Joseph put it in an interview, the band name is “a constant reminder that you have to make the right decision, even though it may be the hard decision” (Ztvlowdown, 0:55). The consequences are always there in front of them. They have a very unique, genre-bending sound as a band, but the music itself is secondary to and supportive of the lyrics. They are one of the few mainstream artists who take this approach today, providing an excellent example for analysis.

To demonstrate their emphasis on the lyrical, I will be analyzing select songs that highlight their usage of orientational metaphors, drawing inspiration from Lakoff and Johnson’s Metaphors We Live By and combining it with my own observations and research. In order to do so in a way that makes sense, I will first summarize the main points of the narrative so far and introduce its characters. The primary characters are the band members, Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun. Tyler Joseph was one of the band’s founding members and is the creative force behind it. He writes their songs and plays every instrument besides the drums, which are Josh Dun’s specialty. While Josh was not a part of the first album, he joined when the other members broke off (Joy, “Full-Court Press,” para. 11). Both Tyler and Josh grew up as Christians, so their music regularly contains religious underpinnings that can be fleshed out upon closer examination.

Within the world of their music, the two play slightly different roles. As the songs are primarily about Tyler’s life and struggles, he represents the protagonist in their videos, while Josh acts almost as a guide toward the life Tyler is seeking. The symbolic world itself is known as Trench, which is also the name of their newest album. This world was described in a hidden website that documented a series of letters written by a character named Clancy (Clancy’s Letters, 2018). Trench is home to a city called Dema, which translates from Iranian to “the Tower of Silence.” This is where Tyler, Clancy, and many others live. It is a heavily structured society ruled by nine bishops who teach the inhabitants in the ways of a mysterious religion called Vialism, which centers around fluorescent lights. There are inhabitants who reside outside of Dema, though, Josh among them, who are known as banditos. Tyler has escaped Dema on numerous occasions over the years with their aid, but he is always recaptured and brought back eventually.

There are three primary songs from Twenty One Pilots that I will be analyzing in this thesis due to the metaphors they utilize. For the sake of clarity, I will be emphasizing Lakoff and Johnson’s terms “Target” and “Source” by way of capitalization. The first song is “A Car, A Torch, A Death” from their debut album Twenty One Pilots. In line 5, Tyler sings “I begin to envy the headlights driving south.” This is the first song in which Tyler begins to fill the cardinal directions with meaning. In the biblical narrative, the South is where Egypt was (Rodríguez, para. 8). It is the place where the Israelites were enslaved for generations before God rescued them and led them to the Promised Land. However, for much of that journey, the Israelites complain about the journey and wish they could go back to Egypt instead (Exodus 14:12). Instead of recognizing the ways in which God was providing for them, they retained a sort of Stockholm Syndrome toward their former captors, ready to turn back at the first sign of trouble. Having grown up as a Christian, Tyler is quite familiar with this story. He sings about how the people heading toward the South seem appealing to him, admitting that a part of him agrees with the Israelites’ mentality. In the next line, however, he says that “I want to crack the door so I can just fall out” (line 6), implying another part of him knows that trying to go that way will lead to pain and death in the end. Although Egypt might seem appealing in the moment, the journey away from the South is better in the long run.

Vessel’s “The Judge” is the second song to hold a directional reference. In this one, Tyler says that “I head out, down a route I think is heading south” (line 23). Again, we find his default choice of direction at this point to be toward the South. He still hears the call toward Egypt, toward familiarity, and it draws him back. At the end of the verse, though, finding doubt and confusion on that path, he decides that “I probably shoulda stayed inside my house” (line 27). Drawing from the lyrics of both songs, South seems to represent Human Nature. There is always a piece of him that wants to engage in self-destructive behavior, and it is a struggle he does not always win.

In the chorus, we find Tyler pleading with “the judge” to set him free (line 13), but we are never directly told what he is being held captive for. However, given the interpretation of South as Human Nature, I would propose that he is a captive to his own mind, engaging in behaviors he does not necessarily want to engage in. This causes him to return to the doubt and confusion he found when he took the path to the South. His mind seems to be both the instigator and the victim of the crime. While he did make the decision to go down that path, he also had to deal with the resulting chaos. This theory is further reinforced by the bridge of the song, which emphasizes Tyler’s own confusion about whether the song is “about me or the devil” (line 36). As Paul states in Romans 7:15, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do” (NIV). Paul aptly describes the battle raging in Tyler’s mind. He has conflicting goals and desires for his life, none of them able to lay full claim to his loyalty. His mind is the stage of a spiritual war between God and the devil, and his Human Nature is the war’s physical manifestation. Tyler’s actions scare him because they seem to be controlled by the devil instead of by his own will, so he calls out to the judge to free him from that mental combat.

The third song of note is “Nico and the Niners” from Trench. There is a consistent refrain throughout the song that “East is up” (first in line 1), which holds several connotations when compared to the other songs. In the ancient biblical world, the compass was oriented differently in comparison to our modern one. While the four cardinal directions remained the same, due to the prominence of the sun, the primary direction was East instead of North (Rodríguez, para. 1). As a result, this particular metaphor has historical and religious roots. There are three primary ways to interpret the line, each one furthering the depth of this metaphor by considering the various meanings of the word Up.

The first interpretation of this line considers the word Up (the target) to mean Good (the source). In this sense, the line seems to imply that East is the best direction to go. This carries on from the songs addressed earlier, which depicted the South as a tempting but fatal option similar to Egypt itself. It also lines up with biblical symbolism. The path from Egypt to the Promised Land travelled up from the South and into the East, where the Israelites would find a land “flowing with milk and honey” (Exodus 33:3, NIV). The compass directions also had symbolic meanings in their own right. Consider North, South, West, and East as up, down, left, and right respectively. The right, and subsequently the East, is a common symbol of life (Kosloski, para. 5). The sun rises in the East as a harbinger of light and warmth. Jesus is seated at the right hand of the Father (Hebrews 1:3), and those who are granted eternal life are put on God’s right side as well (Matthew 25:34). Tyler therefore imbues the word East with the concept of Life.

Conversely, the left, and subsequently the West, is a symbol of death (Kosloski, para. 6). The same story that brings the people on God’s right into Heaven also condemns those on His left to eternal fire (Matthew 25:41). While the East heralds the arrival of day, the West welcomes the darkness of night. Twenty One Pilots’ song “March To The Sea” elaborates on this as well. Once again returning to biblical imagery, the nation of Israel rests on the lethal eastern shore of the Mediterranean Sea (Jethani, p. 136). As a result, the sea is often used as a symbol of chaos and death throughout the Old and New Testament in passages like Isaiah 57:20 and Revelation 13:1. In this song, Tyler bemoans how the path he is traveling will “walk right off into the sea, and then we fall asleep” (lines 15-16). In this sense, sleep is used as an allegory for death, as is made clear in other verses. As a result, the West becomes a symbol of Death.

A second, more literal interpretation of “East is up” is made possible by simply rotating the entire map so that East points to the top. In this context, Up simply means Above. From this perspective, in a dramatic shift from the way the rest of the modern world looks at it, East now indicates which direction is up instead of North. As a result, it may be useful to label the North as a symbol of Misdirection. While the majority of the world orients themselves around it, it is actually the East which deserves that orientation. It is worth noting that Jesus Himself came from the East. Given that His purpose was to bring salvation and to provide a way for humanity to connect back to God, East is both literally indicative of which direction is up and symbolically indicative of the way into Heaven. As Jesus declares in John 14:6, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (NIV). “East is up” is therefore a declaration of a higher, better way, allowing the metaphor to be defined by the concept of Salvation as well.

Finally, the previous interpretation can be altered so that only the compass rose rotates. By doing so, the names of the cardinal directions are changed without changing the orientation of the map itself. Following this line of thinking, if the label of “East” is shifted so that it is pointing up, then the label of “South” now points in the direction formerly known as “East.” In other words, the South moves to the East. Doing so gives the East its third name—South. This movement mirrors the Israelite exodus from Egypt that was briefly mentioned in the beginning, as they themselves travelled northeast into what would later become the nation of Israel. Under this interpretation, it is now the South that points to Israel. In the process, the West, the symbol of Death, moves to represent Egypt, providing another reminder that going back is a fatal mistake.

Additionally, if we consider that the other interpretations are equally true, (thereby granting the East its names of Life, Salvation, and South), then Jesus, the source of salvation, can be said to come out of both the South and the East. If the South represents Human Nature—as established by the songs discussed earlier—and if the East represents the Salvation that God enacted through both the Exodus and Jesus, then the claim that Jesus comes out of both the East and the South symbolically demonstrates the theological claim that Jesus is both fully God and fully Man. This is an essential doctrine in the Christian faith, and its appearance within the banditos’ dialogue begins to draw some strong parallels between the group and Christianity itself.

To further expand on this claim, we must analyze the metaphoric usage of movement and stillness in their music. Movement is a physical depiction of change and growth that cannot happen without action. It appears to be an essential characteristic of the banditos. The character Tyler plays in their music videos seems to develop this characteristic the more he tries to escape from Dema. This process begins in “Heavydirtysoul,” where we see him being driven past the same spot repeatedly throughout the video by one of the bishops. This is likely a recurring event. The car is gradually destroyed over the course of the video with each successive escape attempt, finally breaking down on the third pass due to Josh’s drumming (3:07). The music video for “Jumpsuit” continues this story. This escape attempt shows Tyler walking upstream through a valley. Knowing that the sea is to the West, he is presumably heading East by following the stream uphill. The bishop, his car destroyed, is now pursuing Tyler on a horse. Notably, despite the bishop’s advantage in mobility, he only catches up to him when Tyler stops moving (2:15). In the video for “Nico and the Niners,” the bishops are forced to walk (3:54). This is most likely due to the “complete diversion” Tyler sings about in the bridge of the song (line 33) that required a racehorse. The bishops leave to bring him back, but they don’t actually recapture him until the end of the “Levitate” music video (1:52). Over the course of this four-part narrative, Tyler is able to escape for longer and longer periods of time while forcing the bishops to do more and more movement themselves. There are two points worth noting in this narrative.

The first detail focuses on when Tyler gets captured. In “Jumpsuit” and “Levitate,” the two videos where you actually see his capture, it happens in very particular circumstances. In “Jumpsuit,” the bishop puts Tyler into a state resembling sleep before beginning to lead him back (1:58). When the banditos shake him out of it, Tyler begins to run away again. Interestingly enough, despite the bishop’s mounted nature, Tyler manages to stay well ahead of him until he trips and knocks himself out, at which point the bishop takes him back with ease (4:02). This seems to suggest two metaphoric links, first between Movement and Safety and inversely between Stillness and Capture.

We see the same pattern occur in “Levitate.” The entirety of the video shows the banditos in motion. They are walking, dancing, and singing in all but one crucial scene. At the very end of the video, Tyler is sitting with a few other banditos. It is at that single point of stillness that the bishop grabs him and drags him away again (1:52). The bishops seem to have trouble approaching anyone who is actively moving, finding it necessary to either induce stillness, as in “Jumpsuit,” or to wait for the person to stop moving on their own, as in “Levitate.”

Second, it is interesting that the bishops, while desiring captivity, fear, stillness, and sleep for those in their grasp (Clancy’s Letters, 2018), are forced to engage in movement to fulfill their plans. In “Nico and the Niners,” Tyler notes that “When bishops come together they will know that Dema don’t control us” (lines 6-7). The very act of coming together forces them to move. To combat this, the bishops minimize their movement as much as possible. We see this in each of the videos described. While the “Heavydirtysoul” video shows Tyler’s frenetic movement in the backseat, the bishop driving him might as well be a statue (1:36). Even when the car falls apart, the bishop simply disappears instead of physically getting out. In addition, remember that the bishop in the “Jumpsuit” music video is on horseback. Once again, it minimizes the bishop’s reliance on his own movement and gives him a greater sense of independence from it, albeit less so than his car would have. When the horse is lost to the “complete diversion” in “Nico and the Niners,” the bishops walk in unison, strictly controlling their own movements in a sort of final defiance (3:58). One of them may very well have used the words of The Screwtape Letters at some point, noting to his compatriots that “we are, in a sense, on the Enemy's ground” (Lewis, p. 44). Despite their desire to prevent or at least control the movement of those in their domain, they are incapable of functioning without it.

There is a very strong biblical theme to be found here. To use C. S. Lewis’s words from Mere Christianity, “evil is a parasite, not an original thing. The powers which enable evil to carry on are powers given it by goodness” (p. 45). In other words, evil is a kind of nothingness. It can only exist by acting upon something exterior to itself, which itself recognizes the superiority of that external object’s Creator. Twenty One Pilots makes this concept literal by characterizing movement itself as the object the bishops fight against. The best the bishops can do is to corrupt movement, either by suppressing it or controlling it in themselves and others. Vialism, the religion of the bishops, is a prominent example. While the banditos are sitting around campfires and carrying flickering torches, the bishops are constructing fluorescent tubes of light (1:20). The banditos embrace the raw, flickering light of the fire, while the bishops control and still it into tubes. They set up their altered lights as the ultimate good, making them into objects of worship in their services in an attempt to devalue the open flame. However, their cause is ultimately futile. If Movement represents Safety from the bishops, then their purpose is ultimately self-destructive because their actions only weaken themselves. This is another core aspect of Christianity, as it emphasizes that evil will not have the final word and God’s people will ultimately triumph over it. The progression of the four videos shows Tyler develop from moving in the backseat of a car to walking and running on his own until he’s eventually performing a concert and being welcomed as a bandito. The bishops follow the same progression, from driving motionless in a car to riding on horseback to walking through overgrown terrain. Tyler’s journey is a celebration, and the bishops begin to lose much of their control over him as he continues on.

The bishops’ hatred of movement is reiterated again in verse two of “Nico and the Niners.” Tyler plans an escape strategy with his listeners, aiming to “start a concert, a complete diversion” (line 33) in order to slip out during the ensuing chaos. Since concerts are full of movement and dancing on a large scale, the bishops would be forced to take extensive action to suppress it all and would provide the banditos with an excellent escape route. The band even conducted their one-off “A Complete Diversion” tour in London, one of the most prominent northern cities in the world, in preparation for Trench’s release (Heaton, 2018). As noted earlier, the North has been imbued with the concept of Misdirection. It represents the well-trodden path that most people attempt to use for escape. By setting up a diversion there and drawing the bishops off, the way is opened up for the banditos to move toward the Salvation found in the East.

Using Lakoff and Johnson’s method of describing the metaphors and providing detailed evidence to support the ways in which “each metaphorical concept might have arisen from our physical and cultural experience” (p. 14), I have demonstrated a number of Christian underpinnings in Twenty One Pilots’ music. They subtly discuss the nature of Jesus, the internal battle against our corrupted human nature, the true path to salvation found in Jesus, and the ultimate triumph of God’s people over evil and death. As this thesis has demonstrated, the world of music has immense potential for high-level study and analysis. While artists like Twenty One Pilots rarely receive the kind of fame they have, the usage of academic criticism is able to highlight their work in a format that lasts far beyond the radio charts. This kind of analysis has the potential to legitimize music, and by extension other forms of creative expression, as a medium worth pondering in the same way that literature and paintings are revered today.

When dealing with much of the modern music industry, the general focus remains almost exclusively on the aesthetic to the detriment of the lyrical. One has only to browse the lyrics of the current top songs (Drake’s “Toosie Slide” at the time of this writing) to recognize their impact. Music influences the culture, which in turn shapes a new generation of music. When meaningful content becomes optional, the content that remains becomes shallow and secondary. As a result, it raises up a generation of people who are ill-prepared to form lasting relationships or find meaning in their lives (Timmerman et. al, 2008).

Twenty One Pilots comes as a breath of fresh air into the world of Top 40s radio. Their music is intensely personal and broadly relatable to the people that pop music has left behind. They sing about their fears, doubts, and failures while maintaining a genuine sense of hope. They use metaphors to convey emotions and mindsets that are hard to express while simultaneously expressing their faith to people who would never step foot in a church. The world of Trench itself is a visualization of Tyler’s mind, one that he openly admits to creating in “Bandito” (lines 36-37). It is simply a tool that he uses to process his thoughts. By creating their music with that goal in mind, Twenty One Pilots ensures that their lyrics remain the focal point. As a result, an audience craving substantive modern music can find something with depth and texture in the songs of Twenty One Pilots.

When the academic world chooses to recognize that kind of lyrical richness in the music industry, it begins the process of redefining what kind of music deserves recognition. Timothy Warner provides a list of pop music characteristics in his book Pop Music: Technology and Creativity, noting its fondness of singles, its artificiality and triviality, and its emphasis on recording as compared to live performances (p. 4). When combined with Timmerman’s findings suggesting a strong correlation between music and future action (2008), the eventual outcome of the current music industry is something we must take immediate steps to counteract.

Music will continue to have an effect on us for the rest of our lives. Its intentionally memorable format makes it arguably the most impactful artistic expression we have. Literature, while profoundly impactful, is not written for memorization. A painting will always be missing details in our heads. Despite this, the academic world has found tremendous value in both mediums through its analyses, and both continue to flourish today. In comparison, music is a multi-sensual experience that naturally lets you know when a piece is missing from its structure. It was designed so that narratives, histories, and cultures could be passed on for generations without losing information in the transition. Regardless of their modern content, songs have a tendency to stick in our minds until another song comes along to replace them. The sheer prevalence of music in today’s culture ensures that most people will encounter it on a regular basis, its accessibility reaching far beyond that of the most famous bestsellers and the most renowned art galleries.

Despite its reach—and perhaps in part because of it—the academic world has largely ignored the music industry. Without the kind of objective standards academic criticism provides, music is left without any icons to aspire to. Criticism provides the necessary feedback and structure required for the industry’s growth. Without it, especially in the age of Soundcloud and Spotify, the most popular artists are the ones who can put out the most aesthetically pleasing music in the shortest amount of time. Singers who want to make a living are often forced to buy into a system where other people write their songs, run their shows, and sell their merchandise in order to keep up with that kind of pace. The result is often a mindlessly catchy tune with lyrics centered around topics that almost anyone can relate to—usually love, influence, wealth, and occasionally friends. When those kinds of songs top the charts, more artists emulate them, and the cycle continues.

Twenty One Pilots’ unique genre of “schizoid pop” remains an outlier in the modern music industry, standing as an example of what music could be. By recognizing Twenty One Pilots and other artists like them, the academic world has the power to start shaping the direction of future artists in a more balanced way. Instead of emphasizing a catchy tune above all else, scholarship serves as a reminder that music is about conveying a message. When the music is about sex, money, and power, that generation will be much more likely to function within the walls of sex, money, and power. Its lack of deeper meaning will teach them not to look for depth in anything else. As Twenty One Pilots puts it in “March To The Sea,” “the emotionless marchers will chant the phrase: ‘This line’s the only way’” (lines 29-30). In order to return music to its original purpose, it is our job as academics to highlight and emphasize music which brings about aesthetic value in service of a message that is worth remembering. With their profoundly metaphorical depictions of the mind, God, and the human condition, Twenty One Pilots is an excellent place to start.

Appendix A:

“A Car, A Torch, A Death”

The air begins to feel a little thin

As I start the car and then I begin

To add the miles piled up behind me

I barely feel a smile deep inside me

And I begin to envy the headlights driving south

I want to crack the door so I can just fall out

But then I remember when you packed my car

You reached in the back and buckled up your heart

For me to drive away with

I began to understand

Why God died

The demon sat there waiting on her porch

It was a little dark so he held a makeshift torch

And when my car was far out of sight

He crept in her room and stayed there for the night

And then I felt chills in my bones

The breath I saw was not my own

I knew my skin that wrapped my frame

Wasn't made to play this game

And then I saw Him, torch in hand

He laid it out, what he had planned

And then I said, I'll take the grave

Please, just send them all my way

And then I felt chills in my bones

The breath I saw was not my own

I knew my skin that wrapped my frame

Wasn't made to play this game

And then I saw Him, torch in hand

He laid it out, what he had planned

And then I said, I'll take the grave

Please, just send them all my way

I began to understand

Why God died

The air begins to feel a little thin

As we're waiting for the morning to begin

But for now you told me to hold this jar

And when I looked inside, I saw

It held your heart

For me to walk away with

I began to understand

Why God died

 

“The Judge”

Na na na na, oh oh

Na na na na, oh oh

Na na na na, oh oh

When the leader of the bad guys sang

Something soft and soaked in pain

I heard the echo from his secret hideaway

He must've forgot to close his door

As he cranked out those dismal chords

And his four walls declared him insane.

I found my way

Right time, wrong place

As I pled my case.

You're the judge, oh no, set me free

You're the judge, oh no, set me free

I know my soul's freezing

Hell's hot for good reason, so please, take me.

Na na na na, oh oh

Na na na na, oh oh

Na na na na, oh oh

Three lights are lit but the fourth one's out

I can tell 'cause it's a bit darker than the last night's bout

I forgot about the drought of light bulbs in this house

So I head out, down a route I think is heading south

But I'm not good with directions and I hide behind my mouth

I'm a pro at imperfections and I'm best friends with my doubt

And now that my mind's out, and now I hear it clear and loud

I'm thinking, "Wow, I probably shoulda stayed inside my house."

I found my way

Right time, wrong place

As I pled my case.

You're the judge, oh no, set me free

You're the judge, oh no, set me free

I know my soul's freezing

Hell's hot for good reason, so please

I don't know if this song is a surrender or a revel

I don't know if this one is about me or the devil.

I don't know if this song is a surrender or a revel

I don't know if this one is about me or the devil.

You're the judge, oh no, set me free, oh no

You're the judge, oh no, set me free, oh no

I know my soul's freezing

Hell's hot for good reason, so please

Na na na na, oh oh

Na na na na, oh oh

Na na na na, oh oh

Na na na na, oh oh (You're the judge, oh no, set me free)

Na na na na, oh oh (You're the judge, oh no, set me free)

Na na na na, oh oh (You're the judge, oh no, set me free)

(Josh Dun!)

(You're the judge, oh no, set me free)

 

“Nico and the Niners”

East is up,

I’m fearless when I hear this on the low,

East is up,

I’m careless when I wear my rebel clothes,

East is up,

When Bishops come together they will know that,

Dema don’t control us, Dema don’t control,

East is up.

They want to make you forget,

They want to make you forget,

Save your razorblades now, not yet,

Save your razorblades now, not yet.

I’m heavy, my Jumpsuit is on steady,

I’m lighter when I’m lower, I’m higher when I’m heavy,

I’m so high, my Jumpsuit takes me so high,

I’m flying from a fire, from Nico and the Niners.

East is up,

I’m fearless when I hear this on the low,

East is up,

I’m careless when I wear my rebel clothes,

East is up,

When Bishops come together they will know that,

Dema don’t control us, Dema don’t control,

I’m heavy, my Jumpsuit is on steady,

I’m lighter when I’m lower, I’m higher when I’m heavy,

I’m so high, my Jumpsuit takes me so high,

I’m flying from a fire, from Nico and the Niners.

What I say when I want to be enough,

What a beautiful day for making a break for it,

We’ll find a way to pay for it,

Maybe from all the money we made razorblade stores,

Rent a race horse and force a sponsor,

And start a concert, a complete diversion,

Start a mob and you can be quite certain,

We’ll win but not everyone will get out, no no.

We’ll win but not everyone will get out, no no.

We’ll win but not everyone will get out.

East is up,

I’m fearless when I hear this on the low,

East is up,

I’m careless when I wear my rebel clothes,

East is up,

When Bishops come together they will know that,

Dema don’t control us, Dema don’t control,

East is up.

 

“March To The Sea”

There's miles of land in front of us

And we're dying with every step we take

We're dying with every breath we make

And I'll fall in line

A stranger's back is all I see

He's only a few feet in front of me

And I'll look left and right sometimes

But I'll fall in line

No one looks up anymore

'Cause you might get a raindrop in your eye

And Heaven forbid they see you cry

As we fall in line

And about this time of every year

The line will go to the ocean pier

And walk right off into the sea

And then we fall asleep

And as we near the end of land

And our ocean graves are just beyond the sand

I ask myself the question

Why I fall in line

Then out of the corner of my eye

I see a spaceship in the sky

And hear a voice inside my head:

Follow me instead

Follow me instead

Follow me

Then the wages of war will start

Inside my head with my counterpart

And the emotionless marchers will chant the phrase:

This line's the only way

And then I start down the sand

My eyes are focused on the end of land

But again the voice inside my head says,

Follow me instead

Follow me instead

Follow me

Follow me instead

Follow me instead

Follow me instead

Follow me instead

Follow me instead

Take me up, seal the door

I don't want to march here anymore

I realize that this line is dead

So I'll follow You instead

So then You put me back in my place

So I might start another day

And once again I will be

In a march to the sea

 

“Bandito”

I could take the high road

But I know that I'm going low

I'm a ban—I'm a bandito

I could take the high road

But I know that I'm going low

I'm a ban—I'm a bandito

I could take the high road

But I know that I'm going low

I'm a ban—I'm a bandito

This is the sound we make

When in between two places

Where we used to bleed

And where our blood needs to be

I could take the high road

But I know that I'm going low

I'm a ban—I'm a bandito

I could take the high road

But I know that I'm going low

I'm a ban—I'm a bandito

I could take the high road

But I know that I'm going low

I'm a ban—I'm a bandito

In city, I feel my spirit is contained

Like neon inside the glass, they form my brain

But I recently discovered

It's a heatless fire

Like nicknames they give themselves to uninspire

Begin with bullet, now add fire to the proof

But I'm still not sure if fear's a rival or a close relative to truth

Either way it helps to hear these words bounce off of you

The softest echo could be enough for me to make it through

Sahlo Folina

Sahlo Folina

Sahlo Folina

Sahlo Folina

I created this world

To feel some control

Destroy it if I want

So I sing someone

Sahlo Folina

Sahlo Folina

I could take the high road

But I know that I'm going low

I'm a ban—I'm a bandito

I could take the high road

But I know that I'm going low

I'm a ban—I'm a bandito

I could take the high road

But I know that I'm going low

I'm a ban—I'm a bandito

I created this world

To feel some control

Destroy it if I want

So I sing

Sahlo Folina

Sahlo

Works Cited

Clancy's Letters. Twenty One Pilots, 18 July 2018, dmaorg.info/found/15398642_

14/clancy.html.

Heaton, Brad. “Twenty One Pilots Announce Special ‘A Complete Diversion’ London Show—Music News.” ABC News Radio, 8 Aug. 2018, abcnewsradioonline.com/music-news/2018/8/20/twenty-one-pilots-announce-special-a-complete-diversion-lond.html.

“How Twenty One Pilots Got Their Name.” YouTube, uploaded by ztvlowdown, 20 Nov. 2012, www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9pWbQbKLFg.

Jethani, Skye. With: Reimagining the Way You Relate to God. Thomas Nelson, 2011.

Joy, Kevin. “With Debut Album Set for Release, Columbus Duo Twenty One Pilots Poised to Break Out.” The Columbus Dispatch, The Columbus Dispatch, 18 Oct. 2012, www.dispatch.com/content/stories/life_and_entertainment/2012/10/18/1-twenty-one-pilots-art-gn8jqp4s-1.html.

Kosloski, Philip. “The Ancient Symbolism of North, South, East and West.” Aleteia, Aleteia, 4 Aug. 2017, aleteia.org/2017/08/04/the-ancient-symbolism-of-north-south-east-and-west/.

Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. Metaphors We Live By. University of Chicago Press, 2017.

Larasatika, Reyuna. “Connotative and Denotative Meaning of Emotion Words in Twenty One Pilots' Blurryface Album.” Repository.uinjkt.ac.id, 21 May 2017, repository.uinjkt.ac.id/dspace/handle/123456789/36518.

Lewis, C. S. The Screwtape Letters and Screwtape Proposes a Toast. HarperOne, An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers, 2013.

Miller, Arthur, and Lynn Nottage. The Penguin Arthur Miller: Collected Plays. Penguin Books, 2015.

Rodríguez, Ángel Manuel. “The Symbolism of the Four Cardinal Directions.” The Symbolism of the Four Cardinal Directions | Biblical Research Institute, Jan. 2008, adventistbiblicalresearch.org/materials/archaeology-and-history/symbolism-four-cardinal-directions.

Syuhudi, Ahmad Hilman. “Figurative Languages Used in Vessel Album by Twenty One Pilots Band.” UMM Institutional Repository, 15 Mar. 2016, eprints.umm.ac.id/21872/.

Timmerman, Lindsay M., et al. “A Review and Meta-Analysis Examining the Relationship of Music Content with Sex, Race, Priming, and Attitudes.” Communication Quarterly, vol. 56, no. 3, 2008, pp. 303–324., doi:10.1080/01463370802240932.

“Twenty One Pilots - Jumpsuit (Official Video).” YouTube, uploaded by twenty one pilots, 11 July 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOUBW8bkjQ4.

“Twenty One Pilots - Levitate (Official Video).” YouTube, uploaded by twenty one pilots, 8 Aug. 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=uv_1AKKKJnk.

“Twenty One Pilots - Nico And The Niners (Official Video).” YouTube, uploaded by twenty one pilots, 26 July 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMAPyGoqQVw.

“Twenty One Pilots: Heavydirtysoul [OFFICIAL VIDEO].” YouTube, uploaded by Fueled By Ramen, 3 Feb. 2017, www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_9Kf0D5BTs.

Warner, Timothy. Pop Music: Technology and Creativity: Trevor Horn and the Digital Revolution. Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, 2017.

“Fra Lippo Lippi”: A Defense for Art and Material Reality

By Elisa Stanczak

At first it might seem as though Robert Browning’s “Fra Lippo Lippi” drastically juxtaposes the flesh and the soul with the season of Carnival and the liturgical season of Lent representing these two opposing mindsets. The subjective viewpoint of the dramatic speaker—a monk of questionable character who is deeply skeptical of his religious superiors—seems to advocate for the former. However, upon inspecting the poem’s form, content, and the speaker himself, a more complex reading comes to light. Though the spiritual and the sensual are seemingly contrasted in his monologue, the speaker of “Fra Lippo Lippi” makes an apology for art as a uniting force, which expresses abstract ideas through realistic, concrete forms. By creating material representations of the soul in his paintings, he elevates the human experience and allows it to participate in the spiritual realm.

Fra Lippo Lippi himself embodies the unity of the spiritual and the material, which at first glance appears to be a walking contradiction to the reader. However, the poem reveals that the views of the monks are, in fact, self-contradictory. Lippi begins the monologue by trying to justify his suspicious circumstances to the guards that catch him “at alley’s end \ where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar” (ll. 5-6) in the middle of the night. The monk is presented in a questionable light as one who chases after the desires of the flesh. He bribes the guards with a “quarter florin” (l. 28) to let him go and appears to make light of the Church, the saints, and scripture throughout his entire speech. While being a man with seemingly secular values, he defends himself by claiming his monastic identity, flaunting his knowledge of the Scriptures and tradition. As a child, he took vows of chastity and poverty, renouncing all material goods and devoting himself to a life of seclusion from worldly pursuits. However, he admits to joining the monastery out of necessity. Lippi needed material reality—bread, shelter, and clothing—to survive. He says, “‘Twas not for nothing—the good bellyful, the warm serge and the rope that goes all round” (ll. 103-104). He enters the monastic tradition to receive the sustenance he previously lacked while living in the world. This proves the importance of the Church’s mission to feed the poor and orphaned, while simultaneously exposing how it contradicts itself. The Church forces its members to denounce the very things that drew them to participate in the divine— the very things God provided for them in order to live.  

Just as Lippi’s persona fuses the monastery with the dark alley, so does his art, through which he elevates the human experience to the transcendent. He talks about painting God and the Virgin Mary with a host of saints, saying, “[W]ell, all these / secured at their devotion, up shall come / Out of a corner when you least expect, / As one by a dark stair into a great light, / Music and talking, who but Lippo! I!” (ll. 359-363). By painting the heavenly realm—an abstract and distant dimension—he transforms it into material reality. Through likening the “flowery angel brood” (l. 349) to “the ladies that crowd to church at midsummer” (l. 352), Job to suffering “Painters who need his patience” (l. 359), and the Prior’s niece to St. Lucy, he makes them accessible. He is even able to interact with these celestial beings as he does with the guards standing before him. When the angels praise his work, his emotions are manifested through visible, physical reactions by blushing and smiling..

This emotional manifestation through facial expression is something that fascinates Lippi. In both his monologue and his art, Lippi often fixates on the human face, which is the soul illustrated in the flesh. He says, “I drew men’s faces on my copybooks, scrawled them with the antiphonary’s marge, / Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes, / Found eyes and nose and chin for A’s and B’s, / And made a string of pictures of the world” (ll. 129-133). Here, he compares the face to a musical score. Music is a purely auditory art form; however, notation allows sound to be seen on a piece of paper and immortalizes it. Similarly, when Lippi draws men’s facial expressions, he takes human emotion—an element of the soul, which has no material shape—and contains it in a physical form. 

Not only the content of the monologue, but the poem’s form itself is a manifestation of the soul through the particular. Browning takes a commonly used and universally familiar form of poetry (iambic pentameter) and manipulates it by breaking the traditional rules of rhyme and rhythmic syllabic structure. By injecting elements of song, not stressing the proper syllables, and inserting ellipses, exclamations, and colloquial speech, Lippi’s language takes on a realistic (almost drunken) nature. He takes an elevated form associated with higher thought and makes it common, transparent, easy to follow. In addition to the form of the poem, the genre itself is also indicative of this idea. The dramatic monologue of a single realistic character in a particular situation—a monk suspected of unlawful behavior— expresses broad, complex, and philosophical theories, such as the purpose of art.  

Throughout the poem, the grammatical structure mirrors the philosophy of the speakers, and the form of speech especially plays an important role in pointing out the fallacies in the Prior’s opinions on the purpose of art. The Prior believes that the soul should be devoid of the material. He instructs Lippi to “Make them forget there’s such a thing as flesh. / Your business is to paint the souls of men—/ Man’s soul, and it’s a fire, smoke… no, it’s not… / It’s vapor done up like a newborn babe—/ (In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth) / It’s… well, what matters talking, it’s the soul! / Give us no more of body than shows the soul” (ll. 183-188). The Prior is stumbling over his words and cannot seem to finish a sentence; he cannot coherently define what the soul is. Language is the form through which humankind can understand reality. Without such structure, it is impossible to make sense of the world. The Prior, in rejecting form, rejects language itself. When he comes close to defining the soul, he can only compare it to natural phenomena like fire, smoke, birth, and death. This language keeps creeping into his speech; he is actively fighting against his instincts to describe the spiritual in familiar, concrete forms.

In his monologue, Fra Lippo Lippi does not separate the spirit and the flesh. On the contrary: He stands firmly against dualism and argues that material reality is an extension of the spiritual realm—a means through which humankind can grasp at higher ideals that are otherwise beyond finite understanding.  The artist-monk believes it is the delight in fleshly beauty that stirs up the soul and allows people to participate in the realm of the divine.


 

Work Cited

Browning, Robert. “Fra Lippo Lippi by Robert Browning.” Poetry Foundation, Poetry Foundation. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43755/fra-lippo-lippi

 

Salvaged

By Bea Fouch

I don’t remember my old name. I do know I was an astronaut on his second to last mission when something went wrong with my rocket. Maybe my crew mates had already died, or maybe no one had been with me on that trip. All I know is I was alone as I hurtled through the sky toward earth. I only recall the few brief seconds before my rocketship took a nosedive and was curb-stomped by gravity, crushing the skull of the ship, and me with it.

When I woke up, all I could feel was pain. My body was shattered into a million little pieces. I was peering through the window of the ship, the glass blown out in indiscriminate bits, just like my body. Where was I? I could feel parts of me at the back of the ship. Was that a part of my leg? My lungs seemed to be located somewhere above me. My vision was split. One of my eyes must have come out of its socket. I felt intense pain, the pain felt by a scraped knee filled with gravel, but instead of just my knee, it was my whole body. I would’ve cried in agony, but I had no face and no tears.

I rolled my eyes around to survey the damage. Garbage. I was surrounded and filled with garbage. Every bit of my body was crumpled and mixed with metal, bottles, plastic utensils, dirt, waste bags, and decomposed food. My nose was gone, so, mercifully, I didn’t have to endure the stench. Just the hurt. Thankfully, the pain was transitioning from sharp and stabbing to a deep, aching throb that, while overwhelming, was more bearable. Eventually, I decided I’d try to move. I used all of my energy to pull my particles together, to summon my body as I did every morning when getting out of bed, but it was exhausting, and I knew that parts of myself would never return to me. I felt voices. I couldn’t hear them exactly—I don’t know if I had any ears to speak of at this point—but I could sense them. I knew there were other souls in the junkyard with me. I spoke back to them as best I could, but it was more of a telekinetic moan.

“We’ll help you!” twin voices responded, very quiet and innocent and eager. That was my first clue that they were children. I felt a tiny something reach for one of my eyes. Everything went dark for a moment and then I could see clearly. I looked around anxiously. Hands. I saw tiny little hands quietly moving pieces of me together. I was so startled, I almost cried out. The hands were tinier than an infant’s, so small and disconnected from anybody. There didn’t seem to be any other parts of them that were visibly human. I couldn’t see the rest of their bodies. It seemed that they were comprised of some human fragments and the rest of them I couldn’t quite see, as if they were covered up by garbage, or perhaps sentient garbage.

 “Here, let’s hold this piece like this…” said a girl’s voice.

“Ok, let me get this part of his leg,” responded another voice, which sounded like a boy.

The two of them worked in tandem to put my face and head together, which I was now able to turn more easily. Then came my heart, lungs, and organs, as much of them as they could find. Then my ribcage and chest and legs and arms. I could feel that my particles were back together, but I was a garbage-filled humanoid, only a shadow of the man I used to be.

“I’m so sorry, Mister. We had to use a lot of garbage to hold you together…,” said the girl.

“Most of your body was lost in the crash,” said the boy sadly.

“You saw the crash?” I managed to mumble.

“Oh, yes!” said the girl.

“We watched the rocket shoot down out of the sky, and we were so frightened and very sad to see you crash,” said the boy.

“Which direction did I come from?” I asked, still not remembering anything before the impact.

“We don’t know…”

They both seemed to say this at the same time, and even though I couldn’t see them, I felt them shake their heads.

“What was it like, Mister?” asked the girl.

I furrowed my brows in thought. Distant memories of firefighters, policemen, astronauts, and questions came back to me. They felt fuzzy and warm, like the touch of a blanket. Were they my memories? I couldn’t tell. I felt respect, admiration, courage, and hope. All the emotions were so raw, so fresh, so childlike, that I stumbled over my words as I answered.

“I don’t… I don’t really remember…,” I said sorry to disappoint the children. I wished I had more to tell them. They felt so eager to know more about me.

“Oh,” said the little boy and girl together. I felt as if they were one person, but I wasn’t sure how that was possible. Their emotions and thoughts were oddly in tune. I could almost sense them holding hands, but there was nothing of them left to see.

“Are you siblings?” I wondered aloud.

“No,” the little boy answered. I sensed a smile and a blush. I sensed only sweet ignorance from the little girl.

“Where did you two come from?” I asked with curiosity.

There was a pause filled with radio silence from the two of them. I could hear the rustle of wind through the air. The silence was pregnant with some emotion I couldn’t ascertain or understand.

The little girl’s voice broke the silence like rain on a cloudy day—soft, small, and warm.

“Our parents… didn’t want us.” I could feel her shrug her shoulders.

“They were afraid,” said the little boy. “We were forced to leave our home... and we found ourselves here.”

“What do you remember?” I asked, not understanding how two children could end up abandoned in a junkyard.

The little girl sighed. “I remember feeling so warm and safe… at first. There was water all around me, and I was floating, listening to voices. I was so excited, I wanted to come out of my room and see all the voices I could hear. But then, when they learned I was growing in my room, the voices became afraid and angry. I was so afraid.”

“I tried to curl up and make myself go away. I tried to go to another room, but the voices got so angry when I pounded on the door that I stopped and tried to make myself as small as possible. I was so scared. Then one day, I could hear all these beeps and lots of other voices I’d never heard before. And then, I felt sharp pains all over me and I cried and cried inside for it to stop.”

“Then I saw light for a moment and all these faces. I think I saw my mother’s face. She was very beautiful. I don’t think she saw me. Then I was put into a dark thing, and after a long time, I found myself here. I was very confused for a while. Then I heard him.” I could sense her looking at her friend.

“It was pretty much the same for me. I was crying inside when she heard me.” His voice stopped. I couldn’t tell if he was sad or just empty of emotion.

“I… I’m sorry…,” I said.

I wasn’t sure what it all meant, but my stomach, or the pieces of my stomach, ached as though I was grieving.

“That’s O.K.,” said the girl. “Do you think you can move, Mister?”

I tried, but it was useless.

“Don’t worry,” said the boy. “We can hold you together.”

I felt their tiny arms and hands wrap around me. Somehow, they were holding all my pieces together. I could sense their affection for one another and for me. Then, I knew what happened to them. They were unwanted babies, killed before they had a chance to live. I had never been a parent. Never really thought about kids to be honest. But at that moment, I felt myself becoming a father. I was immediately filled with some paternal instinct I didn’t know I had. I could feel all their pain, their fear of abandonment, their sorrow. It was enough to make me weep. I wanted to hold them, but they were holding me.

I hugged my own ribcage and cried. They cried with me. It was a strange mixture of sensing others’ emotions with my own. I could feel their essences settle on either side of my chest.

“Why aren’t you in Heaven?” I whispered. I had never been one to ponder spiritual, but the question came out as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“We haven’t been buried yet,” the little girl said quietly.

It dawned on me. These two little ones were barely more than ghosts. I myself was hardly more than that, a trash carcass held together by three consciousnesses. I felt it was my duty to lay us all to rest. But not there. I wouldn’t have minded for myself, but I wasn’t about to bury the children in a junkyard.

“Come on,” I said, feeling more strength and rising to my feet.

“Where are we going?” The little boy asked, holding tightly to my chest.

“Home,” I said quietly. These two had never had a home. Never would have any human home on this earth.

We walked in silence for some time, wading through the sea of garbage. When we reached the end of the junkyard, I could see green hills bursting with color. My spirit cried at the sight.

“What is all this green stuff?” The little boy asked with delight.

“Grass,” I said. In my mind’s eye, I saw puppies and water sprinklers, watermelon and refried beans. I had a faint memory of running barefoot on the lawn with someone who could have been my sister.

“What is it like?” The girl asked. She needed a name. Her voice, soft and somehow rich reminded me of deep purple. I named her Violet.

“What is what like, Violet?” I asked, trying to picture her eyes wide with wonder.

“Living?” she asked.

I realized what a privilege it was to exist. To have ever seen a tree, put food in my mouth, talk with someone who loved me. Funny how I had to die to come fully alive.

“Tell us! Please?” asked my little boy. I wasn’t sure why, but sandcastles and toy cars and the name Tommy came to mind. I smiled. This little boy, my son, was Tommy.

“”Life is... Well, life is hard, but wonderful. You have a body that can move around, and you can eat things. You can play with friends.” I continued to tell them about work and school and trees and animals. In telling them, I reflected onand measured my own life, which was coming back to me not in memories but in feelings. A pang of sorrow, the heaviness of regret, the heat of anger, the euphoria of joy.

We continued on our journey across the junkyard. I remembered a few jokes, which took some explaining, but eventually, we laughed, Violet‘s sounding like soft murmurs of happiness, Tommy’s more like a joyous explosion I shared any faint recollections I had about life that may have interested them. They loved every minute of it.

At last, we came to a grove of trees. I don’t know how I knew, but there was a graveyard just beyond the grove. I felt like a gardener, looking for the best place to plant his most prized roses. I also felt like Gilliat from Toilers of the Sea, a beautiful, obscure book written by Victor Hugo. I wasn‘t sure why the memory was so strong when so many other earth things were forgotten, but I remembered the moment when Gilliat stood in the ocean and watched his beloved Deruchette sail away, knowing she would never return to him. Still, perhaps I would see my adopted children again. Perhaps I, too, would make it to Heaven. I found myself talking to God, asking for his mercy. I asked him to forgive my faults and gross-negligence of the days He had given me. I thanked Him for life. I thanked Him for my children. I thanked Him for the gift of understanding, at last, what love meant.

The children were tired. Not just tired, they were growing thinner, like paper. I could feel them tremble like little leaves waving in the wind. They needed to fall from their tree, but they refused to let go. We walked out into the graveyard and I searched for a suitable resting place. The sun was setting at the top of a hill. That was it. The children needed to see the glory of a sunset before they left this earth. I trudged up the hill, trying to use my strength and not theirs. I kept talking to them, pleading inside for them to stay with me until they could see the sunset. At last, we reached the top.

The two of them gasped, and I could feel my chest swell with the emotion of three souls. “It’s so beautiful, Daddy,” Violet’s voice trembled. She reached out for Tommy’s hand. I was suddenly aware that the two of them were designed for each other. Had they lived, they would have met, gone through live together, , perhaps had children of their own and grown old together. But they had loved each other even in death. They may not have known what love meant in the way adults speak of it, but they knew it better than I ever had.

I reached down to my leg and found a shovel. I pulled it out of my humanoid form and began to dig. It took all my effort not to use Violet and Tommy’s energy, and my particles were beginning to hurt in a very dull, numbing, bone-weary kind of way , but I kept going. At last, the grave was dug.

I looked at the sunset and then at the grave. The hole in the earth did not seem frightening, but warm and comforting. After feeling so much weariness and feeling stretched thin, how wonderful it would be to lie down to rest. I sighed and the children sighed with me. We enjoyed the last bits of color that streaked the sky, the last bits of conversation, the last bits of laughter. “Alright kids,” I said, “It’s time for bed.” They each gave me a kiss before I said goodnight and goodbye.

“We love you,” the children whispered to me, so quiet, as though I were tucking them in for bed.

“I love you, too,” I said brokenly, beginning to weep.

“Don’t cry, Dad, we’ll see you soon,” Tommy said resolutely.

“O.K.,” I nodded.

Violet was the first to slip away. I could feel her close her eyes and drift off, exhausted but peaceful. Then Tommy went. I could picture them holding hands as they walked up to the gate. Then I put my hand to my chest, where my heart had once been. I fell silently into the grave, first hoping, then praying, then knowing I would see my children again.

That Wonderful Sensation of Being Known: A Look at Critical Race Theory, the Teen Activist Protagonist, and the Use of Culture in Jenny Han’s "To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before"

By Haley Jones

1. Introduction

Within the world of literary criticism, Young Adult literature is a neglected area of study. The lack of academic interest in this field is nothing short of baffling, considering it is a genre that can explore overarching themes and help readers and critics gain an intimate perspective on this generation of young people’s ideological beliefs, self-perceptions, and worldviews. Within the last few years, many novels centered around social justice— specifically lobbying for socioeconomic equality for minority populations— have taken the spotlight in terms of popular reading for teens and young adults. Following the commercial success of Angie Thomas’s The H8 U Give, these novels are similar to the wave of dystopian trilogies that took over the YA genre after the initial virality of Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games, or the vampire craze following Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. Still, the market of Young Adult literature is now open for stories in which a person-of-color protagonist works to liberate and stabilize their ethnic community.

It was in this market that Netflix announced the release of the movie adaptation of Jenny Han’s 2014 novel To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. The movie, released in 2018 brought a YA community looking for diverse protagonists to Han’s novel. However, readers were shocked to find that very little of TATBILB’s plot has to do with the protagonist being a person-of-color. Although the main character of the novel, Lara Jean, is a mixed-race Korean American, the plot focuses mainly on her romance with a classmate and her relationship with her family. While this brought criticism down on Han’s portrayal of the American POC experience, the criticism this novel draws fails to take many things into consideration. Within the realm of critical race theory (CRT) exists a strategy called “counterstorytelling,” in which an author takes the societal expectations surrounding race and flips it on its head, deconstructing the expectations set by the audience (Delgado & Stefancic 49-50). Because of this very form of storytelling, it could be argued that Jenny Han’s portrayal of Lara Jean, in not complying with the trend of the racial hero, releases young readers-of-color from the pressure of having to “fix” things within their ethnic communities, as well as giving an honest portrayal of the life of a normal teenager of color through the text’s use of culture.

 

2. Representation and Activism in Young Adult Literature.

There are always those who conjecture that ethnic representation is not a struggle in the modern world, especially within the realm of literature. The point of reading, after all, is to grow one’s imagination  — this is especially true in the world of Children’s and Young Adult literature. If the expectation is that white readers should read stories about protagonists-of-color and empathize with them, then young readers-of-color should be able to do the same thing with a white protagonist. In this way, it is easy to trivialize and fictionalize the hard truth of why representation is important.

To understand the root of the issue, one would have to realize that, according to the Cooperative Children’s Book Center (CBCC), 50 percent of the 3,134 children’s books published in 2018 had white protagonists (Cooperative Children’s Book Center). The second leading demographic after that were books featuring animal and non-human protagonists, which came in at 27 percent (Cooperative Children’s Book Center). After subtracting those two, the remaining number of books could be broken down into 10 percent featuring an African American protagonist, seven percent with an Asian or Pacific Islander protagonist, five percent with a Latinx protagonist, and finally one percent with an American Indian/First Nations protagonist (Cooperative Children’s Book Center). These numbers ultimately mean that less than a quarter of children’s books published in the United States in 2018 starred a protagonist-of-color. Animal protagonists, in fact, dominated a larger share of the market than the diverse protagonists had combined.

While looking at the quantity of available Young Adult and Children’s literature starring a protagonist-of-color is abysmal, examining the quality of that representation is not much better. With YA being one of the only genres of literature aimed specifically at teenagers with the intent of entertainment, it would be wise of the author to bring characters to life on the page who reflect the reality and experience of the intended reader. While there are genres within the larger Young Adult genre that do not reflect the real world—for instance, science fiction and fantasy—there is a baseline of POC (person-of-color) experience that transcends the bounds of reality and fiction. While Lara Jean does not engage in activism in the novel, she has a baseline of experience as a POC in her narrative. In her book The Dark Fantastic, Ebony Elizabeth Thomas touches on this concept, stating that it is,

one of the most pressing problems in all genres of young adult literature, media, and culture —a long-entrenched lack of diversity—and its implications for young people who are not mirrored in those texts…. When youth grow up without seeing diverse images in the mirrors, windows, and doors of children’s and young adult literature, they are confined to single stories about the world around them and, ultimately, the development of their imagination is affected. (4-6)

Thomas explains that, when representation does occur, it is often in stereotype. She cites this phenomenon as the driving issue behind the reason some teenagers and children-of-color dislike reading. Understandably, perhaps these diverse readers consider that the few protagonists that resemble one’s culture and experience turn out to be gross stereotypes.

Additionally, seeing proper representation in the media one consumes plays an important role in how young readers view themselves. In her essay “Authentic Multicultural Literature for Children: An Author’s Perspective,” Elizabeth Fitzgerald Howard posits that, if the purpose of literature is liberation,

the purpose of authentic multicultural literature is to help liberate us from all the preconceived stereotypical hang-ups that imprison us within narrow boundaries. Non-majority readers will be liberated from the invisibility imposed from without, the invisibility that says loudly to children, “You don’t count.” (93)

When young people are deprived of the opportunity to see themselves mirrored in the texts they study or in the media they look to for entertainment, they are receiving a clear message that their story is unimportant—that the stories of people like them are not interesting or worth creating.

This disparity between white protagonists and protagonists-of-color, as well as the emerging data about publication of these stories, sparked the #OwnVoices and #RepresentationMatters movements. These hashtags advocate for POC authors’ writing stories for young people in their communities, demanding that publishers work harder at elevating diverse stories. These movements, however, have veered into the territory of deciding which POC stories in Young Adult literature are authentic enough. One of the many novels to receive negative criticism from well-meaning but misguided judgments on the tail of this movement is Jenny Han’s To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before.

The biggest issue with TATBILB, it seems, is the fact that Lara Jean’s character does not serve any larger purpose to her ethnic community. Beyond that, some of the criticism leveled against Han is that her novel is “yet another person-of-color’s romance that revolves around white people” (Kondo). Additionally, there were quite a few angry comments floating around on Twitter over Han’s choice to make Lara Jean a character of mixed race (Korean and white). Moreover, readers complained that while she is a protagonist-of-color, her Korean culture takes a back seat in the narrative; she seems to be surrounded by an entirely white cast of characters. All of these accusations, of course, are true. These legitimate concerns aside, Lara Jean nonetheless represents a good representation of a protagonist-of-color.

Despite the truth of these critiques, it is too simplistic (and frankly, could be classified as a form of gatekeeping) to say that Lara Jean cannot join the pantheon of great YA protagonists of color. While she does not do anything of significance for her ethnic group within the novel, her Korean culture still helps shape the narrative in a way that would not have been possible had she been written white. Additionally, as a person of mixed race, Lara Jean sees the world in a way that is completely different from a person born into a fully Korean or fully white family, and that difference comes with its own pitfalls and perks as well. To say that Lara Jean’s story is not of value to young readers-of-color is, at its core, a lazy evaluation of a good story, and part of the problem ascribed to Young Adult literature overall.

3. YA Criticism and Educational Narratives

One of the largest issues in criticizing Young Adult literature is that there seems to be only two approaches. In her book examining criticism of Young Adult and Children’s literature, Amie Doughty notes that the two schools of thought believe that literature for young people can only be criticized from either an educational or a literary standpoint (Doughty 2). Even from a literary standpoint, a lot of the early criticism of YA was based on how the readers responded to what they read, which was not such a far cry from the educational criticism. Only in recent years has YA criticism expanded to allow for other forms of literary criticism, including critical race theory. In expecting Lara Jean to serve the role of a spokesperson for Korean Americans, critics are solely looking at this novel through the lens of educational criticism, which does not fit the novel’s theme or message in the slightest. Additionally, this imposes the expectation onto protagonists of color (and, consequently, teens of color) that they must experience and fight back against oppression in order for their stories to matter.

This drive toward activism in Young Adult and Children’s literature is indicative of a larger movement in society toward child and teen activists. From Greta Thunberg taking on President Donald Trump on Twitter  over climate change, to Amariyanna Copeny (otherwise known as Little Miss Flint) advocating for clean water in her hometown, it is no wonder that literature is following the arc of history. Browsing the shelves of bookstores, shoppers will see quite a few new titles featuring young protagonists who might resemble real-life youth activists.  Kathy G. Short asserts that it is vital for children and young adults to see activism in their literature because, “these books provide demonstrations that children, not just adults, are responsible for and capable of social action” (Short 137). However, it should not be the job of children and teenagers to fix the systems that oppress them, and it should not have to be part of their leisure reading. Kids are smart enough to see inequality in the world and know it is wrong. The literature created for them should offer a reprieve from the trauma of being a person of color in America, rather than just producing stories in which their struggles are somehow solved by someone they may not feel capable of matching up to.

Activism and social justice is important to address in YA literature as it can help raise    adults who are mindful of the world around them and the advantages or disadvantages afforded to others. However, bringing back into consideration the fact that there are so few books being published featuring protagonists of color, it is concerning to see that the market is being flooded by books featuring characters of color primarily as activists. Again, kids and teens use the examples they see in literature and popular culture as a measure for who they should be, and when children and teens of color see themselves primarily or solely represented in media as activists, the message being sent is that activism is the only way their story carries any importance. The message being sent is that their stories are only relevant in correlation to the level of oppression they experience and fight back against it.  This societal inclination toward young activist narratives is what Lara Jean counters in TATBILB.

 4. Race and Culture in To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before

Jenny Han’s 2014 novel To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before follows the story of starry-eyed romantic Lara Jean Song-Covey, a sixteen-year-old high school girl who writes parting letters to the boys she falls in love with to help herself get over the unreciprocated feelings. This coping mechanism seems to work for a time, until the letters are sent to their designated recipients without Lara Jean’s knowledge. Lara Jean finds herself having to deal with the fallout of every boy she has ever loved finding out exactly how she felt about them—including her older sister Margot’s ex-boyfriend, Josh. In order to avoid the disintegration of her most valued relationships, Lara Jean agrees to be the fake girlfriend of Peter Kavinsky— her middle school crush and one of the letter recipients— to convince Josh that she is over him. This ploy is executed perhaps too perfectly, as Lara Jean soon realizes she is beginning to have real feelings for her fake boyfriend.

Given the sitcom-esque plotline, it would be hard to find exactly where culture plays a definitive role in this novel. To be transparent, culture does not have a prominent purpose in the plot of the story. In fact, Lara Jean only explicitly discusses her Korean background ten times throughout the entire novel. It would be simple to equate quantity with quality in this case and dismiss the whole book as race-baiting readers into reading about a character who could have been written white without changing any of the plot. However, in order to truly understand why this book holds value for readers, one must look at how Lara Jean addresses culture versus how many times she does it.  In doing this, readers will find that Lara Jean’s experience as a mixed-race person is not treated in an exotified way, but as an integral part of who she is and how she views the world. Additionally, in writing Lara Jean outside of the realm of a teenage activist, Han’s presentation of her character allows teens to see that their story matters outside of the ways in which they are expected to represent and liberate their ethnic community.

Beginning in the first few pages of the novel, Lara Jean explicitly states the way in which she feels influenced by her Korean side despite the death of her mother. She and her sisters refer to themselves as the Song girls rather than the Covey girls, choosing their mother’s Korean surname rather than their father’s white one, because “[M]om used to say that she was a Song girl for life, and Margot said then we should be too…[;] we look more Song than Covey, anyway, more Korean than white” (Han 9). From a simple visibility standpoint, Lara Jean is a person of color no matter that she is half white. Even Lara Jean's presentation as Korean is a major point toward her merit as a character who promotes representation in her genre. Later in the book, when she is considering her options for Halloween costumes, Lara Jean remarks that,

“there are very limited options for Asian girls on Halloween. Like one year I went as Velma from Scooby-Doo, but people just asked me if I was a manga character… This year I’m going as Cho Chang from Harry Potter… I’m not going to win any contests, but at least people will know what I am. I wish I never have to answer a What are you? question ever again.” (Han 225)

Lara Jean is not unaffected by the way that she physically appears Asian and is, therefore, not immune to microaggressions that readers experience in their own lives as well. In her book on people of mixed heritage in YA, Nancy Reynolds states that in the experience of many children of mixed heritage, the half that is not white becomes the definitive identity upon first glance  (Reynolds 20-21). This means that Lara Jean being half white offers her little to none of the privilege many seem to think it does, and because she is visibly “otherized,” she is treated accordingly. This makes her relatable to any teen of color who tried to dress as Harry or Hermione for Halloween and was mistaken for Angela, Cho, or Dean. They will have felt this particular pain, resonating with repulsion at the question of “what are you?” She is not feeling aversion to being a person of color or ashamed of heritage, but rather she does not want to encounter assumptions made on the basis of racial presentation. Lara Jean in these passages is not talking explicitly about her culture; no mention appears of hanboks or kimchi, yet she is still all too aware of her status as an Asian American.

Lara Jean’s resentment at the question of “what are you?” especially connects with her mixed-race background. In her essay on biracial characters in Children’s Literature, Amina Chaudhri claims,

Whether real or fictional, anyone who has to answer the “what are you?” question, who must explain appearance, cultural connection, linguistic difference, struggle to prove group membership, has been socially and emotionally isolated because of difference, or been denied voice and agency, does so because of deeply embedded limited perceptions of race and culture. (Chaudhri 97)

Lara Jean’s apparent disdain at being asked “what are you?” is so clearly rooted in her being of mixed-race heritage. One could ask why Han did not choose to make the novel include more of Lara Jean’s struggle as a mixed kid. Again, Chaudhri notes that “it is problematic when the repetition of these themes [of internalized racial confusion] creates a one-dimensional, essentialized representation that ends up being understood as inherent to mixed-race identity” (Chaudhri 97). Turning the character of Lara Jean into a teen girl in crisis over her identity is as good as telling young audiences that the only way mixed kids can exist is in a state of perpetual confusion over who they really are. While Lara Jean does resent the question of “what are you?,” it is not because it makes her question who she is, but rather because she knows her identity goes beyond just the racialized way in which others view her. Moreover, while her Korean heritage is important to her, it is not the only significant thing about her.

In the few times that Lara Jean talks openly about her culture, she does not ever exotify it or assume that her audience would not be able to identify with what she is talking about. It is not that she does not explain things, because she does.  What she does not do is make the blending of her cultural background into a big event. In a passage where she describes her father’s making Korean food for her sisters and her, Lara Jean simply says, “When my dad has a day off, he cooks Korean food… it’s because he doesn’t want us to lose our connection with our Korean side… [He]’s made bo ssam, which is pork shoulder you slice up and then wrap in lettuce” (Han 98). The meal also includes store-bought kimchi, pepper paste, and soy sauce with scallions and ginger. At another point in the novel, Lara Jean and her sisters talk about yogurt drinks they can only buy at the Korean grocery store in town (Han 154). While these mentions of cultural food and drink seem to be mundane, they do hold significance. In her book on culturally responsive teaching, Zaretta Hammond discusses that young students will scaffold previous knowledge in order to grasp new concepts, and students of color in particular will use their culture as their scaffolding for new concepts (Hammond 15).  It has been proven that this method of thinking helps strengthen student’s ability to connect with the world around them (Hammond 15). Because of this connection,critics would do well to remember that Lara Jean does not describe how her culture influences her everyday life because in her mind—and in the minds of readers who grew up in culturally diverse situations—it is ingrained in the way she sees the world. She does not take time to explain the cultural significance of food because it is just part of her regular life. To exotify her life would be to defamiliarize her from her own culture and experience as a mixed-race person. Doing so would certainly defamiliarize her character from an audience who most likely talk about their own cultures in the same way.

Finally, in one seemingly inconsequential moment, Han creates a space for Lara Jean’s character to find common ground with another character in terms of her culture. Lucas, one of the letter recipients, approaches Lara Jean in the hallway at school to return the letter and thank her for her honesty, but to tell her that he is gay and cannot reciprocate her feelings. However, he asks her not to share that information with others, explaining that, “‘I just let people believe what they please. I don’t feel like it’s my responsibility to quantify myself for them...As a biracial person, I’m sure people are always asking you what race you are, right?’” (Han 157). Lara Jean and Lucas bond over this shared experience of involuntarily bearing the weight of others expectations due to assumptions made without their knowledge. Lara Jean remarks that they share a smile and she feels “that wonderful sensation of being known by someone” (Han 157). While, at a first glance, this exchange seems insignificant or just a way of Han’s tying up loose ends with the other letter recipients, it is actually a deliberate move to deconstruct how teenagers are impacted by the boundaries that society creates in labelling people with or without their knowledge or permission. Because of the racialized world within the book and in reality, Lara Jean is constantly expected to “perform” mixed-racial experience, and Lucas is pressured to display his sexuality in either full Pride display or in receding into the closet. By finding a middle ground in which they are comfortable, both of these characters actively push against these expectations. They ultimately set the example for readers who identify with them and show that it is not necessary to perform trauma or be hurt in order to meet unrequested expectations. Chaudhri calls for a dismantling of racialized trauma in YA fiction: “What is needed now is representation of a diverse range of experiences that include non-traumatic circumstances” (103). When the publishing industry amplifies trauma narratives for teenagers of color, it effectively tells readers that their story is only valuable because of their trauma.

Ultimately, much of the pressure placed on Lara Jean’s character in the wake of the #OwnVoices movement originate with the expectation for characters and especially protagonists of color to perform oppression and trauma in order to make weighty statements about society, injustice, and the cause for equality. While these pursuits are inherently noble, they cannot be the only way in which the YA literature market reaches teens and children of color. Having established that these young readers take the examples presented in the media they consume and use them as a way through which to measure and perceive themselves, it is incredibly harmful to feed them narratives that solely place them at the center of revolutionary activism. Han’s evasion of the teenage activist trope means that, despite what she may have intended for her novel, she has created a story in which a mixed teenager of color’s story does not revolve around the trauma of being a POC, and her story is still important and worth reading. This counternarrative shows diverse readers that they do not have to save anyone for their story to matter—that their experience is important even if it is a silly story about being in love.

 5. Conclusion

It seems like a YA romance novel turned Netflix adaptation is a strange hill to fight and die on, yet there is a reason that TATBILB skyrocketed in popularity the way it did. The market has the space and the audience for novels in which a person of color does nothing more than fall in love. Although adults may find it trivial and question the purpose of having a protagonist of color serve such a “fluffy” role, clearly something about Lara Jean resonated with many young people. Jenny Han’s novel creates a space in which teens of color could see themselves represented as they might feel in their daily lives. Lara Jean frets about school; she cares for her sisters and her father; she experiences racism and finds her own way to deal with it. A character like Lara Jean’s existence holds significance because of the ways in which she does not comply with the expectations set for protagonists of color. Consequently, she shows teenagers who identify with her character that trauma is not the only way in which a person of color’s story can matter.

While there are still those who may assert that Lara Jean’s Korean half is not nearly explored in enough detail through the novel, it is important to counter by noting that cultural heritage is not the only way in which a person of color’s story can matter. Lara Jean’s experience as a person of color is enough, even if she does not struggle with identity as a mixed person, and even if she is not violently attacked for her visible ethnicity. Setting up characters to compete in oppression contests only serves the purpose of, again, using trauma as justification for telling a POC story. Teenagers are aware of the world around them, and movements such as the March for Our Lives are a testament to that. This is not to say that stories including trauma and oppression in the POC experience are not important or worthy of reading, but more effort must be exerted to strike a balance. Movements such as #RepresentationMatters and #OwnVoices cannot veer into the realm of which experience is legitimate or worth publishing, because all stories involving POC main characters should be celebrated and elevated. Every teenager deserves to read a story where they can experience “that wonderful feeling of being known.”


 

Works Cited

Chaudri, Amina. “Growing Mixed/Up: Multiracial Identity in Children’s and Young Adult Literature.” Diversity in Youth Literature: Opening Doors Through Reading, edited by Jamie Campbell Naidoo et al, ALA Editions, 2013, pp. 95-104.

Cooperative Children’s Book Center. “Publishing Statistics on Children’s/YA Books About People of Color and First/Native Nations and by People of Color and First/Native Nations Authors and Illustrators.” University of Wisconsin-Madison School of Education, 2018. https://ccbc.education.wisc.edu/books/pcstats.asp. Accessed 13 Apr. 2020.

Delgado, Richard, et al. Critical Race Theory: An Introduction. Third edition., New York University Press, 2017.

Doughty, Amie A. Children’s and Young Adult Literature and Culture: A Mosaic of Criticism. Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2016. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&AuthType=shib&db=nlebk&AN=1339055&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

Hammond, Zaretta, and Yvette Jackson. Culturally Responsive Teaching and the Brain : Promoting Authentic Engagement and Rigor among Culturally and Linguistically Diverse Students. Corwin, a SAGE Company, 2015.

Han, Jenny. To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. Simon & Schuster, 2014.

Howard, Elizabeth Fitzgerald. “Authentic Multicultural Literature for Children: An Author’s Perspective.” The Multicultural Mirror:Cultural Substance in Literature for Children and Young Adults, edited by Merri V. Lindgren, Highsmith Press, 1991, pp. 91-100

Kondo, Oxford. “‘To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before’ Has Creepy Racial Things Going On.” Plan A Magazine, 31 Jan. 2020, https://planamag.com/to-all-the-boys-i-ve-loved-before-has-creepy-racial-things-going-on-ad513e4dd470.

Reynolds, Nancy Thalia. Mixed Heritage in Young Adult Literature. Scarecrow Press, 2009. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&AuthType =shib&db=nlebk&AN=267371&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

Short, Kathy G. “The Right to Participate: Children as Activists in Picturebooks.” Critical Content Analysis of Children’s and Young Adult Literature, edited by Holly Johnson et al, Routledge, 2017, pp. 137-154.

Thomas, Ebony Elizabeth. The Dark Fantastic. New York University Press, 2019.

A Hairrowing Tale

By Solomon Taylor 

Chapter 1—Rocks

Jacob panted as he ran. His pursuer had disappeared at some point in the last few seconds, but he didn't have time to see where they had ended up. He ducked past trees and punched his feet through at least three overripe apples before he finally flattened himself out behind an outcropping of rocks. It was quiet for a moment as he caught his breath. A tuft of his auburn hair fell into his eye. He blew it aside. There was a familiar whisper in the wind, distinct, but not quite audible. He strained to hear what it was saying.

The rocks shot up from the ground.

Levitating, they began to pile on top of him, pinning his legs, his arms, his back. Jacob struggled, feeling the rocks press down harder than they were ever intended to.

"You're dead!" A familiar face with curly brown hair peeked out from the branches of the apple tree. Brian dropped down and ran over to his friend laughing.

"Seriously? Of all the places to hide, you chose a pile of rocks?"

"I didn't think you would expect it!" Jacob said, wedging an arm free and throwing a loose pebble. It missed. "How did you get ahead of me?"

"Tunneling! You'd be amazed at how easy it is to get around down there. Merlin has been showing me the routes." Brian reached out a hand to help his friend up, allowing the rocks to fall away in the process. Jacob stood up and rolled his shoulders. "I wish I had the hair for tricks like that. All I get to learn is how to make people trust me and forget their things."

"Are you kidding me?" Brian laughed. "That's about the coolest thing you can do! What good is the ability to crush you with a rock if you can just convince me we're best friends?"

"But we are best friends."

"Well, how do I know that? Maybe I was an assassin sent to kill you an hour ago, and you just convinced me that we've grown up together?"

Jacob laughed at the thought. "If someone wanted to kill me, they'd have to send someone a lot more competent than you."

"Says the guy who just got buried alive."

"See, you've proved my point. Your abilities are way more powerful than mine!"

Brian paused for a moment. "That's not- Wait, how did I end up arguing for you?"

Jacob spread his arms wide, grinning. "You said it yourself, your powers can beat mine. Accept it."

Brian flicked a pebble at him. "Fine, I'm better than you."

"Hey!"

~*~

As the sun began to tuck itself into the trees for the night, Jacob sat by the fire with Brian. Training was over for the day and the portcullis had been shined, so they were given the rest of the night to themselves. Jacob chuckled.

“What?” Brian asked.

“This afternoon! I still haven’t gotten over it.”

Brian hid a smile as he rubbed his head. “It wasn’t that funny.”

This time Jacob burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? You came up straight into a tree! The closest route was thirty feet away! How in the earth did you miss it that badly?”

“Look, just because I hit a tree…”

“Brian, you knocked it out of the ground!”

“It didn’t hit anything!”

“It crushed Merlin’s falcon!”

“Oh, come on,” Brian said, “he hasn’t been hunting in years!”

“He was going to take me out tomorrow!” Jacob said. “But ah well.” He smiled again. “You’re never gonna live that down, you know that?”

“You know,” Brian decided, “next time I’m gonna leave that pile of rocks on top of you.”

“Aw come on, I’m too valuable for that. Who else would you use for target practice?” Jacob elbowed his friend playfully. “Surely not Alina?”

“Hey, at least she can put up a decent fight.”

Jacob laughed and slapped at a spark on his tunic. “By Coloman, that was a low blow. But I suppose that might be a compliment to a fossorial such as yourself.”

“Yeah? Well I’ll remember that the next time I blow dust up your sagacious nostrils.”

“The dusts of Pendragon’s masterworks are dishonored by your manipulations.”

Brian laughed. “No, they’re dishonored by that blowhole you call a--” He froze as Merlin materialized on the other side of the fire. Both boys stood up. “Ah-allergies. Allergies. Yeah. Oh, hi Merlin, I didn’t see you there. We were just talking about Jacob’s allergies. He’s dreadfully allergic to dust mites, you see, and we were discussing how to best--” Merlin waved him down with his fingertips. “Now, now, students. I see you’ve been paying closer attention to the history of Tollemache than I thought, though I don’t believe I intended for you to use such words as insults.” The boys shrugged, sheepish. Merlin cracked a dry smile. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

~*~

Merlin led the boys deep into the castle, through winding corridors and ancient stairways that they had walked past but never noticed. Eventually they came to a dark walnut door, engraved with a lattice of lines that varied in thickness and length. Merlin touched his thumb and forefinger to an intersection at about eye level. The grid pulsed with a dim purple light, fading almost before it could be noticed. As they watched, the door opened up to reveal a lofty cove, lit along its vaulted walls by torches that burned with soft white flames. There were hundreds of books, neatly organized on countless shelves, each one painstakingly crafted over the centuries. Merlin sat down at a table that dominated the left side of the room, the one disorderly area in sight. Books lay open, tiny notes scribbled in the margins of the pages. One book had a pale green halo spinning above it like a ring on a table. It gradually faded to yellow as the boys approached, spinning faster and faster until Merlin slammed the book shut, dissolving the shape into a gentle mist. The old wizard grinned at them. “With a library like this, one can never be too careful. Wouldn’t want the anarchists getting a hold of one of these books while I’m away.”

Jacob chanced a glance at the cover of the book. The Fiery Eyes of Vasily and Other Dismemberment Spells. He quickly stepped back again. “What are all these?”

“These, my young friends, are the most prevalent styles from the third age of weaving. I chronicled them about four hundred years ago. Even I can’t remember all of the branches our art has taken over the centuries, so I study them from time to time.”

Brian stared incredulously around the room. “Did you write all of these?”

“Most of them, yes,” Merlin replied. “I did have some help from various students over the years. Most of them are long gone, but they left behind some true masterworks. Why, you’ve even learned from a few of them. Ivaylo’s studies in navigating around crops and plant life are core tenets of brownweaving these days. Perhaps you too will add to these works in time.” Merlin gestured for the boys to join him around the table. “But that’s not the reason I allowed you to enter my study.” He pulled out an old scroll that had been tucked in the spine of a nearby book and unrolled it in front of them. The boys gasped. It was a map of Tollemache.

“I didn’t think these existed!” Jacob said. He reached out a tentative hand, as if the scroll would dissolve into mist at the slightest intrusion of its sanctity. “Weren’t they all destroyed by the Untouchables in the War of Kacte?”

Merlin chuckled. “Karte, yes. One of their priests at the time received a ‘revelation’ that maps were an expression of the power that kingdoms hold, and therefore must be destroyed to prevent temptation.” His hand brushed lightly over the central dominance. “He made it his life’s work to destroy every map that had their land depicted on it, and no one could keep him or his acolytes from doing so. Only a few survived.” He pinned down the curling edges with a book and a candlestick, gesturing at it with pride. “This one is my own personal design, though. The map I based it on was a bit charred and torn, and I had to visit the Northern Isles to fill in that missing corner, but it is now one of the only maps in the world to depict the whole of Tollemache. Now watch closely. This is what I wanted to show you.” Merlin plucked a long strand of white hair from the back of his head, laying it lengthwise across the map. He placed his hands over it and raised them slowly, methodically, speaking a few words under his breath. The hair melted into the scroll, spreading impossibly wide to cover the entire map with a white sheen before fading. They waited in silence for a few seconds. Jacob blinked.

“Is that it?” Brian asked.

“Look closer,” said Merlin. As the boys watched, tiny specks of blue and green light began to appear above the kingdom. They grew in numbers quickly, forming somewhat geometrical patterns where they had the most numbers and spreading out over the countryside in a looser, more sporadic fashion. They turned a rich shade of purple over the land of the Untouchables, and the Forgotten Lands replaced the blue with shades of orange and red. In a second, the whole map was covered with lights, illuminating its contents.

“What are all these?” Brian asked, waving his fingers through the specks of light. They tickled as they dissolved and reformed around his hand.

“Every dot you see here is a person going about their life in the real world,” Merlin explained. “I created this map to give my precognition a way to visualize itself for others. The map does not know where these people are on its own, but I have joined it with my mind for the time being. If another precognitiant used their own hair for this, such as Lionel, it would correlate to the knowledge that they have. I simply keep track of people’s locations and their emotional states when working at this scale, which are displayed through their spot on the map and the colors they give off. It helps me to keep an eye on the area, just in case anyone decides to plan an invasion.”

Jacob thought about that. “So why do you keep it down here? Why not have it on display in the palace or somewhere that it can be used more readily?”

“Oh, I do bring it to the palace with me,” Merlin agreed. “But only a very few people know about its existence. If there were any more radical Untouchables out there, I’d hate to lose this map to carelessness.”

“So why are you telling us?” Brian asked.

Merlin laughed. “Why, I thought you boys would’ve figured that out by now.” He dropped his voice to a playful whisper, looking each of them in the eyes. “How would you feel about apprenticing with me?”

 

Some time later, in another chapter

The boys' wrestling was interrupted by old Ector. "Ho there, fellows, break it apart, break it apart. The king has summoned you both. You are to join him at the castle immediately."

Brian looked up from a headlock, surprised. "Both of us?"

"Both of you," Ector agreed, "and the rest of the Valiant, too. He's declared a state of emergency." The boys stood up quickly. Brian closed his eyes for a moment and the dust fell off of him like a blanket. Jacob brushed at his pants. Ector made eye contact with both of them. His face seemed to have aged ten more years overnight. He turned his gaze to the coals of the fire. "You'd best prepare yourselves, boys. We’ve lost our most powerful weaver. Merlin has been shaved."

~*~

Jacob could barely see Merlin sitting in his usual place next to the king. The Valiant crowded around the old weaver, bombarding him with questions about the night before. Merlin could only sit there and shake his flaky head, lost in his own thoughts. Jacob felt a touch of regret for what Merlin must have been going through, but the thought quickly vanished as the king pounded his staff on the floor.

"Is there anyone here who is not yet present?" he called out. He waited a moment, and a green-robed weaver with braided auburn hair materialized dangerously close to a standing torch. His green eyes twinkled. "Present!"

The king grunted. "Good to see you, Gawain. Anyone else?" When no one else threatened to light themselves on fire, the king sat down. The Valiant grew silent and began to step down from the throne room steps. The king looked drained, but he held his head high.

“As many of you know, Merlin was compromised last night. Someone seems to have infiltrated his study, despite his protections around it, and they cut his hair while he was asleep. We must recognize that we no longer have our greatest practitioner in the case of war. Without his magic, we are vulnerable.”

The Valiant erupted into shouting again; the king pounded his staff again. “Quiet! Thank you. I can see that you all recognize the gravity of the situation. Someone wants to attack us, and they’ve now weakened our defenses severely. We can’t let this news spread further than necessary, but I still aim to find out who our enemy is. Bors, is there any hint of unrest from our eastern borders?”

The black-haired weaver spoke up. “There have been the usual raids along the eastern borders, but nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps one of the raiders got a bit too full of himself?”

The king nodded. “I don’t know how one of those would-be weavers could’ve gotten through Merlin’s defenses, but we shouldn’t disregard anything at this stage.”

Another knight with a gray beard called out from the back. “I don’t want to cause undue alarm, yer highness, but the Untouchables have proved to be a dangerous foe in the past, an’ wit’ their skills…”

The king nodded again. “We have been at peace ever since the Great War, but they do remain largely mysterious. We have to know if they intend to rise up against us. Gawain, you are to take a few men to spy out the land. Perhaps Kay and Brian.”

“Brian? Are you sure? With all due respect, he’s only just come of age.”

The king nodded. “And yet he’s advancing much faster than you ever did.” Gawain smiled and nodded, conceding the point.

“Besides, he’s been cooped up in the castle grounds his whole life,” the king continued. “It’ll be good for him to see what else lies beyond our gates, especially in the company of such fine weavers as yourselves. I imagine you could teach him a thing or two.”

“Of course, your highness.” Gawain bowed, stepping to the side as Brian and the gray-haired weaver joined him.

The king turned back to his remaining men. “As for the eastern front. Bors, you will take a party to the Forgotten Lands and find out whatever you can. I trust that you know who would be best suited to that task?”

Bors nodded and stepped forward. “Lionel, Tor, and Bedivere, will you join me?” The old friends stepped forward. Bors turned back to the king. “This is everyone I’ll need.”

The king nodded approvingly. “I don’t doubt that. Perhaps you can take Jacob, as well. Diplomacy always finds a home, even among criminals.”

Jacob looked surprised. “Me? But I—” He stopped, embarrassed. The king raised an inquiring eyebrow. “I mean, my highn— I mean, your lord— highness, I—I’m not a fighter. I mean, Lionel makes sense. With a beard that intimidating, he could just stare them out of existence. Tor’s got more muscles than an ox, and Bedivere’s manipulation of water can always turn the tide...” He paused for a moment. No one laughed. “...in her favor,” he mumbled. “But me? What could I possibly do in a place like that?”

Bors laughed then, a deep, low belly laugh. “You? You, boy? You can prevent the need to fight in the first place. You could make this journey the most uneventful in years. What I wouldn’t give to trade places with you. I’ve seen plenty enough action to last me the rest of my days. Come with us!”

Still far from certain, Jacob slowly moved to join the others. The king looked around at each of the faces present. “As for the rest of you, we must prepare. If our enemy is expecting to catch us with our tunics down, they’ll be sorely mistaken. Each of you, return to your provinces. Make war preparations. We don’t know where this enemy will turn up, so be ready for anything. Those of you in the north, fill in the holes that our travelling companions are leaving behind. You from the west, stay here with me. I need men who can travel anywhere as soon as we get word from the others.”

The king paused for a moment before addressing them again. “I am honored to have such excellent men with me in times like these.” He smiled, his gaze penetrating. “This enemy of ours has made a grave mistake, and I intend to make them pay for it.”

 “Speech Sounds”: How Octavia Butler Found Her Voice and Shook Up Science Fiction

By Kerrian Baker

Octavia Butler is one of the most recognizable authors associated with science fiction. Having produced over two dozen works in her lifetime, several earned her critical acclaim in the form of genre-coveted Hugo and Nebula awards. In addition, Butler was also chosen as a  recipient of the MacArthur Fellowship in 1995, making her the first--and so far only--science fiction author to win the prestigious award. Despite the recognition and praise Butler and countless other science fiction authors have received in response to their work, the literary academy--comprised of “trained critics”--remain of the opinion that in relation to other genres, science fiction at best classifies as “second-rate literature” (Westfahl and Slusser 2). When one encounters the acumen exemplified within Octavia Butler’s writing, however, it becomes clear just how misguided the academy truly is.

While most critical analyses conducted in relation to Butler’s work fixate on her more well-known novels, such as Kindred (1979), Dawn (1987), and the Parable series (1993-1998), her less recognized short story, “Speech Sounds”, establishes itself as an extraordinary example of her writing talents. The story, set in a dilapidated California, follows its protagonist Valerie Rye as she navigates her way through life in a society wherein effective communication is almost a thing of the past. Struck illiterate due to an unknown “illness”, she also chooses to not speak for fear of the negative and violent reactions she may suffer at the hands of other characters (Butler, "Speech Sounds" 99). Near the end of the short story, however, Rye experiences a crucial moment during which she actively “unlearn[s] to not speak” in order to regain some of her lost autonomy (Gilbert and Gubar 1539). In the critical introduction to Science Fiction, Canonization, Marginalization, and the Academy, Gary Westfahl and George Slusser assert that regardless of the disdain held for the genre, science fiction “offers unusually fertile grounds for an examination of the continuing… literary… marginalization [of] feminism, racialism, gay and lesbian studies, and popular culture” (2-3). “Speech Sounds” supports their claim by providing a worthy format through which to study feminism and racialism while simultaneously confronting several of the real-world prejudices held within the literary community.

Due to the ignorance surrounding the genre, many critics have disregarded the possibility of science fiction producing literature worth studying and in doing so have overlooked the richness a feminist reading of “Speech Sounds” provides. In their essay “Infection in the Sentence: The Woman Writer and the Anxiety of Authorship”, Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, well known for their collaborative work in the field of women’s literary tradition, utilize Harold Bloom’s theory of “swerving” for their own feminist purposes. This theory, as Bloom describes it, is the idea “that literary influence is similar to paternity… [at which point] a “son” needs metaphorically to kill or castrate the “father” to make room for [himself]” (Richter 111). The two feminist critics differ in their application of “swerving” through both their attribution of the term in reference to women writers as well as their less violent illustration, wherein female authors merely “revise male genres… to record… their own stories in disguise”, and in doing so displace the “central sequences of male literary history” (Gilbert and Gubar 1533). As a female author writing a story that employs narrative voice in order to explore the “dailiness” women endure (Haraway 1983) rather than the more common “boys own… adventure[-driven]” (Lefanu 2) perspective, Octavia Butler actively challenges science fiction’s existence as “male territory” (Roberts 99).

Although a feminist reading of “Speech Sounds” reveals some of the intriguing undertones the short story contains, in order to fully grasp the significance embedded within Butler’s prose, an analysis rooted in critical race theory must also take place. Following the civil rights era, critical race theory “emerged and began uncovering the ongoing dynamics of racialized power and its [fixed place] in [American] practices and values” (Schur 1). In her essay “Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination”, Toni Morrison explores one feature of “racialized power” as detected in the form of “knowledge” (1791).  According to Morrison, literary “knowledge” is the belief held by some that “traditional, canonical American literature is free of, uninformed by, and unshaped by the four-hundred-year-old presence of [black individuals] in the United States” (1791). It also “assumes that the characteristics of [said literature] emanate from a particular “Americanness” that is separate and unaccountable to this presence” (1791). One of the most commonly observed manifestations of this sentiment presents itself as the assumption that within a literary work, the “absence of a racial marker default[s] a character as white” (Mura). In spite of this, several passages within the short story allude to Rye’s existence as a black woman through descriptions of her interactions with other characters and her own heightened reaction to her illiteracy. In less than six thousand words, Butler undermines generations of literary prejudice which had previously marked literature as a white sphere.

While the hegemonic academy marginalizes science fiction, “Speech Sounds” assists in the efforts to redeem the genre from the harsh judgment it receives. The short story necessitates a dual analysis through the lenses of feminist and critical race theory in order to reveal the hidden complexities within. Although an examination of the text through a single one of the aforementioned theories would provide readers with a satisfactory--if not cursory--understanding, both theories are necessary to fully appreciate the significance of what Butler has accomplished. Several of the short story’s key passages demonstrate a rejection of prejudiced gender and racial normativity standards present not only within science fiction but the entirety of the literary community and, in doing so, makes a lasting impression on both.

The significance of Butler’s rejection is better understood by gaining insight into the definition of science fiction--what qualifies as such--its history, and how it operates as a genre. In and of itself, science fiction has always been difficult to define. Even with the academy’s disapproval of the validity of the genre, scholars have debated for decades regarding the best fitting definition. Darko Suvin, author of Metamorphoses of Science Fiction: On the Poetics and History of a Literary Genre, provides one of the most widely accepted interpretations: “[Science fiction is] a literary genre whose necessary and sufficient conditions are the presence and interaction of estrangement and cognition, and whose main formal device is an imaginative framework alternative to the author’s empirical environment” (8-9). Essentially, Suvin claims that for a literary work to qualify as science fiction three things must exist simultaneously: First, an equal balance between estrangement--the alienation of a reader from the text--and cognition--the “aspect which prompts readers to understand”--must be at the fore. Second, continuous respect for the constraints of science is critical. Finally, science fiction needs to place an emphasis on the rational over the “emotional or instinctual” (Roberts 8, 9).

However, based solely on Suvin’s definition, “Speech Sounds” only partially qualifies as science fiction since it aligns with the critic’s first two requirements yet diverges from the third. Butler’s decision to aim readers attention towards Rye’s grief and rage-filled reaction to her illiteracy and away from more “rational” elements of the story, such as details concerning the illness, showcase the author’s efforts to “release the play of writing” in order that she might better represent the inherent value of an exploration into the “dailiness” of women (Haraway 1985). Butler’s refusal to eschew the inclusion of emotion within “Speech Sounds” further validates Gilbert and Gubar’s theory. The author revises the male-dominated genre’s expectations to better fit her needs so that she may tell the story she wishes to tell. Without the emphasis placed on Rye’s attitude concerning her inability to read and write, her “most serious impairment and most painful”, the story would lose a great deal of its impact (Butler, "Speech Sounds" 98).

In contrast to Suvin’s strict interpretation of science fiction’s definition, Damien Broderick, science fiction author and critic, establishes his own, more inclusive opinion. Broderick is astutely aware of science fiction’s existence as a “popular genre that… de-emphasizes fine writing” (Broderick 155), thus “allow[ing] content and concept to come more obviously to the fore” (Jones 5). This perception does not disqualify Suvin’s conditions of “estrangement”, “cognition”, and “constraint”--it merely favors Butler’s dismissal of outdated and faulty genre expectations. The accessible vernacular Butler employs--while not as accepted by the academy as the language seen in “classical” texts--supports readers in their endeavor to discern the nuances of “Speech Sounds” (Westfahl and Slusser 2). While the content of the short story obviously delineates Rye’s experiences in a world she no longer feels a part of without her literacy, a concept is less readily available and for good reason. “Concepts are universal, timeless, abstract, and move [readers] towards higher levels of thinking” (Erickson, et al.), not simple things to write into a fiction work. Butler manages to embed two concepts within “Speech Sounds”, feminism and racial equality, without utilizing “fine writing”, lending her prose an accessibility traditional texts lack (Broderick 155).

Furthermore, an exploration into the restrictive history of the genre lends readers a greater appreciation for Butler’s rejection of several of the discriminatory biases practiced in science fiction. Although an in-depth analysis is indeed possible, for the sake of relevancy, one must begin with the “Golden Age”. In his critical text Science Fiction, Adam Roberts asserts that “science fiction first emerge[d] as the underside of [a] set of cultural dominants: as, in a sense, the dark subconscious to the thinking mind of Imperialism” (Roberts 66). Following World War II, this idea unfolds itself in the way of American-produced science fiction showing an infusion of the very “bullishness” and “ebullience” which permeated its “national outlook” (75). The “Golden Age”, which began during the mid-to-late 1930s and extended through the 1940s, features “a striking wealth and diversity of writing talents” (75). Those “talents”, however, reference authors such as Isaac Asimov, Thomas Sturgeon, and Clifford Simak to name a few, and completely disregard authors of color and women writers. Viewed as “pioneers of modern science fiction” (Roberts 76), white male authors ruled the genre so thoroughly--championing an “Americanness… removed from and without the presence of black people” (Morrison 1791)--that even a half-century later, while in attendance at a writing convention, Butler shocked other attendees with her African American heritage (Butler, Conversations with Octavia Butler 96). Considering the explicit characterization of several of her work’s protagonists as black women, it seems logical that one would grant the possibility of the author existing as a black woman herself. However, the surprise shown at Butler’s blackness illustrates the imperial mentality of the “Golden Age” maintaining its power over time--preserving the arrogance of white authors and their assumed ownership of everything, including ethnic narratives--and further emphasizes the importance of subverting genre-typical prejudices whenever possible. In writing “Speech Sounds”, Butler engages in and disrupts an exclusive genre that would just as soon label her irrelevant all while technically adhering to its guidelines.

Following the “Golden Age”, the 1950s and 1960s saw an increase in social and civil reformation which the literature produced then reflected, including science fiction. This era in the genre’s history is referred to as the “New Wave” (Roberts 79). John Huntington, author of Rationalizing Genius: Ideological Strategies in the Classic American Science Fiction Short Story, describes the shift: “New Wave [science fiction]… can be seen as a rendering of attitudes implicit in [the zeitgeist of] the middle and late fifties. It is not accidental that the flourishing of the New Wave coincides with a decade of political activism and… solutions to social [problems]” (2). Gone were the totalizing “Golden Age” days where white, male authors dominated the field. Instead, in answer to second-wave feminism and civil rights movements, the science fiction produced under the “New Wave” reflected a mentality of inclusivity previously unseen within the literary community, recognizing the efforts of authors of color and women writers. Due to this recognition, a more accurately termed “wealth and diversity” of writing talents emerged, subsequently upgrading the genre’s status from a “minority interest” to a “mass phenomenon” (Roberts 75, 80).

While the “New Wave” was far more receptive to equal representation than its predecessor, it was far from perfect. Science fiction, like any other genre, participates in and perpetuates what critics have identified as the “Age of Empires” through its latent “ideology… that difference needs to be flattened, or even eradicated” (Roberts 65). A cursory examination of history reveals the tendency of Empires to favor their own citizens and cultural practices over that of the people groups they have dominated, praising the “Same” while demonizing the “Other” (66). American literature exists as its own Empire through which white authors have established their own “knowledge”, awarding them the ability to separate themselves and elevate the worth of their works above those which are produced by “Others”; blacks, Jews, women, disabled, the list goes on (Morrison 1791). Despite its faults, the “New Wave” granted Butler a platform to address several of the sexist and racist tendencies still running rampant through the genre. In taking advantage of that platform, “Speech Sounds” actively fights back against the American literary Empire’s exploitation of authority which had previously allowed them absolute control.

During an interview with Randall Kenan in 1990, Octavia Butler revealed her personal belief that she did not “[hold] any particular literary talent” (Butler, Conversations with Octavia Butler 37). However, the opposite could not be more true. Although several of her early writings mimic some of the same tendencies exhibited within works written predominately by white, male science fiction authors, Butler’s own intersectionality plays a major role in the respect and success she garnered for herself. After having had time to mature as an author, Butler recognized the value that her unique perspective offered to a genre dominated almost completely by white men. She “felt it important to acknowledge that her black, female existence produced different experiences than those typically found in science fiction and tried to write stories rooted in these experiences” (Francis X). An analysis of her short story “Speech Sounds” conducted through a feminist lens reveals her success in her endeavor to disrupt the genre by including more diverse perspectives. As a woman, Butler maintains an incontrovertible authority to call attention to and reject science fiction’s existence as “male territory”.

When examining “Speech Sounds” readers are promptly exposed to Butler’s revision of the “central sequences of male literary history” in order to better fit her own story (Gilbert and Gubar 1533). While science fiction is consistently perceived as an analytical, impartial genre with a disinclination towards emotionality, by the third sentence of “Speech Sounds”, the narrative voice affirms the author’s abandonment of that idea through the announcement of Rye’s “loneliness and unhappiness” acting as the catalyst for her coming journey (Butler, "Speech Sounds" 89). Although the story does contain other elements of science fiction which Suvin claimed as necessary--estrangement between the reader and the text, cognition, and a respect for the constraints of science (Suvin)--the single element the critic railed against the most is the one that is presented first, showcasing Butler’s simultaneous conformation and subversion of “patriarchal literary standards” (Gilbert and Gubar 1533). The almost instantaneous declaration of the protagonist’s emotional state reveals the importance the narrative voice places on emotion, and rightly so--seeing as how from that point on, Rye’s emotions act as the driving force of the plot. In revising the standards of science fiction so that they fit the story she feels needs telling, Butler ascribes herself a “female literary authority” the genre did not see fit to allow her (Gilbert and Gubar 1533).

In choosing to explore the “dailiness” Rye endures as a woman, Butler further disrupts the male-oriented nature of science fiction. (Haraway 1983). As a female living in a post-apocalyptic world whose communicatory abilities are substantially limited, Rye encounters a great deal of harassment as a result of her gender. A confrontation between Rye and a male stranger exemplifies this:

She had no idea what he intended but she stood her ground. The man was half a foot taller than she was and perhaps ten years younger. She did not imagine she could outrun him. Nor did she expect anyone to help her if she needed help… She gestured once--a clear indication to the man to stop… He gestured obscenely and several other men laughed. Loss of language had spawned a whole new set of obscene gestures. The man, with stark simplicity, had accused her of sex with the bearded man and had suggested she accommodate the other men present--beginning with him. (Butler, "Speech Sounds" 95)

It is not unreasonable to assume that if Rye were a male character, she would not receive the same treatment. Butler’s inclusion of the sexual harassment Rye experiences serves as a way to disrupt science fiction’s existence as “almost exclusively male” (Roberts 93). By explicitly focusing readers' attention on an instance where a woman is forced to navigate a situation wherein her physical safety is threatened by a group of men, Butler “swerves” (Gilbert and Gubar 1563) from the patriarchal standard where women, if they are mentioned at all, are “there in no sense that matters” (Morrison 1792). 

Furthermore, the most identifiable theme within “Speech Sounds”--communication-- operates in direct opposition to the traditional themes of the genre, thereby facilitating Butler’s rejection of science fiction’s existence as “male territory” (Roberts 99). Within his critical text, Science Fiction, Adam Roberts discusses the genre: “[Science fiction’s] conventions are shaped by the passions and interests of adolescent males, that is to say, its focus is on technology as embodied particularly by big, gleaming machines with lots of moving parts, physical prowess, war, two-dimensional male heroes, adventure, and excitement” (93).”Speech Sounds”, which contains only very limited elements of adventure, focuses instead on the less exciting but more meaningful concept of communication and how the loss of language and literacy impacts society. Such a significant modification to the patriarchal standards of the genre invites readers to recognize that as male-dominated as science fiction is, the possibility of change still exists and disenfranchised authors--just like Butler herself--are the ideal candidates to usher in a new, more inclusive era of science fiction.

Communication continues to operate within the short story by highlighting the relationship between Butler and Rye as they both undergo the process of “unlearning not to speak” in order to free themselves from the oppressive expectations of their respective societies (Gilbert and Gubar 1533). Although Rye admits to another character that she has the ability to speak, she chooses not to do so because “such superiority was frequently punished by beatings, even death” (Butler, "Speech Sounds" 93). However, when presented with a choice to either speak up and possibly change the course of her reality or stay silent and leave two children to fend for themselves, Rye bravely decides that “it’s all right for [her] to talk” (107). This exchange also serves as a reflection of Butler’s choice to engage with the literary world. Despite science fiction's reputation as a “male genre” and the misogynist hostility that comes with it, Butler reclaims her voice by “dancing out from the debilitating looking glass of the male text into the health of female authority” and in doing so manages to “articulate the private lives of one half of humanity”  (Gilbert and Gubar 1539).

Even though Butler claimed to write without “a particular feminist or racial agenda”, almost all of her works have provided countless scholars with a wealth of material to analyze through either lens. “Speech Sounds” is no different (Francis X). During an interview Butler gave for Equal Opportunity Magazine, she asserted that when it comes to “minorities and their place, or lack of place in science fiction… to be black is to be abnormal” (Butler, Conversations with Octavia Butler 6). Butler’s statement supports Toni Morrison’s theory of “knowledge”, wherein black individuals hold no influence or claim over American literature (1791). Although “Speech Sounds” avoids explicitly revealing the race of its protagonist, several key passages within the short story allude to her existence as a black woman, revealing Butler’s objection to the collective assumption that when a character’s race is unspecified they default as white and her hope for a less segregated literary community.

Rye’s intense emotions regarding her loss of literacy help to inform the reader’s appreciation of her existence as a black woman despite science fiction’s tendency to white-wash its characters when their race goes unnamed. In her essay “A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century”, Donna Haraway asserts that for “all colonized groups… [literacy] has a special significance” (1983). The “widespread suppression of reading and writing” (Morse) of first African slaves then African Americans led to a generations-long struggle for literacy in order that black people might “become something other than [white people’s] economic tools” (Green 177-178). Seeing as how identities are often the “result of encounters with boundaries of exclusion”, it makes sense then that African American’s tended to intimately link their literacy with their identities--one could not exist without the other (Yon 2).

Rye perfectly represents this idea; her literacy does not merely inform her identity, it is her identity. Although she maintains her ability to verbally communicate, she has lost “reading and writing” and to her, “that [is] her most serious impairment and most painful” (Butler, "Speech Sounds" 98). With the loss of her literacy--an ability which drove her passions as a “freelance writer” and provided her with a career as a history professor at the University of California Los Angeles--Rye feels she has no “reason to live” (98). Although white people, of course, suffer from illiteracy too, their inability to read or write does not stem from systematic racial oppression but most commonly a lack of schooling or poor circumstances and because of that, they do not place the same importance on literacy as African Americans (Collins and Margo). Rye’s heightened despondency when faced with her illiteracy firmly suggests her existence as a black woman which in turn weakens the American literary Empire’s claim on science fiction as solely white territory.

Although Rye’s riding of the bus seems like a mundane task, in reality, it serves as one of the ways through which Butler undermines and rejects the “knowledge” held by countless literary historians and critics that black people have no place in American literature (Morrison 1791). Elijah Anderson, professor of Sociology at Yale University, offers illumination on how different races operate in shared spaces:

Black people typically approach the white space with care. When present there, blacks reflexively note the proportion of whites to blacks, or may look around for other blacks with whom to commune if not bond, and then may adjust their comfort level accordingly; when judging a setting as too white, they can feel uneasy, expecting to be reprimanded at any moment. For whites, however, the same settings are generally regarded as unremarkable, or as normal taken-for-granted reflections of civil society. (“Black in White Space” 2018).

Within the first scene of “Speech Sounds”, several characters engage in a violent fight while aboard the same bus Rye is on (Butler, "Speech Sounds" 89-90). Based on Anderson’s comments, their actions suggest their whiteness because of their willingness to engage in such disruptive behavior without heed to their surroundings. Rye’s actions equally reveal her blackness. While the fighting happens, she “watches… carefully” in a bid to protect herself as Anderson claims any black person in a similar situation surrounded by white people would do (90). Although Rye does not identify with anyone on the bus, verifying to readers that there is no one on board with whom she feels comfortable doing so, once she disembarks, that all changes. Through the employment of a deceptively straightforward introduction, Butler manages to effortlessly highlight a unique struggle of black individuals which calls attention to the protagonists’ blackness despite the white normativity standards of the genre.

The immediate identification that occurs between Rye and another character, Obsidian, supports Elijah Anderson’s theory of black individuals seeking one another out when confronted with “white spaces” and further challenges the default whiteness of literary characters (“Black in White Space” 2018). From the moment Rye sees Obsidian and Obsidian sees her, there exists a likeness between the two. Although she is hesitant--after all, they are strangers--Rye comes to the conclusion that Obsidian, perhaps because he is the only person with whom she is able to identify with, is her safest option in comparison to the men on the bus. Their meeting happens in very short order:

“She was near the curb when a battered blue Ford on the other side of the street made a U-turn and pulled up in front of the bus… When the driver of the Ford beckoned to Rye, she moved away warily. [He] got out--a big man, young, neatly bearded with dark, thick hair. He wore… a look of wariness that matched Rye’s. She stood several feet away from him, waiting to see what he would do. He looked at the bus, now rocking with the combat inside, then at the small cluster of passengers who had gotten off. Finally he looked at Rye again. She returned his gaze” (Butler, "Speech Sounds" 91).

Anderson asserts that “when judging a setting as too white, [black people] can feel uneasy”, because there’s no way to tell how a situation will turn out for them; they are constantly at a disadvantage. Rye’s “wariness”  reflected back at her through Obsidian reveals their likeness--their black existence--to readers. In addition, by “returning his gaze”--something she refused to do with the other patrons aboard the bus--Rye has found someone to “commune” with and “adjusts [her] comfort level accordingly” (Anderson), allowing the man to take her away from the hostile situation (Butler 96). As Butler herself once said, she “does not feel obligated to [include any elements] which do not help the story” (Butler, Conversations with Octavia Butler 221). Therefore, the implications of Rye’s existence as a black woman are entirely intentional. The inclusion of which serves as Butler’s attempt to rectify the inaccurate “knowledge” preserved by the American literary Empire wherein science fiction is “removed from and without relationship to the presence of black people in the United States” (Morrison 1791).

In writing “Speech Sounds” Butler actively “seize[s] the tools to mark the world that mark [her and people like her] as other” (Haraway 1983). The majority of the American literary Empire conducts itself under the impression that the stories of women are less interesting or unworthy of attention in comparison to male-oriented narratives, and that white is an acceptable default for characters when the race goes unspecified. Butler actively rejects both of these suppositions in her short story by virtue of her exploration into a day in the life of her female protagonist as well as the rather obvious implication of her protagonist’s blackness. The author’s simultaneous adherence to and subversion of genre expectations highlight her talent as an author; playing by the rules just enough to establish her own voice but not so much that her rejection is lost.

The ramifications of Butler’s rejection are not limited to science fiction--all genres are the target of her challenge for every single one suffers from the same shortcomings. There is a certain irony in the fact that Butler, through the employment of a genre the traditional literary academy dismisses as insignificant, manages to call out the entirety of the literary community for their prejudiced practices. However, in her own process of “unlearning to not speak”--overcoming the stigma and hostility she faced as a black, female author in a white, male-dominated field--Butler remains somewhat “hidden and confined”, subject to the mercy of an audience (Gilbert and Gubar 1539). If readers were to listen to the academy and decide that they were correct in the claim that science fiction produces insignificant, “second-rate literature”, Butler’s rejection would largely go unnoticed no good would come of it (Westfahl and Slusser 2). Although Butler’s work in “Speech Sounds” does not undo any damage already done, it calls attention to the issue of prejudiced gender and racial normativity standards within the literary community and that is the first step to change.

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The Start of a Great Friendship

By Olivia May

Multicolored threads slowly unraveled as they were disturbed by shaky yet determined fingers. A girl with wavy brown hair and blue eyes picked at her paisley sweater, her leg bouncing up and down rapidly. Her half-bitten nails struggled to grip the loose string.

She didn’t even notice what she was doing until her mother spoke from the driver’s seat. “Charlotte, please don’t destroy that new sweater I just bought.”

Charlotte quickly clasped her hands together. “Sorry, Mom…,” she mumbled.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I know you’re nervous, but I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” her mother reassured.

Charlotte sighed, adjusting her tortoiseshell-colored glasses, turning her attention to the view outside the car window. Yeah, I’m nervous. How could I not be?! She was on her way to her first day of middle school, and because they had recently moved across town, Charlotte didn’t know anyone there.

Charlotte’s mother sensed her nervousness and glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends. You’re very energetic and friendly, and extroverts make friends like that!” she said, snapping her fingers.

If only I was just… extroverted. Charlotte thought. It was true that she was energetic. She would even say that, yes, she was pretty friendly. There was a lot more to it though. She knew it, her mom knew it, and soon everyone at her new school would no doubt know it, too.

Speaking of which, the car pulled up to the school building. Her mom stopped the car and turned around to look at Charlotte. “Well, have a good day. Try to focus and behave, and remember to be yourself!” she said as her daughter stepped out of the car.

“Well, which one? I can’t do both.” Charlotte said before she could stop herself. She sighed with regret as her mother gave her an incredulous look. “Sorry… I’ll try. Thanks, Mom,” she said, before walking off toward the building.

The middle school was one level with several hallways going in different directions. It reminded Charlotte of a maze. Although only one floor, it actually had about as many students and teachers as her elementary school, which had three floors. When she walked in, her first task was to go to the office to get her class schedule.

It’s easy…. Just introduce yourself and ask for your schedule. Charlotte told herself. She took a deep breath and entered the office. “Um… excuse me? Could I have my— I mean, m-my name is Charlotte, and I’m here for my…” she trailed off. By the time she remembered to introduce herself, she had forgotten what she was supposed to ask for. She blushed and desperately tried to remember.

Thankfully, the woman at the desk smiled and said, “Ah, yes, you’re a new student. I’m guessing you’re here for your class schedule?”

Charlotte sighed with relief and nodded. The next thing she knew, she was standing outside the office with a schedule and a small map of the school. When she made it to the first fork in the hallway, Charlotte made sure no one was looking before making L’s with her hands and turning to the left. She soon stood in front of her classroom, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

When she entered the classroom, Charlotte felt multiple eyes on her. Before she could get too nervous, the teacher spoke in an upbeat voice. “Ah, hello! You must be Charlotte.”

Charlotte nodded and went to sit down at an empty desk. A girl with short blonde hair sitting next to her smiled. She was wearing a purple shirt with Tinkerbell on it. Charlotte’s heart soared at the sight of a fellow Disney fan. Thoughts raced through her mind: Who’s her favorite Disney princess? Favorite movie? Has she seen every Disney movie? Has she ever been to Disney World? Throughout the class, that was all she could think about.

When class was over, Charlotte excitedly went up to the girl, who saw her coming and smiled. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. My name is—”

Charlotte interrupted her. “Hi! I’m Charlotte; what’s your favorite Disney movie?!” The girl looked a bit surprised. “Oh, uh… I don’t know, ‘Lion King’ I guess?”

“That’s great! I love that one too. I also like ‘Beauty and the Beast’, ‘Lilo and Stitch’, ‘Mulan’, and, of course, ‘Peter Pan’! I noticed you were wearing a Tinkerbell shirt. Have you seen the ‘Tinkerbell’ movies? I heard another one is coming out this year.” Charlotte rambled. It wasn’t like she didn’t know she was rambling. In fact, Charlotte was very aware of it, but she couldn’t seem to stop. What are you doing?! You interrupted her and now you’re just talking and talking! Stop being weird, you don’t even know her name! she thought in a panic.

Charlotte grimaced when she finally stopped talking, and sure enough, the girl had that look on her face Charlotte knew all too well: polite but clearly uncomfortable. “Oh yeah, that’s nice. Yeah… my aunt got me this shirt. I haven’t actually seen the movie, so…”

“O-Oh… okay, yeah… sorry. I didn’t— er…” Charlotte stammered with a blush. Thankfully, the bell that signified second period rang. The girl awkwardly walked off. Charlotte inwardly groaned and went to her next class, feeling like a freak.

She hardly said a word the rest of the day. Every time she wanted to say something, her impulse was held back by the fear of embarrassing herself again.

 After school, Charlotte’s mother came to pick her up. She asked how her day had been, and Charlotte just shrugged, avoiding eye contact. Her mother didn’t pressure Charlotte, recognizing her daughter’s mood. She simply turned on Charlotte’s music playlist as she drove her to a counseling appointment.

When she pulled into the parking lot, Charlotte gave her mom a small smile, before entering the building. Dr. Sherman was waiting for her. “Hello, Charlotte. Come on in.”

They sat down, and Dr. Sherman studied her face. “I know you moved closer to the clinic recently and started at a new school, right? Tell me about that.”

Charlotte sighed. “It was terrible. I interrupted someone and just rambled on about something she didn’t know anything about, but I thought she did, and now she probably thinks I’m weird!” she grumbled.

“I see. Did she tell you that you’re weird?” Dr. Sherman asked.

“Well… no, but she gave me this look, like she regretted talking to me,” Charlotte admitted. “And I am weird. I probably don’t deserve a friend like her anyway.”

Dr. Sherman folded her hands and said, “Look at me Charlotte. You are not ‘weird.’ You have ADHD, something that millions of children and adults deal with. You deserve friends and happiness just as much as anyone else. How your brain works is not your fault, and you can’t help it. You have a lot of passion, and if you can remember to wait and let other people talk about their passions, too, people will see what a great friend I know you can be.”

Charlotte sighed as she took in Dr. Sherman’s words. “How do I do that?” she asked. Dr. Sherman smiled. “Well, that’s something we can work on.”

Later, Charlotte left the appointment actually feeling pretty good. That often happened with her sessions. She would go in feeling weird or like she had failed at… well… life. But Dr. Sherman always helped to put things in perspective. Her ADHD caused her emotions to be all over the place, but the counseling gave her some respite, at least temporarily.

 When she got into the car, Charlotte’s mother noticed her improved demeanor and smiled. “I take it the appointment went well?”

Charlotte nodded, buckling her seatbelt. “Yeah, it did. Sorry for being so moody earlier,”

Charlotte’s mother put a hand on her shoulder. “I know there have been a lot of transitions for us lately, which are especially hard on you. If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here,” she said gently.

Charlotte smiled. “I know. Thanks Mom.”

The next day, Charlotte was ready for school. The interaction with that girl yesterday had been awkward, but there were many other opportunities to make connections. She put her hair in a simple ponytail and went downstairs to eat breakfast.

The morning was a busy blur. Charlotte’s mother was rushing around to get ready for her job interview. Finn, Charlotte’s little brother, was sitting in his highchair, eating and playing with cheerios. After breakfast was over, her mother got ready to drop Charlotte off at school. Charlotte helped get Finn cleaned up and into the car, earning both a grateful smile from her mother and a few fistfuls of Cheerios thrown in her face. Charlotte didn’t mind too much though. At least their family was at peace.

At school, Charlotte quickly found the girl she had talked to yesterday and went up to her. The girl looked a bit uncomfortable when she saw Charlotte approach, but she smiled sweetly. Charlotte returned the smile and said, “Hey… I just wanted to apologize about yesterday. I was nervous about my first day here, and when I saw your shirt, I was so excited that I focused more on that than on getting to know you. I’m Charlotte. What’s your name?” Her voice was mostly steady, with only a little shakiness. Practicing with Dr. Sherman had helped to alleviate a lot of nervousness.

The girl waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s fine. We all get like that sometimes. I’m

Rachel. It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

Charlotte nodded and went to ask what Rachel’s interests were, when the bell rang. “Well, have a good day, Rachel. We can talk after class if you want to,”

“Uh-huh, bye,” Rachel said with a small wave before heading into class.

Charlotte did try to talk to Rachel after class, but she was out of the door as soon as it ended. Charlotte tried to put the thought that Rachel was avoiding her out of her mind. It was lunchtime. The cafeteria was a great place to make new friends.

She walked in and scanned the room for people sitting alone or people who just seemed friendly. She spotted someone at a table by herself, a shorter girl with freckles and curly red hair. She was reading a book, her food barely touched. Charlotte wondered what book she was reading. Maybe it was ‘Harry Potter’ or ‘Lord of the Rings’! I love those books. If this girl was a fan of them, too, they could go see the new movie together and—

Charlotte blinked and took a moment to compose herself. She had to remember to actually focus on the person and not think too far ahead. She walked up to the girl, who saw Charlotte’s approach. “Hi! My name’s Charlotte. Mind if I sit here?”

The girl gave a shy smile and nodded. “Yeah, sure. My name’s Isabelle.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Isabelle.” Charlotte said, sitting down. “I just saw you reading over here and figured we at least had that in common. I like to read, too. What book is it?”

Isabelle perked up. “It’s called ‘Anne of Green Gables’. It’s pretty old, but it’s a classic. I love it!” she said with a grin.

Charlotte looked at the book with interest. She had never heard of that book before, but she liked the title. “Oh, cool! I’ve never read it, but it sounds interesting.”

 “Oh, it’s very good.” Isabelle said, holding the book to her chest. “It’s about an orphan named Anne who gets adopted, but the ones who adopted her actually wanted a boy. She gets all the way to Green Gables where they live and then….”

She was cut off by a voice nearby. “Charlotte! Why don’t you come and sit with us?” It was Rachel. She motioned over from the table she sat at with several other girls.

Charlotte blinked. She had said that she would talk with Rachel more, but she was really invested in Isabelle’s explaining this new book. “Oh, no thanks; I’m busy right now,” she said instinctively. Rachel scoffed and turned around, the other girls at the table doing the same.

Immediately, Charlotte’s heart plummeted. Had she done something wrong again? I did tell Rachel I would talk to her more. Was I rude? What if she got really offended, and I lose my second chance to be friends with her? What if other people start to think I’m rude? What if Rachel starts telling people I’m rude?!

She was lost in her own thoughts, until Isabelle cleared her throat. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked in concern.

Charlotte clenched her teeth. Not only had she been rude to Rachel, now she was ignoring Isabelle, too. She was too focused on her own thoughts… again. “I’m sorry, I… have to go.” Charlotte said, getting up and making her way out of the cafeteria. She went into the bathroom and stayed there until it was time to go to her next class.

Why am I so bad at talking to people? Charlotte thought. She had so much excitement and passion for everything, but when it came to making friends, she always felt like she had to tone it down or that she was too focused on herself.

Unsurprisingly, Charlotte had a hard time focusing during her next class. She tried doodling in her notebook so her focus would be on that and she could pay attention better to the lecture, but the teacher told her to pay attention.

 Charlotte sighed and looked at the teacher while he talked, but her mind quickly began to wander without anything else to occupy it other than the lecture and her thoughts.

After class, Charlotte started making her way to her locker, intending to go home and sulk, when she was stopped by a familiar voice calling her name. Charlotte turned to see Isabelle approaching. She was surprised that Isabelle still wanted to talk to her after what happened earlier.

Isabelle actually had a smile on her face, She said, “Hey! Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I was worried you got sick or something.”

Charlotte sighed, feeling guilty for worrying her, and then shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

Isabelle nodded, and leaned up against the lockers. After a minute, she spoke again. “I also wanted to thank you for sitting with me, even after Rachel tried to get you to leave me.” Charlotte blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Rachel and I used to be friends, but we kind of had a falling out.” Isabelle explained sadly. “She’s pretty popular, and she’s been making me feel isolated from her whole friend group since then, which is a pretty large one. She asked you to sit with them to get back at me. I thought for sure you would! After all, we barely know each other and I was just… talking about a book you’ve never heard of, but you stayed. And I appreciate that.”

Charlotte’s eyes were wide. She had made a good decision after all. Rachel was trying to get back at Isabelle, but Charlotte was so focused on what Isabelle was saying, she didn’t even notice. “Oh… yeah! And actually, I was really interested in the book you were talking about. It sounds really cool, and I’ve been looking for something new to read.”

Isabelle’s face lit up even more. “Really?! That’s great! You can borrow it if you want. It’s a great book. In fact, we could read it together if you want. I’ve been working on doing the voices and making it sound dramatic and exciting.”

“You do that, too?” Charlotte said excitedly. “I do that with all my favorite books! Especially fantasy ones like Lord of the Rings.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of that one, but I’ve never gotten around to reading it. What’s it about?” Isabelle asked.

She could tell that this was the start of a great friendship, one where she could be excited and passionate. She would not feel out of place in the slightest.

 

The Slubgob Collection (excerpted)

By Elena Forman

Forward

Studying the author’s works in a C. S. Lewis class inspired me to write my own epistolary fiction, that is a narrative comprised of characters’ correspondence. An assignment requiring that I write a letter from Screwtape to his nephew concerning the temptations the demons were currently trying on me set me thinking in a new strain. Suppose there was an earlier time when Screwtape was himself a junior tempter, receiving letters  of advice from a devil still lower in the Lowerarchy. That would take us back earlier in time than World War II when The Screwtape Letters was set—perhaps to the early 1800s, when Mr. Edward Rochester  was tormenting Jane in Charlotte Brontë’s masterwork Jane Eyre.

In my Slubgob Collection, a project that I completed for a senior thesis for my English major, I address characters from A Tale of Two Cities, Sense and Sensibility, and Jane Eyre, applying ideas from Puritan writer Thomas Brook’s Precious Remedies Against Satan’s Devices, and especially concepts from Lewis’s works, such  as The Great Divorce and, most importantly, The Screwtape Letters. I emulate its form and style. A beloved Christian classic, The Screwtape Letters represents a satire in the tradition of Jonathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal,” an essay recommending cannibalism in order to solve poverty. Just as Swift risked engendering public outrage with his Proposal—which he did—Lewis risked  derision by his fellow academics by revealing his belief in the existence of demons. The Screwtape Letters is an epistolary novel where a senior demon, Screwtape, writes letters of  advice to his nephew and underling, Wormwood. These letters are full of help for how to tempt whom they call the “patient” to his ultimate damnation. Being a satire makes it an inoffensive warning and a way to startle readers into seeing likenesses between themselves and the devils’ “patient.”

An example of its satire is God’s being called the Enemy, and Satan, “Our Father below.” Note that this book has very little ordinary plot. We hear of only a few common doings of the man, activities such as attending church, meeting a girl, etc. The action is mostly internal, regarding his thought life and how the tempters work. Meanwhile, hints of a plotline among the demons emerge from the impassioned letters. Wormwood tattles on Screwtape’s referencing God’s love—something the demons deny. In the Slubgob Collection, there is further development of the devils’ conflicts and ambitions.

Lewis wrote The Screwtape Letters as a humorous satire, but for all that artifice, he states in his preface his sincere belief in actual demons. The book is meant to warn people of their spiritual danger by startling them with a supernatural premise. The stakes could not be higher: one’s eternal status is under consideration. Therefore, the true believer should learn to discern the temptations without and within in an endeavor to serve Christ Jesus wholeheartedly.

On the discerning of temptations, Puritan writers have made thoughtful contributions. Thomas Brooks is a seventeenth century Puritan who, like Lewis, believes in the existence of demons and their active, effective tempting of mankind. Brooks wrote Precious Remedies Against Satan’s Devices (1652) to expose various ways that the devils tempt us, like Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters. Brooks details how demons tempt us to sin, on one hand wishing us to justify our sinful actions and on the other accusing us of being beyond forgiveness, over-emphasizing God’s holy anger in an attempt to make us despair. Brooks claims that “[b]ecause Satan hath a greater  influence upon men, an higher advantage over them … than they think he hath, and the knowledge of his high advantage, is the highway to disappoint him” and also that the reason for his book is “to render the soul strong in resisting, and happy in conquering” (4). I have enjoyed attributing many of these insights to Slubgob, as he writes letters for the downfall of famous characters.

In the following letter, Screwtape has been transferred to the temptation of Edward Fairfax Rochester. He is the troubled love interest in Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. Her classic treatment of an orphan girl’s growing up in the late 1700s tells of her eventual work as a governess. She had been about to marry her employer, Mr. Rochester, when she discovered he was already married to a crazed woman. To escape his advances, she left her home.

Mr. Rochester exemplifies various concepts that I contemplated in my Lewis class: in particular Sehnsucht and the assuming of a false front; the latter of which is demonstrated in The Great Divorce.  Lewis describes Sehnsucht in Surprised by Joy:

Before I knew what I desired, the desire itself was gone, … the world turned commonplace again, or only stirred by a longing for the longing that had just ceased. It had taken only a moment of time; and in a certain sense everything else that had ever happened to me was insignificant in comparison. (16)

Lewis describes Sehnsucht as a longing. Mr. Rochester’s tempters manipulate that longing, trying to satisfy it by wrongdoing. I consider it helpful for readers studying temptation to examine Rochester’s thinking and some of his errors. Studying Rochester opens the way for much demonic propaganda. For example, the demons particularly detest Rochester’s virtuous, intended spouse, Jane Eyre, their hatred repeatedly bubbling over in ever-increasing insults.

Another book influenced my writing: The Great Divorce, a Christian classic by Lewis. This novel is written in the tradition of the Divine Comedy, the first Christian book in which a man (Dante Alighieri, the author himself) travels from hell through purgatory and then into heaven by following guides: first Virgil, then Beatrice. The Great Divorce follows its author, Lewis (in pretend), and his heavenly guide, George MacDonald, on Lewis’s fictional journey from hell into heaven. The Great Divorce reveals many temptations and sins of various other travelers seen over the course of the book, most of whom return to hell.

One such traveler is called the Dwarf/Tragedian. He is divided into two personas, bonded by a chain. One, the tall, talkative one, is the Tragedian, or the manipulative actor who pressures his wife, and that part wins out in the end. The other part, the near-silent Dwarf, is the man’s reason and true self, which retains the ability to sense the ridiculous.

Like the Tragedian, Brontë’s Rochester presents a false front, which the devils may use to turn him into a Dwarf/Tragedian. He acts as a gypsy, presenting Jane with a false self. To make her jealous of Blanche Ingraham, he acts again in his own house, in front of Jane, a mock wedding in a play. Moreover, he keeps faking being unmarried. Such falsifying could split him into an increasingly large mask and a correspondingly shrinking self. Since he seems to enjoy concealing his true self (up to a point), the demons can use that behavior to their advantage—shrinking Mr. Rochester and building up his false front. Neither Rochester, nor Jane Eyre, nor any of the characters in this collection are aware of the hidden efforts of Slubgob and his tempters.

Readers of this letter will only fully understand the conceit if they have previously read Jane Eyre, since I write as though my audience knows these beloved, famous characters and their life stories. I do add plot, but only in the shadowy realm of hell, where cutthroat demons vie with each other in wickedness. They are servants of the Father of Lies who work to bad effect, lying to their patients and to themselves.


My dear Screwtape,

Now I will tell you about something very useful that is often overlooked. Our job as servants (and colleagues) of Our Father Below is to tempt and to accuse. The Training College, in fact, should instead be named The Tempter and Accuser’s College, since both fruitful arts are taught there. I will say, though, that accusation is greatly overlooked, which means that a review of temptation and accusation is in order here.

Let us begin with temptation. Temptation leads our patients to compare their lives to other people’s and be miserable with jealousy or despondent with despair of ever living as well as they. You can even tell them they deserve better or that “playing by the rules” (i.e. being despicably moral) does not pay. We also tempt people into sinning because they think themselves immune from any consequences. Sometimes, we can puff them up to such a degree that they think they do nothing wrong! We show these creatures short-term pleasure and hide the consequences.

The best temptations are when our patients decide that their wrongdoing is actually righteous, wise, or at least innocent. You know how that works: “I’m not greedy; I’m thrifty.” “I’m not a womanizer; I’m a Casanova.” And if some person whom the patient looks up to sins, we may confuse him into thinking imitation of that sin is not wrong.

Perhaps the most common temptation is what I call the “bank account.” Humans love to think that because they are “good people” in certain categories of their life, they can earn forgiveness for lapses, that certain sins—or, sometimes, all of them—are pardoned because of their virtue. Unfortunately, if they read the Enemy’s Bible, that thinking will be proved untrue. Still, they often forget or ignore its invalidity.

Now at last we turn to the art of accusation. Accusation is a useful tool, and that blasted Thomas Brooks wrote down in Precious Remedies Against Satan’s Devices not only all our strategies for tempting but also all our strategies for accusing. (Don’t worry; the Lowerarchy is still studying how this secret knowledge came into that awful human’s possession, and every copy on earth is being discovered and destroyed. If you should become aware of the whereabouts of a copy, report it to the authorities immediately.) Now, to explain accusation, consider carefully what I am about to tell you. The Enemy gave humans a conscience. When they do wrong, our job is to accuse them nonstop. Incessant accusation can sometimes lead to a delicious suicide when we prevent them from forgiving themselves and make them obsess over the irreparable. Let them wallow in guilt, keeping the Enemy’s mercy out of their minds. Instead, play up His wrath and His justice. Tell them that He cannot and does not forgive and is solely concerned with punishing them. Do not allow them to put their sins behind them and move on with life. That is what He wants. If they continue in this mindset, as it is your job to make sure, they will come to resent the Enemy and become amoral.

Some accusations can be rather tricky. In the story of Job, the Enemy makes it very clear that troubles are not always punishment, but nevertheless, humans tend to feel that they are. Keep them feeling that way, and you’ll have the cat in the bag. Another important accusation you can perform on Christians is to tell them that they cannot be Christians because they are struggling. That, too, can lead to sinful despair—excellent food.

Since I have laid out temptation and accusation for you, you should understand me now when I say that the Tempter’s Training College is foolishly named. It ought to be called the Tempter’s and Accuser’s Training College, and it certainly will be if ever anyone intelligent is placed at its head.

 

Yours,

Slubgob

His Abysmal Sublimity Under Secretary, TE, BS


Afterword

C. S. Lewis fulfilled many roles during his lifetime: scholar, lay theologian, creative writer, and poet. His works are divided into many different categories, which rarely mix and commonly lead to widely varying opinions on their merits. In his day, Lewis’s steady rise to academic fame was temporarily hurt by the publication of The Screwtape Letters. While many speculate it was the outspokenly Christian outlook that was distasteful to his academic peers, Alastair McGrath, in his book The Intellectual World of C.S. Lewis, asserts that, “It was probably the immense popular success of this work, as much as its populist tone, that irritated many of his colleagues” (xi). Regarding Lewis’s theological works (or others of his works infused with theology), Robert MacSwain, in his introduction to The Cambridge Companion to C. S Lewis, claims, “[Lewis] has been ignored, at least by the mainstream academic theologians” (3). His poetry, too, has been discounted. Those who desire a better understanding of Lewis’s contribution, however, will not abandon his poetry and books of religious thought, such as The Screwtape Letters, because more fruit is to be revealed and created with robust cross-pollination across the span of Lewis’s works, including his works with Jane Eyre. Evidences of this claim are Michael Ward’s cosmological discoveries concerning The Chronicles of Narnia and also the creation of The Slubgob Collection.

The best example of this fruit from cross-pollination is that of Michael Ward, the scholar who discovered that the unifying theme of the seven planets of medieval cosmology (Jupiter, Mars, Sol, Luna, Mercury, Venus, Saturn) undergirds the seven Narnian chronicles. One evening, Ward was reading “The Heavens” in Lewis’s The Discarded Image,

[w]hen the thought occurred to me [Ward] that it would be useful to compare and contrast Lewis’s academic understanding of the subject with his poetic treatment of the same, so I took up my copy of his collected poems and began reading “The Planets.” The phrase ‘winter passed / And guilt forgiven’ sprang from the page, demanding attention. I had come across the passing of winter and the forgiving of guilt elsewhere in Lewis’s   writings:   those things formed the centrepiece of his first Narnia tale. Could there be a link somewhere between poem and Chronicle? That thought was the stray spark connecting Jupiter to The Lion in my mind, and one by one the other planet-to-book relationships began to be lit up in its train. (251)

To reveal this scholarly fruit, Ward serendipitously combines three of Lewis’ roles which do not commonly intersect: Lewis the creative children’s writer, Lewis the chair of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge University, and Lewis the poet. Ward notes of his discovery, “I had not been looking for the books’ governing idea: the thing was entirely unexpected and fortuitous” (244). It is startling to see now that The Chronicles of Narnia is akin to Gustav Holst’s Planets Suite, which is a well-known symphonic work (in seven movements), commonly played on classical music stations and also regularly performed by college and high school symphony orchestras (74).

In the same way as Ward’s revelations exemplify fruit arising from cross-pollination at the intersection of previously separate works, The Slubgob Collection synthesizes a wide swath of authors and generations—there are many spinning plates. Being juggled are ideas from several of Lewis’s writings as well as some 19th century English classics, with the main vehicle being an imitation of The Screwtape Letters. Just as Lewis imitated The Divine Comedy (in The Great Divorce) and Pilgrim’s Progress (in The Pilgrim’s Regress), so does Slubgob imitate Screwtape. This makes Slubgob doubly imitative: of Screwtape and also of Lewis’s imitating other authors.

The Screwtape Letters is difficult to categorize; with its epistolary, satirical, and theological subject matter, it fits in no neat category. New insight is provided in a helpful article by Joseph Cassidy in The Cambridge Companion entitled “On Discernment.” Cassidy addresses both The Screwtape Letters and Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer.   The two epistolary books are much more similar than they are different, the unique satire of Screwtape notwithstanding. Speaking of Malcolm, Cassidy asserts, “The book is obviously similar to Screwtape in form, but also—not so obviously—in content” (132). Cassidy encourages his audience to read these two books as a brilliant experience in imaginative self-discernment, not as a source of credal theology or as an aid to worship. Screwtape’s patient is never named and therefore exists as Everyman, leading the reader to reflect upon himself rather than on a fictional personality. Referencing a passage in Screwtape, Cassidy explains,

Letter 19 … reveals an important aspect of discernment. Screwtape, when pressed to say whether falling in love were good or bad in itself, says, “Nothing matters at all except … to move a particular patient at a particular moment near to the Enemy or near to us.” In terms of discernment of spirits this is key: experiences are to be judged not only on their own peculiar merits, but on whether they are part of a larger pattern of moving us closer to—or further from—God. (135)

Screwtape in particular forms an imaginative handbook on how to discern oneself, how to think about or judge oneself, and how to detect what motivates oneself.

Discernment of self leads to discernment of “classic selves” in The Slubgob Collection, famous selves in English literature. Slubgob riffs on Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters in a way that morphs into a surprising blend of fiction and literary criticism, with demons as the literary critics. This literary facet of Slubgob is not part of the original Screwtape; it is a creative

development and not a feature of the original. In Slubgob, something interesting is happening in a literary sense, not just a theological one. While being essentially fiction, Slubgob provides a reading—a creative discernment—of beloved nineteenth century fictional characters, such as Edward Fairfax Rochester, using Lewis as a lens and the imitation of Screwtape as a vehicle. Though Slubgob keeps the discerning character of the original Screwtape, readers are free to use discerning powers on another’s soul. The self-discernment required for entering into what the original Screwtape is doing is also needed for the discernment of characters in the literary criticism offered by the imitation, Slubgob. The act of knowing oneself can feel like the knowing of a character in literature with whom one relates. Nineteenth century characters from English literature are known commodities. In a way, these known commodities are real personalities. Discerning oneself is like discerning the self of a sympathetic fictional personality. In the same way that Screwtape forms an imaginative handbook for discerning oneself, Slubgob, by applying Lewis’s schema of demonic temptation to Jane Eyre, forms a model for discerning fictional personalities and suggests the question of whether characters could be worked upon by the supernatural.

Groundbreaking discoveries such as Ward’s and creations such as The Slubgob Collection are examples of the fruit that comes from reading Lewis. Reading Lewis will open one’s imagination; reading widely in Lewis will reveal how “high and deep” is the thing Lewis created (Eph. 3:18). MacSwain posits of Lewis that

[h]e has … expanded the genre of theology to include the imaginative works for which he is so famous … Lewis might … be seen as a deliberately “indirect” theologian, one who works by “thick description” or evocative images, operating in multiple voices and genres, through which a single yet  surprisingly subtle  and complex  vision emerges. Lewis cannot possibly count as a theologian on the Barthian model, but he may nevertheless offer a model of theological expression which needs to be appreciated on its own terms. (8-9)

Lewis’s “thick” and “evocative” visions will continue to bear surprising fruit for those who read a wide range of works in the Lewis canon and who have eyes open to discern Lewis’s vision, through the literary context of the west in which Lewis was immersed. McGrath explains further that “[t]his deep immersion in the Western tradition underlies Lewis’s creative synthesis of theological reflection and literary imagination” (1). Malcolm Guite, writing in The Cambridge Companion, reflects, “There is an internal coherence between all [Lewis’s] efforts in every field” (308). How then should we judge Lewis? MacSwain hints at the answer, positing the following conclusion: “It is … fair to ask whether the importance of a figure is best judged by their standing in the academy or by influence outside of it … academic theology ignores Lewis at its peril” (2). Many kinds of people, both in and out of the academy, will continue to resort to Lewis for insight, even if only within their isolated silos. The whole of his contribution is both broad and penetrating; those who read him will have their imaginations come alive.

Claude McKay: A Literary Revolutionary

By Rikki Vargas

Claude McKay was a Jamaican-American writer who produced works that served as a catalyst for the Harlem Renaissance. McKay’s works consist of themes that tie back to the experiences Black literature rose from, such as slavery, racism, and segregation. McKay’s “America” presents these themes through shifting imagery, hopeful thematic transition, conscious duality, and his renowned sonnet tradition, illuminating the complex interrelationship of art and politics, while advocating for the Black experience in the United States. McKay’s poetry substantiates his artistry while bettering the Black community and sustaining American humanity, highlighted especially in his iconic poem “America.”

 Background & Temperament

Born and raised in Jamaica, Claude McKay was introduced to his ancestral African roots through his father’s stories of his grandfather’s Ashanti customs and his mother’s Malagasy lineage. Both of his parents were peasant farmers and Baptist leaders in their local church. They also had sufficient property rights for suffrage. McKay’s prominence as a Black writer and poet can be traced back to his familial and cultural background. Furthermore, his avid interest in British literature and mentorship with Walter Jekyll—in combination with his native Jamaican background—spawned McKay’s distinctive perspective in his American expression of the Black experience through the connection of art and politics.

Jamaica to America

At age four, McKay began basic schooling at the church he attended. Three years later, he was sent to live with his oldest brother, who educated him in classical literature, philosophy, science, and theology. He started writing poetry at 10 years old. McKay’s proficiency in literature was bolstered by Walter Jekyll, a man who became a mentor and inspiration. He ended up helping McKay publish his first book of poems, Songs of Jamaica, in 1912. McKay’s early works revealed “a poet whose social and educational experience were rooted in the less brutal British colonialism of his native island” (Denizé and Newlin 102). It was not until McKay left for America in that same year that he experienced a shift in literary content and poetic themes.

McKay’s colonial experience of Jamaica carried analogies to the Black effort and reaction of African Americans to the dominant, racist American discourse. In some ways, the fight against the British Empire bore similarities with the historical and social resistance of African Americans, producing a unique literary mode of thought in the 1920s Harlem context—an extension of the postcolonial attitude with writers such as McKay, Walrond, and Holstein. This quality of the Harlem Renaissance that rose from West Indian writers, authors, and poets gave “an international perspective and a geographically distanced locus of the ruling discourse” (Philipson 146). Furthermore, this distinct perspective emerged from the immigrant’s spatial shock from a colonial realm to America’s complex racial scheme.

Attending Booker T. Washington’s Tuskegee Institute in the South, McKay was particularly appalled by the vast contrast of American prejudice from societal conditions in Jamaica. He asserted that “[t]he whites at home constitute about 14% of the population only and they generally conform to the standard of English respectability” (McKay, “Passion” 48). His entrance to an environment where he was the minority instead of the majority prompted him, in 1918, to write:

I had heard of prejudice in America but never dreamed of it being so intensely bitter; for at home there is also prejudice of the English sort, subtle and dignified, rooted in class distinction—color and race being hardly taken into account. It was such an atmosphere I left for America….In the South daily murders of a nature most hideous and revolting, in the North silent acquiescence, deep hate half-hidden under a Puritan respectability, oft flaming up into an occasional lynching—this ugly raw sore in the body of a great nation. (“Passion” 48).

This statement is significant in understanding and analyzing McKay’s “If We Must Die,” “The Lynching,” and” America”—three works that will be closely analyzed in this paper. Heather Hathaway’s description of the influence of McKay’s move toward his poetry posits, “[W]hereas the social criticism of his Jamaican poetry revolved almost exclusively around class oppression, the focus of McKay’s American verse shifted to address the barbarities of racism” (Hathaway 42). In the endeavor to understand the black experience in America, McKay’s reading of W.E.B. Du Bois’s Souls of Black Folk inspired his involvement in racial politics, which revolutionized his artistic literary strategies.

Arts vs. Politics

As an associate editor of the Liberator, McKay represented the magazine’s aspirations of fusing literary-aesthetic matters and political concerns, similar to other periodicals of the time. In his writings, McKay was “most importantly concerned with the relationship of art and politics and the creation of a Black cultural expression rooted in the Black experience” (Helbling 50). The Liberator gave him a platform from which to speak and express the complexities of being a Black immigrant in America during the height of racial conflict. However, McKay emphasized the timeless result of literature by separating art from politics—poetry from science—in which focus on the former lent efficacy. McKay, because of his concern toward art and politics, aspires to separate the two as he considered art to be an expression in itself; his motivations for literature were not political but an articulation of his experiences.

Writing as a West Indian, McKay perceived his heritage as complementary to his literary skills and intelligence, rather than a hindrance. McKay’s postcolonial-global perspective showed that “coming from countries in which Blacks had experienced no legalized segregations and limitations upon opportunity, West Indians were better prepared to challenge racial barriers in the United States than the more docile American Blacks” (Philipson 146). In the challenge of being a Black immigrant, he was indifferent to integrating himself into the African American context—one that viewed Blacks as second-class citizens, even subhuman beings, socially, politically, and economically. Rather, he sought to be a contributing member of society.

The dilemma of American-based Black writers in the success of portraying the true Black experience in America was at the forefront of McKay’s vocal criticism of the Harlem Renaissance. Living in the era of American literary modernism, McKay epitomizes the high modernist characteristics of being “self-reflexive, concerned with its own nature as art” (Baym 1848). He views literature as a genuine reflection of the individual self, and that in itself is art. The Harlem Renaissance, according to McKay, centered on politics rather than the art of literature so much so that the movement lost much of its political substantiality, thus illustrating the need for modernism. In A Long Way from Home, he “criticized the writings of the Harlem Renaissance as devoid of any substantial political content and too greatly oriented toward being ‘an uplift organization and a vehicle to accelerate the pace and progress of smart Negro society’” (Helbling 49). Nathan Huggins also shared this dilemma that “the task of Negro intellectuals, as they have addressed themselves to the issue of race in American life, has been to delineate Negro character and personality in the American context” (Huggins 139). However, where exactly do African Americans belong in the American context and as part of the broader racial discourse? Are they distinctive in their cultural character? How do they fit in as part of the American Dream and its idealized future?

McKay set out to answer these questions in his work, despite his position that “Negro institutions… are developed only perfunctorily and by compulsion, because Negroes have no abiding faith in them” (“A Long Way From Home” 321). In all his artistic considerations, McKay placed art and poetry as the driving elements of his expression of the Black identity and experience. McKay’s individual response to the collective criticism of “If We Must Die” illustrates his artful objective and determination:

To thousands of Negroes who are not trained to appreciate poetry, “If We Must Die” makes me a poet. I myself was amazed at the general sentiment of the poem. For I am so intensely subjective as a poet, that I was not aware, at the moment of writing, that I was transformed into a medium to express a mass sentiment. (“A Long Way From Home” 228).

McKay was more astonished in his success inadvertently to articulate the thoughts and feelings of the Black community than the action itself. Through exegesis of McKay’s more prominent works, it is clear that “any connection between art and politics, any fusion that took place, must be one that sprang from the fullness of one’s individual life and the existential act of creative expression” (Helbling 51). In the analysis of his renowned poems and classical sonnet form, McKay’s biographical background and intellectual temperament are crucial to understanding the efficacy of his creative energy and imagination that advocates for the Black experience and consciousness.

Literary Preludes

McKay’s poems “If We Must Die” and “The Lynching” are critical works for the comprehensive dissecting of “America’s” motives and themes. Each poem was published chronologically—1919, 1920, and 1921 respectively—presenting a culmination of historical events and McKay’s responses to them. Critics essentially agree that the three sonnets are connected thematically, as “they deal with the crucible of race relations, racial pride, culture, history, lineage and roots, so that the effect is like that of a sonnet sequence” (Denizé and Newlin 101). Moreover, as poetic and literary preludes to “America”, McKay established his commitment to forge, through art, a new social and political awareness in “If We Must Die” and “The Lynching.”

McKay’s “If We Must Die” issues a call to confront oppression and resist with dignity. It reveals America’s disenfranchising of and discrimination against Blacks through legalized segregation as the primary factor in national disunity. By dehumanizing the oppressed and oppressor, McKay highlights this affair by issuing a revolutionary anthem that empowers the Black community to sustain its humanity and survival. The poem was reprinted in practically every leading Negro magazine and newspaper (Bronz 74). Sociologist Charles S. Johnson deemed the poem to create an effect “a mood of stubborn defiance” (Johnson 170). Even Churchill quoted the poem in one of his World War II speeches.

The poem’s universal quality of fighting oppression through resilience and nobility reinforces McKay’s artistic ability to produce timeless works, adjustable to the reader’s satisfaction and relatability. More importantly, it underlines the capability of expressing communal struggle that supports political intonations without compromising integrity. For instance, McKay criticizes the oppressed’s and the oppressor’s lost humanity through the personification of animals: “If we must die, let it not be like hogs / Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot / While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs” (2112). McKay wrote the poem in July of 1919 during the period of the Red Summer. The consummation of racial tension and its manifestation with the increasing number of lynchings led him to write “If We Must Die” and the aptly titled poem “The Lynching” in the next year.

“The Lynching” paid homage to the more traditional Elizabethan and Petrarchan sonnets—remnants of the Shakespearean English Renaissance—in contrast to the dark undertones and confronting message of “If We Must Die”. Continuing the long tradition of faith influencing the Civil Rights movement, McKay employs several Christian images in the poem (e.g. the crucifixion, the Spirit, the Father and the Son). Nonetheless, modernism is asserted in the ambiguity and conflation of printing “father” in lowercase. Does the “father” imply God or the devil? McKay employs his skillful artistic abilities by capitalizing on the sonnet form from the English Renaissance to the Harlem Renaissance in both poems. Furthermore, on top of his transformative sonnet strategies and artistic emphasis, McKay, imbued by America’s traumatic and barbaric Black experience, reinforces his distinct perspective as an immigrant through a hybrid point of view, a double consciousness. In “If We Must Die”, the readers can clearly view McKay’s struggle between “seeing himself as Jamaican…and seeing himself as African American,” foreshadowing the dominant dualism and imagery of “America” (Denizé and Newlin 103).

America

McKay’s third sonnet, “America,” serves as the apex of the previous two poems, presenting his position and outlook of America as his new home, as well as his experiences from the past decade. In the sonnet “America,” Claude McKay demonstrates an artistic perspective toward politics, comparing the distinctly American Black experience—marked by double consciousness—to powerful metaphors that transition the reader, thereby the nation, from racialized anger to eventual hope.

McKay—a master of the poetic form—understood that the ability to produce a work of art gave credibility to an argument. “America” is a typical sonnet, consisting of three quatrains that end with a rhythmic couplet. Although consistent in its alternate rhyme scheme in the first stanza, the pattern loses persistence toward the end, which indicates a shift in the overall substance of the poem. McKay’s greatest challenge in writing the poem is perhaps this gradual metamorphosis in imagery and form. An uncertainty in the objectivity and subjectivity of the speaker remains, as he negotiates the tension between conflicting emotions, especially in the lines: “I will confess / I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!” (2112). This line voices the speaker’s anger and fascination in criticizing the Black experience in America—“passions evoked by the great promise of equality and innovation, patent traits of the American Dream” (Denizé and Newlin 103). Subsequently, a duality is constructed from the American Dream where “Black men and white men, immigrant and native, have been subject to crises of identity because of [its] promises to include them all in a common culture which has not been realized” (Huggins 137). McKay, Jamaican and American, also presents this in-between liminality—this double consciousness—of the Black experience in the contrasting imagery and metaphorical personification in addition to the ambivalent transitions.

McKay juxtaposes the male subjective speaker against the feminization of America as a matriarchal figure. He also exposes the Black dependency on American reality and the shortcomings of previous traditions of literature that “express human desires for coherence rather than reliable intuitions of reality” (Baym 1847) in lines 6-7: “Giving me strength erect against her hate / Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood” (McKay 2112). Although America “feeds me bread of bitterness / And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,” McKay’s steadfast love for her enables him to pen the strong synergies and radical dynamics expressed in “If We Must Die,” a nationalism deeply rooted in the Black experience and identity. The speaker stands “as a rebel fronts a king in state…with not a shred / Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer” and invites his “kinsmen [that they] must meet the common foe!” (McKay 2112-2113). With strong alliterative metaphors, McKay creates vivid imagery, functional for the hopeful closure of the poem. The positive truth of “gaz[ing] into the days ahead / And see her might and granite wonders there” relies and stems essentially from the negative feelings of the speaker’s recipient of America’s “bread of bitterness” and “her tiger’s tooth” (2112-2113). The speaker “loves America and tries to work with [her]. His sentiment is not hate but rather indeterminacy about America and the speaker’s ‘place’ in a nation whose ‘place’ itself is compromised in posterity by racial hatred” (Denizé and Newlin 104).

The architecture and meaning of “America” are inseparable from McKay’s background as a West Indian and political artist. All in all, despite his sojourns to England, France, Spain, Russia, and Morocco, McKay became an American by cultivating a passionate temperament for the country and a personal encounter of the Black experience, sculpting and instilling his love for the “cultured hell” that is America. This fact is supported by his residency and constant returns to Harlem “from 1912 to 1917, from 1919 to 1922, and after the return from his European exile in 1934 to his death” (Lenz 313). Furthermore, inheriting breadcrumbs of slavery and experiencing traces of it through racism and segregation, McKay used his literary aptitude in the exercise of artistic expression and the arts of the sonnet tradition with hints of Christian allusions for the identification of the Black character and exposure of the Black experience, manifested especially in “The Lynching.” In “America,” however, this fact is seen in the hopeful yet ambivalent tone of the last two lines: “Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand / Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand,” maintaining that Black identity of duality and experience of double consciousness (McKay 2113).

Conclusion

Claude McKay, whether “an American Harlemite or a man of the world, …was unquestionably one of the most important black writers of the 1920” (Baym, “Claude McKay” 2109). Although he produced American material in America, his past as a native Jamaican subject of King George V critiques the two nations’ cross-cultural contexts and conditions. McKay’s inherent skill and compelling passion for the literary arts realized his works’ efficacy of art over politics, in which his “militant sonnets electrified the American left and the Black intelligentsia” (Philipson 146). In his duty to express the Black experience and expose America’s harsh, racialized reality, McKay “sought a unifying vision for humankind, and it is this impulse that both inspires and gives his sonnets a timeless quality” (Denizé and Newlin 102). Through critical analysis and dissection of his most prominent works, these qualities of McKay as a poet, politician, and contributor to humanity are self-evident, substantially in “America.”


 

Works Cited

Baym, Nina. “Introduction: American Literature 1914-1945.” The Norton Anthology of American Literature, edited by Nina Baym, W.W. Norton & Company, 2013, pp. 1837-1856.

Baym, Nina. “Introduction: Claude McKay.” The Norton Anthology of American Literature, edited by Nina Baym, W.W. Norton & Company, 2013, pp. 2109-2110.

Bronz, Stephen. Roots of Negro Racial Consciousness—The 1920’s: Three Harlem Renaissance Authors. Libra, 1964.

Denizé, Donna E. M., and Louisa Newlin. “The Sonnet Tradition and Claude McKay.” The English Journal, vol. 99, no. 1, 2009, pp. 99–105, www.jstor.org/stable/40503338. Accessed 7 Aug. 2020.

Hathaway, Heather. Caribbean Waves: Relocating Claude McKay and Paule Marshall. Indiana UP, 1999.

Helbling, Mark. “Claude McKay: Art and Politics.” Negro American Literature, vol. 7, no. 2, 1973, pp. 49-52, www.jstor.org/stable/3041269. Accessed 6 Aug. 2020.

Huggins, Nathan. Harlem Renaissance. Oxford UP, 2007.

Johnson, Charles. “The Negro Renaissance and Its Significance.” The Harlem Renaissance, edited by Harold Bloom, Chelsea House, 2004, pp. 167-178.

Lenz, Günter H. “Symbolic Space, Communal Rituals, and The Surreality of The Urban Ghetto: Harlem in Black Literature From The 1920s to The 1960s.” Callaloo, no. 35, 1988, pp. 309–345, www.jstor.org/stable/2930966. Accessed 8 Aug. 2020.

McKay, Claude. “America.” The Norton Anthology of American Literature, edited by Nina Baym, W.W. Norton & Company, 2013, pp. 2112-2113.

McKay, Claude. “If We Must Die.” The Norton Anthology of American Literature, edited by Nina Baym, W.W. Norton & Company, 2013, pp. 2112.

McKay, Claude. A Long Way From Home. Mariner, 1970.

McKay, Claude. The Passion of Claude McKay: Selected Poetry and Prose 1912-1948. Schocken, 1973.

Philipson, Robert. “The Harlem Renaissance as Postcolonial Phenomenon.” African American Review, vol. 40, no. 1, 2006, pp. 145–160, www.jstor.org/stable/40027037. Accessed 7 Aug. 2020.

 

 

 

The Role of Women in a Man’s War

By Chris Toavs

The 1916 Easter Rising disseminated a nonexclusive tragedy which impacted the whole world. Propaganda circulated within political and social spheres, serving as a driving force for both Ireland and Britain. Propaganda marinated in a widely accepted notion that conventional military tactics would not win the war, allowing characterization of the rising to each country’s respective affinity. The Irish perspective centered on survival and raw blunt force, whereas the British focused on the virtue of conflict and empire. Nonetheless, women were largely represented poorly in proliferating propaganda pieces. Although the Irish and the British maintained opposing views of the 1916 conflict, both sides exploited women imagery to support their masculine vision.

Propaganda stimulates others to accept assertions without challenge. A working definition of “propaganda” is “the spreading of ideas, information, or rumor for the purpose of helping or injuring an institution, a cause, or a person” (Manzaria and Bruck). In essence, propaganda exists to draw the public eye and excite supporters. Wartime propaganda popularized the narrative that cast women into traditional roles of “guardians of the home” and further, as trophies requiring protection. Undertones of WWI themes, such as honor, way of life, and protection of women, readily appear in propaganda produced during the 1916 conflict. Propaganda of all forms segregated women from directly engaging in the conflict. Instead, they indirectly supported the conflict with “their gentle nature and vulnerability making them both objects of men’s affections and victims of the enemy’s barbarous acts” (Fox, 2014, p. 14). The psychology that drives modern ideals of women is rooted in common past perceptions. While Britain and Ireland both manipulated women illustrations, propaganda was tailored respectively to each country’s objective.

The advertising of the Easter Uprising was a “discreet footman trying to catch attention with a quiet cough” (Brown, 2016). Propaganda played a critical role in motivating and mobilizing supporters in Ireland. For the Irish, it served as a beckoning call to protect the country’s freedom from oppressive British rule. However, the effort was largely prompted by the sheer masculinity which fueled the uprising. The Irish perspective was exclusively survival, more than just liberation of men and women. They intended rather a “principled, heroic gesture to reawaken the spirit of militant nationalism among the apparently apathetic masses, an aspiration that explains their preoccupation with symbolic and dramatic gestures” (McGarry, 2014). Therefore, propaganda produced by Irish rebels rarely featured women. Instead posters fixate on men devoted to the fight. Themes of strength and heroism dominated the rebellion narrative. One image, published by the Irish Life magazine, depicts an Irish soldier raising the Irish flag in one hand and a rifle in the other while standing on a defeated British flag framed with the words, “Ireland first, and Ireland last, and Ireland overall.” This particular ad is a great example of “the type of propaganda used to promote the war effort in Ireland” (Mawe, 2015). It illustrates rebellion as a masculine effort reinforcing women in a supporter role from the home. Another image flaunts the fragility of women. Men in uniforms arranged in trenches encircle a floating woman waving the Irish flag. Her white, cascading gown symbolizes purity of the Irish intentions; to rule their own land. The men surrounding her highlight the Irish consensus that men are the protectors. The propaganda that advocated the conflict only featured men in uniforms holding guns suppresses proper recognition of the axillary service women provided.

The Easter Rising is remembered as the pivotal event in the struggle for Irish independence. However, for the British, the Rising was a calamity. The Easter Rising “precipitated the independence of one corner of the UK, led on to the partition of Ireland and the Troubles and emboldened British colonies elsewhere to seek their freedom,” in turn hastening the end of the British empire (Irish Central, 2016). The conflict was necessary for the sake of virtue. That is, the virtue of empire and the virtue of civilizing the Irish. Women served as the embodiment of the nation’s virtue and innocence; “the justice of its cause, and its determination to overcome the [rebels]” (Fox, 2014). Contrary to Irish rebellion the British used propaganda to protect the vitality of Ireland as part of their empire. One prominent postcard portrays a woman raising a gun and the Union Jack’s asking the following question: “How is freedom measured?” The answer is stirring: “By the effort which it costs to retain freedom!” The answer positioned near the flag signifies Britain’s justification of the conflict. This poster also exemplifies the proactive role of advertising women for an endearing pathos appeal to continue the fight. War is a necessity for the British to maintain control over Ireland. Even though British ad emphasis of women surpasses Ireland capitalizing on elegant and appealing illustrations ultimately emits a masculine sentiment embedded in war. Therefore, the British perpetuate the traditional role of women which influenced future propaganda.

Propaganda produced during the Easter Rising contributed to the narrative that percolated the perception of women throughout history. There are clear traces of women exploitation in women’s suffrage movements from around the globe. Famous images affirming and negating women’s suffrage all derived from the fragile and virtuous icon. Though Suffragettes argued that the mobilization of women proved active female participants in the war effort “were more worthy of citizenship than male pacifists or conscientious objectors” (Fox), the image of such women was obscured. Female nurses, who risked their lives to care for the troops at the front, were still described in gendered terms such as “carers, sisters or angels.” Inversely, munitions workers were simultaneously depicted as capable of demanding physical labor and as compromising their maternal instincts. Jo Fox proposes the question, “How to reconcile the paradox that the same women who made the bullets and shells, responsible for the deaths of so many, would also be the mothers of the next generation?” The same narrative that influenced past propaganda imposed and crippled future movements that sought to demolish such notions.

  The exploitation of women differed in each side of the fight. The British manipulated feminine imagery for the public to aspire to. However, the Irish rebels used images of men fighting for women to inspire the citizens. Although both countries utilized women imagery in contrasting ways, the exploitation of women furthered the narrative that kept women on the sidelines. This narrative embedded societal beliefs within historical suffrage movements and led to the present-day calls for equality.

 

 

References

BBC Archives (2014). War and Conflict 1916 Easter Rising gallery.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/history/british/easterrising/gallery/index.shtml

Bernays, E. (2016). History is a weapon. http://www.historyisaweapon.org/

defcon1/bernprop.html

Brown, T. (2016). The Irish Times in 1916: A newspaper in focus.

https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/heritage/the-irish-times-in-1916-a-newspaper-in-focus

Bruck, J., & Manzaria, J. (2015). Media’s use of propaganda to persuade people’s

attitude, beliefs and behaviors. https://web.stanford.edu/class/e297c/

war_peace/media/hpropaganda.html

Fox, J. (2014). Women in World War One propaganda. https://www.bl.uk/world-war-one/

articles/women-in-world-war-one-propaganda

Ireland Calling Writers (2014). How did the Irish public view the Easter Rising?

https://ireland-calling.com/easter-rising-public-reaction/

IrishCentral Staff Writers (2016). New evidence on view of Easter Rising from British

perspective revealed. https://www.irishcentral.com/roots/history/new-documentary-looks-at-easter-rising-from-british-perspective

Kenneally, I. (2008). The role of the press in the Easter Rising.

http://theirishrevolution.ie/role-press-easter-rising/#.Xenj8ehKhPZ

Mawe, S. (2015).  History of a conflagration – A record of the rebellion.

https://www.tcd.ie/library/1916/history-of-a-conflagration-a-record-of-the-rebellion/

McGarry, F. (2014). The War of Independence. https://www.qub.ac.uk/sites/irishhistorylive/

IrishHistoryResources/Articlesandlecturesbyourteachingstaff/TheWarofIndependence/

McGarry, F. (2014). Easter Rising (Great Britain and Ireland). https://encyclopedia.1914-1918-online.net/article/easter_rising_great_britain_and_ireland

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The War on Generic Drugs

By Chris Toavs

The intention of the patent was to encourage innovation by promising absolute intellectual rights. Patents hold a crucial role in the pharmaceutical world they prevent market failure and allow for extensive investment in research. However, patent-protected drugs face no price cap or competitors for a minimum of twenty years, guaranteeing patent holders market exclusivity (Gabriel, 2014). As a result, consumers currently pay enormous amounts of money to obtain their medications, leaving them with no other options to access drugs. Unreachable prices push people into a survival mindset. Rationing supplies and alternative solution drugs are a few of the harms consumers face. Despite their initially positive goal of protecting intellectual property rights, patents, in the hands of pharmaceutical companies, actually create profitable pharma monopolies that also prevent patients from accessing vital medications. To reprioritize patient access to necessary medicine over corporate profit margins, generic drugs ought to be more readily available and less restricted by patents.

Pharmaceutical companies in the United States have long had a vexed relationship with patents, which they avoided or used only as the patents served the corporation’s financial interest. Due to the antebellum market and increases in meeting public demands, “[b]y the 1840s[,] the drug trade in the United States had become a diverse and complex enterprise” (Gabriel, 2014). Drug manufacturers frequently turned down patents for fear of exposing harmful ingredients in their medicine. Drug ingredients were trade secrets because companies did not desire to disclose controversial, and perhaps illegal, ingredients. Before the antebellum era, patents were used for commercial purposes. Near the end of this era, patents presented an opportunity for economic growth. Pharmaceutical monopolies favored the use of patents for empire expansion. Orthodox physicians recognized the corruption festering between pharma companies and patents and worked “to suppress the use of patent medicines” (Gabriel, 2014, p. 43). Patents are weapons. Pharma monopolies now use patent manipulation in a modern-day race to arm themselves for a single sided war. If old patents are retained and new patents are obtained, then pharma monopolies profit.

While patents fill pharmaceutical monopolies’ arsenals, restricting medication manufacturing harms consumers. A patent guarantees a market with no competitors. Pharma monopolies virtually control all variables of the market because the monopolies allow the companies to fix prices on drugs that chronically ill customers need. With no obstacles these monopolies generate a huge amount of money by robbing dependent consumers. Average middle-class people cannot afford to purchase medications. Valeant Pharmaceutical Company is a prime example of such patent abuse. While patents originally aim to incentivize research and development by protecting innovative findings, Michael Pearson, the CEO of Valeant, claims that his company will ignore research and focus only on the distribution of drugs. Rather than generate profit through innovation by developing new drugs, Pearson simply buys rival drug companies and uses those companies’ old drug patents to create a drug giant built upon “price gouging, a secret network of specialty pharmacies, and fraud” (Gandel, 2015). As the Valeant example reveals, patents help CEOs and companies line their pockets while keeping drugs from people who need them.

As the Valeant example suggests, patents drive up the price of the drug for the consumer by halting the manufacturing of reasonably priced generic drugs. Generics are the same chemical compound as brand name drugs; however, they cost substantially less. Patents grant absolute power and eliminate hope for generics because no company will willingly surrender the opportunity to make money. Preventing the sale of generic drugs creates a vicious cycle consumers have no choice but participate in. Prices on brand-name drugs continue to increase, and consumers and healthcare providers must pay. Ironically, drugs for non-life-threatening conditions escape this cycle because generic brands exist for common over-the-counter drugs such as analgesics, antibiotics, and vitamins. Diphenhydramine HCl, for instance, is the counterpart generic to the brand Benadryl. However, there exists almost no generic option for life-saving medicines like insulin, HIV drugs, and spironolactone, the drug for congestive heart failure. Why are Americans willing to help consumers access medicine to alleviate the common cold or a headache and not lower insulin costs to keep people alive? Do springtime runny noses take precedent over life-threatening illnesses?

Because of this counterintuitive situation in which patents prevent development of generic life-saving drugs, consumers try to save money by resorting to dangerous practices, including drug rationing and using “Me-too” drugs slightly altered to avoid patent infringement. Ideally, a diabetic would make decisions about his insulin dosage based on food intake and blood sugar sliding scales. For example, if a diabetic patient needs to administer larger doses to regulate their blood sugar, s/he may run out of medication before a prescribed refill. Medications based on changing factors, such as insulin, require flexible dosages. If a diabetic person needs an insulin refill sooner than allotted period, he must pay more. Or more commonly, patients cannot afford their medications when it is time to refill prescriptions. Both inconveniences happens so frequently that diabetics ration their insulin supply to avoid paying large prices. When a diabetic rations his insulin they risk pushing their body into diabetic ketoacidosis, which shuts down the body’s vital organs until death.

In addition to drug rationing, many patients resort to “Me-too” drugs and thereby risk introducing foreign drugs into their system. Unlike generics, “Me-too” drugs are bio-similar drugs that possess a similar chemical composition to that of the prototype (Garattini, 1997). “Me-too” drugs are mistaken for generic drugs, but they are in no way congruent. Mario Negri investigates “Me-too” drugs “potentially dangerous trend because [that trend] undermines what should be the main goal of drug development, for example to make active medicinal agents available to the patient with precise and reliable information” (Garattini, 1997). “Me-too” drugs have an identical mechanism of action but are principally old drugs chemically modified and sold under a new name. For instance, Pradaxa (dabigatran), Xarelto (rivaroxaban), and Eliquis (apixaban) are all “Me-too” drugs based on Warfarin, which prevents and treats blood clots (Young 2015). The only “new” part of these “new” drugs are simply in name and offer no further differences or advancements in treatment capabilities than their predecessors. Unfortunately, “Me-too” drugs are not an innovative drug but rather another aspect pharmaceutical companies exploit.

Considering ascending prices and fruitless “Me-too” drugs, generics offer the perfect solution to the problem the chronically ill face. Generic drugs provide consumers a way to purchase their necessary medications at low costs. Medications that continually need to be filled can cost approximately $500 to $1,000 a month. Generics not only provide a low-cost option, but they also create competition in the drug market that forces name brand pharma companies to match their competition. The competition generates low costs on generics and name-brand drugs, which is beneficial for all, “especially in a national health system that supplies drugs to patients who have too low an income to pay for them” (Garattini, 1997). Healthcare insurance can offer more coverage and the federal government is able to extend help to more people. Pharmaceutical patents need to be reformed to allow the manufacturing of generic drugs.

The national government regularly intervenes when it comes to environmental issues yet not when it comes to patient health. An active government should show a greater interest in protecting patients’ wellbeing, which is why patents should be limited. The carbon footprint of large monopolies are monitored so the national government can reprimand companies who pose a threat to the environment. It is time that the national government monitors the harms pharmaceutical patents have on the chronically ill. Patents should have a permanent expiration date. Once the patent on a drug expires it should not be renewable and should be placed in the public domain. The public should have access to create generic forms of name brand drugs. Expiring patents inspires innovation in the drug market. Pharmaceutical monopolies must design new, innovative drugs to generate revenue. Now pharma monopolies work for profit rather than hide behind the fraud of reclaiming old drugs as new ones. By limiting patent renewals, generics present the perfect solution to rising drug prices.

Clearly the effects of pharmaceutical monopolies’ tight control of pharmaceutical patents financially and physically harms consumers. Introducing generic forms of life-dependent drugs is beneficial for consumers, pharma monopolies, and the federal government. Generics supply a low-cost solution in a high-cost drug market, inspire drug innovation within pharmaceutical monopolies, and offer a means for the federal government to extend healthcare aid. Although pharma monopolies abuse of pharmaceutical patents they provide the necessary drugs for life. Therefore, restrictions are required to stop the exploitation of chronically ill consumers. 

 

 

References

Bliss, M. (2017). The discovery of insulin. Toronto, Canada: University of Toronto Press.

Dumit, J. (2012). Drugs for life: How pharmaceutical companies define our health. Duke University Press.                   

Feldman, R., & Frondorf, E. (2017). Drug wars: How big pharma raises prices and keeps

generics off the market. Cambridge University Press.

Gabriel, J. M. (2014). Medical monopoly: Intellectual property rights and the origins of the                                                                                    

modern pharmaceutical industry. University of Chicago Press.

Gandel, S. (2015). Valeant: A timeline of the big pharma scandal.

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/9442441

Garattini S. (1997). Are me-too drugs justified? http://fortune.com/2015/10/31/valeant-scandal/

Greene, J. A. (2014). Generic the unbranding of modern medicine. John Hopkins University Press.

Young, K. (2015). Pharma heavily markets “me-too drugs” to physicians.

https://www.jwatch.org/fw109727/2015/01/09/pharma-heavily-markets-me-too-drugs-physicians

 

 

Of Beauty Clasped

By Ellis Rhoades

 

To Make a Memory

Mix sea salt with the flowing tide, and eyes

Bluer still.

 

Feel fading heartbeats; recall the warmth

Of aged love through lumbering blood.

Say goodbye.

 

Say hello.

Stay up late until it’s early, until words

Cannot dive deep enough.

Say I do.

 

Pay attention. But only to moments, and not

The years falling like leaves -

Drifting tongues of fire

On a mounting breeze.

 

Then, swept along too swiftly, pause

To note the slant of sunlight through a window

Reflecting blue-green pools, and two

Fresh smiles.

 

Let no wonder pass, no beauty go unclasped

But do not grip too tightly, as with age

The setting of the sun becomes a friend.

Like shifting tides, the hours all rush back

In the end.

 

 Warrior’s Prayer

Make war upon the enemies of light, and give

No mercy to the evil, the horrid, the false.

Rally to the groaning of creation.

Hoist high the standard - each man’s cross.

 

Let blood spill where sin fell to the earth -

Justice pleasing to a wrathful God.

No memory of fell and fallen creatures

To last, stricken by the edge of the sword.

 

Lift up the ram’s horns, circle the gates

Of Hell seven times - once for each most deadly sin

And take no spoil, for the treasure there

Is already spoiled within.

 

Let armies seen and unseen clash;

Let blackest gates know fear at fearsome siege -

But let the angels take their rest.

Here am I. Send me.

 

 Of Little Faith

The lilies of the field

Are clothed in violet glory

Flowering over

Graves to soothe

Their use.

 

No Roman guard for Angela

No burial shroud for Jack

No stone rolled away

For the children.

 

There is weeping and gnashing

Of teeth afflicted

By this transient world

And they say judgement is yet to come.

 

Oh ye of little faith,

The good book reproves,

Why do you trouble

Over what you will wear?

 

Grandma wore purple

Like the lilies,

I whisper.

Grandma wore white and brown

Like the birds

Of the air.

 

Tell me guide, friend, scholar of the Word

That He has a plan.

Tell me preacher at the altar

That He feels our pain.

 

Tell me all things work for good,

That every tear is necessary,

And perhaps your burning tongue

Will lead me to the helpless sin

Of anger at a just God.

 

If my faith indeed could move the mountains

Would I weep still

Beside this tomb?

Or could I boldly claim,

“She is only sleeping,”

As loved ones look on, amazed?

 

Instead of boarding a plane

Back home to those I’ve honored

All my life, and wondering

What will Father say?

What will Father say?

 

The Highest Calling

Behind the screen

With its kaleidoscopic colors.

Beyond the siren call

Of the projector.

Past the afterglow of Summer,
The languid appeal of bright smiles

On bright days.

 

Hidden under layers

Of coal and rigid rock

Like diamonds sparkling in secret caverns

Perfected under weight

Of darkling depths.

 

Searched out under sheets,

Found atop the battlements

Between frail bodies

Bracing for the sting of steel

Or the bite of bullets.

 

A lifeline stronger than the pull

Of death, longer than

Time itself, enduring pounding waves

And with the whisper of a single word

Frayed.

 

Fragile beauty veiled

Between drops of rain

Humble through the night, yet in the day

Bright beyond all colors,

Simply too brave

To come without

A promise.

 

Blizzard

Veiled in snow, a muffled world

Whose voice howls down with bitter flurries

Calls to the adventurous with cold, unparalleled

Beauty.

 

Who goes there? Not a soul, despite

The gift that falls like diamonds from dark clouds.

In neat rows down Pine street, houses crouch under the weight

Of crystal glory lighting on the ground.

 

The occupants turn dials,

Snare themselves in warmth and covers pulled

Tight enough to insulate from trials -

All fear their fallow hearts evade, are fooled

 

To think that such a mighty offering

Winter’s call to young and old - fierce roar -

Could be received over a cup of tea

Could be heard over the blazing tongues at hearth.

 

Yet if they stepped across the warm threshold

Of home, strode out on frosty blanket fair and pure

Found would be some welcome in the cold,

The biting winds a tonic swift to cure

 

The malady of idleness - vain faith

In a solid world reality

Denies throughout the seasons, for blind fate

Tosses every life like icy seeds.

 

For the soul loses its purpose

Bound fast by languid hours

And, so tied, cries for deliverance

Accepts the wintry challenge

 

To break all bonds, to loose its nature

Taking on new burdens, burdened less -

To stride across the alabaster fields, enraptured

And earning hallowed silence, trial bless.

 

Fiction

Scattered dust settles on the spine

Of an aged novel lost to passion

Like streaks of grey in an old woman’s glory

Or the wonder of snow on a lonely mountain.

 

Such riches, appraised, sell for less

Than half their worth in wisdom

But to the prudent mind, unstained by greed:

A gilding worthy of kingdoms.

 

Travel far, still no man will reach

The lands of which this tome has told

To the growing and grown, each one alike -

It bears them past their mortal fold.

 

So just as every mighty gift

Is hidden lest its favor fall

Upon ignoble heads, this spellbound tome

Is passed down generations, or in halls

 

Lined by shelves supporting all the weight

Of years poured out in earnest grace

To please the heart, to spur the mind

And, bearing merry marks upon the face

 

Of some distant wanderer, at last to gain

That realm which even words could scarcely picture.

To fill the soul, in valor animate

The spirit of a gracious reader -

 

And ask no thanks, upon the feat

Except to view a further benediction.

Such works as these we best esteem

Returning them to dusty thrones, and crowns etched with the humble rank of Fiction.

Ecotourism in Kenya

By Rachelle Foley

The increasing concern for environmental conservation leads to a greater interest in finding eco-friendly means for productivity and energy, allowing travelers to enjoy beauty in the world. Many modern tourists are turning to ecotourism, an environmentally conscious way of touring an area, to appreciate and preserve the beautiful nature they desire to see. In response to this growing interest in ecotourism, developing countries have implemented programs to protect both their land and people while also generating income. Kenya, for instance, has been developing ecotourism programs since the end of British colonial rule. However, while ecotourism’s primary aim is to protect the environment and its people, preserve the native culture, and benefit the inhabitants financially, ecotourism’s practices in Kenya have taken the Indigenous people’s homes, interrupted their livelihood, and stolen their money. To alleviate the abuses of ecotourism in Kenya, tourists need to be more aware of tourist companies’ actions, and the companies must gain a deeper understanding of the host nation’s culture, people, and land.

Defining ecotourism’s core principles helps reveal how far certain ecotourism programs in Kenya have drifted from their own ideals. The International Ecotourism Society (TIES) defines ecotourism as “responsible travel to natural areas that conserves the environment, sustains the well-being of the local people, and involves interpretation and education” (2017). TIES further emphasizes ecotourism’s three policies: to encourage conservation through money and other benefits, to help the surrounding communities that lack money or resources, and teach others to appreciate the land and culture they are touring. Similarly, Martha Honey (2008), the executive director of the Center for Responsible Travel, argues that ecotourism should help a host nation’s people. She has researched the impact of ecotourism extensively, concluding that ecotourism gives a platform for understanding and respecting human rights issues among the less fortunate (p. 33). While ecotourism strives to protect and conserve the pristine land that still exists, its ultimate goal is humanitarian.

Given ecotourism’s noble aims, developing countries such as Kenya look to it as means of economic development. Kenya first instituted ecotourism when it gained freedom from Great Britain, and the Kenyan government realized the country’s potential as a tourist destination. Tourism became Kenya’s main foreign exchange, surpassing both tea and coffee (Honey 2009, p. 47). The profit from tourism opened the way for many ecotourism projects, most of which did more harm than good for local communities. Jairus Koki (2017), a Ph.D. student with firsthand experience guiding community-based tourist groups, states, “When poorly implemented, ecotourism can quickly turn economic gains into social and environmental disasters” (p. 112). These disasters come in many forms and are extremely difficult and often costly to undo.

Ecotourism’s biggest flaw in Kenya is the practice of “Fortress Conservation” which removes native Kenyans, such as the Maasai, from their ancestral lands (Southgate, 2006, p. 81). Fortress Conservation involves sectioning off the land for different purposes, such as separating and protecting the tourist areas from the native people and wildlife (Southgate, 2006, p. 81). One specific area where companies implement Fortress Conservation is the Kimana Group Ranch at the base of Mount Kilimanjaro. Tourism companies tend to section off the swamps because of their beauty within desert land and then give the Maasai another area in which to raise their cattle. The companies allow locals to use a few of the swamps, which constitute the few water sources due to low rainfall, but not as freely as before. This restriction of swampland provokes conflict among separate clans that once coexisted peacefully and shared the resources (Ondicho, 2012, p. 42). The separation of the Maasai from their homeland also hurts their ability to utilize the resources they need to survive. Furthermore, the hardships that Fortress Conservation forces on Maasai point to a failure of ecotourism to follow the principle of protecting communities. As tourism scholars Kennedy Magio and others (2013) explain, “The creation and management of protected areas basically ignores the participation of communities and effectively denies them benefits” (p. 483).  Moreover, by removing the people from the land and interrupting their way of life, the principle of ecotourism loses its place because tourists cannot see or appreciate the culture if the Maasai are not in sight.

In addition, because the livestock that drink at the swampland provide the Maasai’s only source of income, Fortress Conservation jeopardizes the Maasai’s very existence as in the Maasai culture, livestock is essential. As one Maasai man explains to Tom G. Ondicho (2012), a professor at the School of Environment, People, and Planning in New Zealand: “Livestock holds significant meaning to the Maasai society, not just economically but socially. . .[; l]ivestock is our livelihood” (p. 57). Domesticated animals serve as the Maasai’s source of food, wealth, and everyday work. Unfortunately, ecotourism companies ignore the importance of the Maasai’s traditional livestock management when they build group ranches to give the Maasai space to raise their cattle away from tourist destinations. These ranches bring all of the ranchers together but give each of them a fenced off portion for their respective herds. Giving the Maasai their own space may seem like a noble act, but the partitioned land completely disregards the way in which the Maasai care for their animals. The Maasai must learn the “Western way” of corralling their cattle within the confines of fences as opposed to the traditional open range practice (Southgate, 2006, p. 85). Also, the fencing and tight spaces make resources scarce and hard to reach. This inaccessibility is especially true when drought inevitably occurs and ranchers cannot bring their cattle to a more ample water source (Southgate, 2006, p. 85). The cattle and people must learn to survive in these new conditions (which is not easy), often leading to death for the animals and poverty for the ranchers (Ondicho, 2012, p. 43). These issues are destructive to the Maasai’s livelihood physically, mentally, and economically, which once again overlooks the second tier of ecotourism: helping communities.

Even more egregious than loss of homeland and livelihood is the greed of ecotourism companies, which keeps the Maasai from gaining any profit for their sacrifices. Often the tourism companies promise many benefits to the locals, but their main concern is their own profit. The desire for profit leads to overpricing, high taxes, lack of employment, and overall theft from the native people.  The abuses of the African Safari Club (ASC), a tour operator at the Kimana Wildlife Sanctuary, exemplify these problems. In 1996, the ASC promised the Maasai many economic benefits as well as protection if they agreed to surrender their land for ecotourism (Southgate, 2006, p. 92). The Maasai waited in anticipation for the promised benefits that never came. Instead, the ASC took control of the land and put up private property signs in tourism areas, limiting the Maasai’s access to their own land. Despite the Maasai’s anger toward these actions, little had changed at the Kimana Wildlife Sanctuary when Christopher Southgate (2006) reported: “Tourists arrive and depart in the main ignorant of the environment and culture of which they have a fleeting glance, and only a wealthy elite claim any benefit from the tourists’ presence” (p. 92).  Once again, the tourism companies forget the principles of community by excluding the Maasai from ecotourism projects and denying them the benefits they were promised.

Given these abuses, ecotourism companies and tourists need to change how they approach ecotourism in order to protect the Maasai and others hurt by the violations of ecotourism principles. These adjustments should start with the tourism companies. First, companies need to stop using a universal conservation plan for each community and instead consider the specific people and land in each area. They can do this by monitoring the changes in environment and the community and making specific modifications to their methods as needed (Koki, 2017, p. 111). Furthermore, the companies should involve the locals in the project through committees, employment, and overall participation in conservation so that the people have a voice in deciding what happens on their land (Koki, 2017, 123). However, in order for these changes to occur, someone needs to hold the companies accountable. This is where tourists come in. According to Costas Christ, a member of the Advisory Board of World Travel Market and a recognized Global Visionary, tourists should ask three questions of the ecotourism company they plan to use: “What are some of your tour company’s environmentally friendly practices? Can you give me an example of how your trips help to protect and support wildlife and cultural heritage? Do you employ local guides on your trips?” (2017). If the company cannot give a straight answer to any of these questions, Christ says to move on to the next. This way, tourists can help the companies observe the principles of ecotourism. No matter what, the focus of ecotourism needs to be on the people. When this happens, everything else will fall into place as the people work together to protect their land and the wildlife. If ecotourism companies can recognize this, then they will be able to make a positive change in the world that will last for generations to come.

 

  

References

Christ, C. (2017). 6 ways to be a more sustainable traveler. National Geographic. Retrieved from https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/lists/sustainable-travel-tips/

Honey, M. (2008). Ecotourism and sustainable development: who owns paradise? [2nd

ed.]. Island Press. (2008).

Honey, M. (2009). Community conservation and early ecotourism: Experiments in

Kenya. Environment—Saint Louis then Washington, 51(1), 46-57.

Koki, J. N. (2017). Contribution of ecotourism towards sustainable livelihood of the

communities living on Wasini Island, Kwale County, Kenya. Journal of Tourism and

Hospitality Management,5(3).

Magio, K. O., Velarde, M. V., Santillan, M. N., & Rios, C. A. (2013). Ecotourism in

developing countries: A critical analysis of the promise, the reality and the future. Journal of Emerging Trends in Economics and Management Sciences, 5(3).

Ondicho, T. G. (2012). Local communities and ecotourism in Kimana, Kenya. Journal of

Tourism.

Southgate, C. R. (2006). Ecotourism in Kenya: The vulnerability of communities. Journal

of Ecotourism, 5(1-2), 80-96.

The International Ecotourism Society. (2015). What is Ecotourism? https://www.ecotourism.org/what-is-ecotourism

 

Shadewalker

By Evan Rhoades

Chapter 1

Lord Dusk was no man to be trifled with, especially when business matters were concerned. He paced along the balcony overlooking his city, dark cloak flapping in the wind. His tower rose above the vast array of buildings within Cinder’s giant walls, the city which he had ruled since his father, Lord Rune, had passed. Sweeping his gaze along her walls, Dusk surveyed his city. If he spared a thought for the slaves working in the fields and orchards amid the summer heat, he did not show it. To most of the city, they were like ants burning in the sun—some delighted in positioning the magnifying glass.

“Power necessitates bloodshed,” Dusk muttered aloud to himself.

Lord Dusk’s erudite bookkeeper, Penquil, stood behind him, his long robe nearly reaching the ground. The studious man had requested a meeting with his lord, and Dusk had finally summoned him. That was ten minutes ago. But Penquil knew better than to interrupt. One did not last long in Dusk’s service without learning to speak only when spoken to. Minutes passed before Dusk stirred, not turning from his royal balcony, but speaking with calm authority.

“What is it, Penquil?”

Penquil took a step forward onto the balcony, careful to keep himself two paces behind Lord Dusk. His bookkeeping had been strange of late; his records failed to account for a significant sum of monthly profit. Penquil knew Lord Dusk’s precise expectations for all reports and projections. Something was amiss.

“My lord,” Penquil began. “There have been some irregularities in our books recently. The records show that we are amassing only 95 percent of our anticipated income over the past two weeks, and according to my investigation, the numbers prove true. I’m not certain what could be causing such a sharp decline, though I assure you it will be dealt with accordingly.”

Dusk did not stir. Penquil paused a beat and took a deep breath before continuing.

“If I may, my lord, perhaps you know something about these irregularities that I do not?”

Dusk tilted his head ever so slightly. “It is none of your concern, Penquil. Continue your work and pay the missing portion no heed.”

Lord Dusk’s tone brooked no challenge. Penquil looked up, surprised. In his short time serving as the city’s bookkeeper, Dusk had always treated Penquil’s projections and records as gospel, expecting them to be accurate within a very narrow margin. Surely this was a matter that concerned the lord’s bookkeeper if no one else.

“But, my lord, I—”

“On second thought, it’s fitting that you should ask,” Lord Dusk interrupted. “The man who last occupied your position asked a similar question before his ‘research’ brought him to some rather... unfortunate conclusions.”

Dusk paused for a brief moment, turning his head further in Penquil’s direction.

“Do not make the same mistakes as your predecessor.”

Penquil grew very still, his eyes widening, the blood draining from his face. He sputtered momentarily, looking for some sort of explanation to excuse his overreach. Lord Dusk was not known for mercy.

Thankfully, Dusk interrupted Penquil’s terrified thoughts.

“Do your job, Penquil. I expect you to report such irregularities to me, but do not press me with questions that are none of your concern. Adjust the books to reflect your expectations. The current numbers now reflect 100 percent of the city’s earnings. Is that understood?”

Penquil nodded, before realizing that Dusk was still looking out over the city. He would expect to hear a response.

“Y—yes, my lord. O—of course,” Penquil stammered, bowing his head.

“Good,” Dusk replied. “Now leave me.”

Penquil nodded again and quickly made for the door, but the ice in Dusk’s tone froze him to the spot.

“Oh, and Penquil,” Dusk said, turning his haunting, red-irised eyes upon his accountant.

“Make certain your research does not go too far. Your talents are useful, but all tools are, ultimately, replaceable.”

Penquil remained frozen for a few seconds at the sight of Lord Dusk’s scarlet eyes. No matter how many times he saw them uncovered, they never failed to instill a primal terror in him. He stared for one unthinkable second, then tore his gaze away and fled the study, closing the door swiftly behind him. Lord Dusk turned back to the balcony, eyes glinting like a cinder in the dark as the sun set on his mighty city.

 Chapter 2

Cinder was established as soon as the city’s walls were erected by the noble house of Teneberis over 150 years ago. Towering above the neighboring villages, House Teneberis gambled the future of their noble title on building a city; one that would connect the great farmlands of the south and the many mining towns in the north with trade routes between the eastern seas and the King’s city of Bastion to the southeast. Their gamble paid dividends. The city of Cinder prospered, rising in power like a spark fanned to flame... and the Black Market rose with it.

Made up of fences, thieves, assassins, nobles, merchants, and more, the Black Market thrived in the shade of Cinder’s massive walls. The market brought together cunning members of the underground and the wealthy to form an organization that would drive illegal activity for generations to come, providing services and goods to those intelligent, connected, or desperate enough to find and enter its hidden strongholds. Concealed from watchful eyes in the dark crevices and underground regions of the city, those who ran the market harbored much of Cinder’s most sought-after items—legal or otherwise. Everything from daggers to broadswords hung from merchant’s walls. Stolen gems glinted in the flicker of quick-made fires amid low-lit market stalls. But the shadows hid traders and murderers alike, and the Black Market was no place for those unable to hold their own in combat.

Deemed too dangerous for many of its members to browse—especially those of noble birth—the Market developed a never-ending need for fences and middle-men, creating opportune employment for those skilled enough or stupid enough to attempt to survive the noble and underground circles. Those who chose this way of life thrived on providing a steady stream of semi-legal weaponry, goods, and services to the underground and the nobility. Most were unable to endure the world of cloak and dagger for long. However, amidst the narrow escapes, the assassinations and thefts, the underground treachery and the noble corruption, these fearless souls performed feats of such incredible daring that they approached the line between skill and miracle. But the greatest miracle was that, against all odds, some—thanks to what could only be described as impossible talent—survived. As stories of their deeds spread, these few became something more than power or wealth can earn—they became legends.

***

A wandering resident of the Foundry, the city’s poorest quadrant, hunkered down in an alleyway and waited for rest to arrive. Blinking sleepily, the man peered up at the stars, finding the familiar shapes of constellations glowing peacefully above his head. The din of the city had grown quiet, and the rustle of the wind through narrow passageways soothed his aching bones. Closing his eyes, the haggard man drowsed fitfully. Sometime later, he woke from his slumber, looked out into the night once again, and caught the briefest glimpse of a midnight-black cloak vanishing into the wind along the rooftops. He peered upward, straining to see past the star-studded darkness, only to watch a second dark figure hurtle over the gap above him. The rasp of metal on metal followed and the man scrambled to his feet. Two shadows danced on the rooftop above, daggers flashing in the starlight. He heard a grunt of pain from one of the cowled figures, followed by a sharp intake of breath. The fighting stilled, and silence reigned in the passageway once more. Then one of the figures seemed to turn toward him. At that moment, a sense of the fearful unknown, the dangers hidden behind the black veil of night, filled the man. Seeds of dread in the pit of his stomach evoked the age-old instinct that leaves all men with two choices—to flee, or to fight. He ran.

The clatter of a blade against the stone sounded behind him before he could make it halfway down the alley. He redoubled his pace. Hearing a dull thud from behind, he turned to look back. A body lay unmoving on the alley floor, shrouded in a cloak that was emblazoned with a crest. One of Lord Rune’s elite enforcers. The man stood, dumbstruck, unable to remember the last time one of Rune’s best had been slain by any man. His hand began to tremble, and he turned, racing down the alley. A shadow dropped to the floor, picked something up off the body that laid there, and flew through the gloom. Each time the man looked back, the shadow was closer, until only a few footfalls separated them. Then there was nothing. He stopped at the alley’s exit and was greeted only by the moaning of the wind. The shadow was gone. But a specter could have ways of remaining unseen. The man shuddered and turned toward the sheltering light of a nearby pub. Then the sound of something clinking against the cobble beside him made him jump. He tore his gaze away from the light, only to find a knapsack lying on the cobblestone. Reaching down, the man seized the object and checked its contents, wary of some sort of trick. His eyes widened when he saw coins glinting back at him. The knapsack was a purse.

The shadow flew above him one final time that night, away toward the northwest corner of the city: the home of the nobles. Snatching the purse from the cobblestone, the man, still trembling, hobbled to the nearest pub to share an unlikely story and a portion of his newfound treasure. Though many drank to him that night, his tale was largely ignored. The body was never found, and the knapsack could have come from anywhere. But similar reports began to surface from other sectors of the city. Sightings of a black-clad figure seeming to walk upon the shadows of the night, often followed by the ring of metal against metal—and, sometimes, money against stone—were quickly told and retold, exaggerated and distorted until fact could no longer be separated from fiction. Had the shadow killed one man in an alley, five along the rooftops, ten in full view of the noble towers? Nothing was certain, and, therefore, nothing was impossible. But one word remained consistent from tale to tale. One word stood out from the many mythologized, drunken stories. One word was taken from the man’s lips and whispered from house to house and block to block whenever the deep shadow of a fluttering cloak fell hauntingly upon the darkened streets of Cinder:

“Shadewalker.”

* * *

100 Years Later

Eve entered the tunnel, its familiar scents covering her like a blanket: sweat, cigar smoke, and the ever-present stench of garbage. The scent hadn’t left the pit since it was used for garbage burning operations during Cinder’s fledgling years. When the operations were moved outside the walls, the pits inside had been left to stink and burn in the Foundry. Shafts used to let in air and keep fires burning had become so clogged with soot and debris over the years that the inferno died long before burning the remaining garbage. This left a stinking pile of trash languishing underneath an abandoned repository—until the Black Market overseers became involved. The mysterious benefactors of the underground in Cinder, commonly referred to as “the Circle,” always made good on profitable circumstances. Hiring peasants to clear the shafts of soot, the Circle started the fires once again, the smoke mingling with the ever-present smog above the Foundry’s many factories. The fires burned the rest of the garbage to ash and cleared out a large, barren cave in the process. In time the pit became the Hub of the Black Market, connected to much of the city through a network of tunnels, and largely secure from prying eyes. The Hub had remained whole and undiscovered by Dusk’s enforcers—known as Visionaries—for as long as Eve could remember. Unfortunately, the stench remained equally preserved.

Despite some of her best efforts, Eve had yet to memorize even half of the underground passageways that zigzagged beneath Cinder’s streets. But she knew more than most could claim, and this particular passage was as familiar to her as the hilts of her twin daggers. She exited the gentle slope of a tunnel, trailing her fingers along its coarse, grooved surface, and entered the Black Market Hub. Tents were spread across the floor of the massive cave like a patchwork cloak. Smoke rose from a dozen large fires, serving to illuminate the cavern with garish light, overpowering the stench of both the garbage and the Hub’s inhabitants. The world smelled of smoke and ashes. Eve’s cloak settled around her, black as the tents’ shadows that she used to hide her presence. She worked her way from the southwestern side of the cave toward the east, where she would find the buyers. Though she had frequented these tunnels for years, she felt an all-too-familiar sense of unease that accompanied her in such a lawless place. She had lived and moved outside of the law for most of her life, and the unpredictability of those in the underground both terrified and thrilled her. Some Shadewalkers had built up reputations for being impossible to capture, unstoppable in a skirmish, or even unnoticeable in an empty room. Eve had been a regular at the Hub and various other Black Market locations for some time, but she had no such reputation. She could never shake the sense that, having entered the cavern, she had become prey far too easily lured into a trap. She probed the array of tents and poorly erected structures that ringed the fires for signs of danger. The tents furthest from the fires were almost completely shrouded in darkness. Darkness often acted as her ally—an uneasy alliance at best; one that could shift at any moment. Darkness was a tool to be used, but it did not play favorites. Kell had taught her that.

Thankfully, her midnight-black cloak kept her concealed. It was matched by dark boots and a gray shirt. Unlike most of those who entered the Hub, Eve kept twin daggers hanging by her sides in blackened sheaths, tucked safely underneath her cloak and fastened securely to her waist. The middle, lower, and peasant classes were expected to surrender any weapons to a holding tent near the entrances. There were, however, a few notable exceptions. Shadewalkers did not dare to venture anywhere in Cinder unarmed, even, or perhaps especially, in the underground. Taking a Shadewalker’s weapons was akin to signing their death warrant. Thankfully, the Circle recognized Shadewalkers as a party all their own, with a separate set of rules that governed their time spent in the market. Shadewalkers were simply too valuable to risk. As was their business.

Eve palmed the item hidden in the many flaps of her cloak. The simple, green gem was worth more than a year’s wages for a peasant and was tempting even for a Shadewalker to pocket, but she had a reputation to uphold. She slid through the crowd like a grain of sand sifting through an hourglass, smoothly slipping in and out of gaps between tents and men alike, only half-listening to their bartering, storytelling, boasting and ware-hocking. Eve kept silent and on alert until she reached her destination. The buyer was as savvy as Eve was swift, safely locating himself just outside the tent rings that surrounded two adjacent fires. Eve slunk to the back of the tent, circling it like a hound would an occupied tree.

“Caution never goes unrewarded,” she recited softly.

Satisfied that the perimeter was secure, she lifted the flap of the tent, dropping a hand to her knives as she entered. She paused, giving her eyes time to adjust to the light from a dim lamp hanging at the apex of the make-shift room. Swords and axes, daggers and knives, rapiers and longswords, and even a few broadswords—all immaculately sharpened—covered the stiff walls of the tent. Eve heard the sound of a smooth rock scraping along metal.

“You’re late,” a voice grunted from the corner, smoke wafting up from a cigar in the buyer’s mouth. He held a small dagger in one hand and a sharpening stone in the other. The smoke rose past the bill of his brown, wide-brimmed hat, making its way out of the musty air to join the fumes from the fires outside.

“How many times do I have to tell you to arrive on time?” the voice said.

“As many as it takes, Kell. The drop wasn’t where my instructions indicated. I bet you would just love to crawl around Cinder’s streets looking through every nook and cranny for a carrier who also happens to be a lost, blind beggar, who also happens to have wandered halfway across the Foundry with your—”

Kell interrupted, snorting loudly and looking suitably unimpressed. Eve decided against finishing her explanation, removed her hand from her knives, and flashed him a half-smile. Kell gave her a wry grin.

“Heaven knows I dealt with more when I was your age. Back when I couldn’t even afford cigars.” He frowned disapprovingly and grunted once again, flicking the butt of his finished cigar at Eve.

Eve took a second to reflect on the efficient stupidity of men’s monosyllabic communication, then ground the butt into the dirt with her heel.

“It really is a disgusting habit, you know. You would be better off if you couldn’t afford those nasty things.”

“Good to know you care so much, considering you’re the one who brings me the big bucks,” Kell replied.

He flipped another cigar out of a pouch, lit it with a practiced hand, and placed it between his teeth. “What is it this time? Surely not a social call.”

Eve took another step forward into the small tent and pulled out the gem. It flashed a dull green in the dim light of the lantern, mimicking her emerald eyes.

“A nice little bauble,” she said.

Kell’s eyes widened slightly. She knew his tells by now, and he knew hers. Today would be an easy sell; they both knew it.

“You can be the buyer for 170 sill,” she said.

She gave Kell an even look and held his gaze with an air of stubborn finality.

When Eve first met Kell, he had intimidated her out of many a score, but it had not taken long for her to realize that Kell admired straightforward deal-making. The man may have been a wise-cracking, sarcastic, gruff, mischievous fox, but when it came to making deals, he was all business. Which was just fine for her. Sometimes Eve would spend hours bargaining with a buyer, but with Kell, she had an understanding. Plus, the extra time she saved allowed the two of them to get to know each other. In the underground, relationships were often far more valuable than any single score. Kell had become an indispensable source of advice. As a former Shadewalker turned buyer, his wisdom had saved Eve’s life more than once. She fingered her knives absently. They were the first and only thing she had ever bought from him.

“Fair’s fair,” Kell said after a few seconds, pocketing the gem and throwing Eve a pouch of sill with a decisive nod.

“By the way, if you’re trying to deplete my cigar fund, you’re shit outta luck. Business has been good lately.”

Eve smiled and caught the pouch. “Thanks to yours truly,” she responded. “I would love to stick around and chat, but the sellers have been running me ragged.”

Eve turned to leave the tent. She didn’t bother counting Kell’s sill anymore. The money would be there. Kell nodded and grunted once again.

“I know how it is,” he said, a wistful, pained look in his eyes. “Get some rest, Eve. But keep one eye open. Never forget—”

“The shadows never sleep,” Eve finished. “And neither do I. Not lately at least. I’ll see you again soon. Try not to choke on a cigar while I’m gone.”

Kell rolled his eyes. “Don’t let the flap hit your overconfident Shadewalking behind on the way out.”

Eve waved to Kell and exited the tent. She once again made her way through the canvas maze, keeping to the shadows and staying out of sight before reaching a dark alcove. The alcove opened to a set of stairs meticulously cut into the rock by peasants from the mines. The stairs wound their way out of the cave system and into a nondescript building a few blocks from the abandoned garbage repository. Eve emerged discretely into the waning light of day, entering the sprawling southwest side of the city where peasants eked out a living working in factories and doing odd jobs for anyone who would hire them. Most of the Foundry’s residents worked for the factory owners or for local bars and rundown shops. As prosperous as the city may have been, the peasants felt little relief from their downtrodden lives. To the nobility, they were simply lucky not to be one of the slaves working the fields.

Eve dropped a few sill into the waiting hand of a beggar who sat just outside the building she had left. The Circle required compensation for their services, and nondescript beggars just outside of Hub entrances acted as collectors. Even though most who frequented the Hub could conceivably get away without such payment, the phrase “honor among thieves” generally applied to those who used the Circle’s services. Whether they decided to pay the toll out of the goodness of their hearts or out of intimidation at the thought of ending up on the Circle’s wanted list was for them to decide. For most who frequented the markets, it was a combination of both. For Eve, it was gratitude for a score well settled.

Having paid her dues, she wound her way through the packed streets of Cinder, blending into the crowd of peasants with her dark cloak wrapped around her. She passed many beggars sitting against the sides of buildings and in alleyways. A host of reasons explained why these unfortunate figures had been cast into the mire. Many had been widowed, maimed, deformed, or worse, marked by Visionaries as disturbers of the peace. The latter relegated them to a life of begging due to the large, eye-shaped scar on the palms of their hands.

Dusk is always watching, Eve thought as she made her way toward her bolt hole near the center of the city. Although her home wouldn’t normally be considered cheap, it still lay within the Foundry. Ironically, the Foundry had been the center of the city before Cinder expanded. A mercantile quadrant had risen in the southeast and a quadrant for the nobility was established in the northwest. Eve preferred living near the center of the city for swift access to all four, though she rarely had any desire to enter Dusk’s domain in the northeast. Few members of the city ever arrived there willingly.

A relatively small, unassuming inn near the inner edge of the Foundry had been Eve’s home for nearly four months. Unfortunately, it would be time to move on soon. She rarely stayed in one place for long. She flicked some of the coins she had gained from Kell into the waiting hands of beggars while she walked, blending in with the crowd and staying in the shadows when she could, silencing any exclamation of thanks. The price Eve had anticipated for the gem had been 150 sill, but she still remembered her days on the streets, fighting just to survive. When she could, she would mark up her prices enough to keep the beggars of the southwestern streets alive. To her, it wasn’t just a silly Shadewalker tradition. It was life or death for many of the beggars lining the streets. It helped her sleep a little easier at night.

But it wasn’t all for generosity’s sake. The coins served another, perhaps more important purpose. Closing a coin around the hand of a beggar, Eve cautioned the recipient to keep silent and threw an indistinguishable glance toward the crowd behind her. At first, all seemed to be like most days, just beggars and peasants walking the streets with hurried pace, intent on making their way home before the sun disappeared below the city walls. But by the third glance, Eve knew something was wrong.

Instinct told her to search the crowd for a second longer on the next turn. Doing so, she memorized the figures of most of those nearest to her. By the last glance, her suspicions were confirmed: She was being followed. A cowled figure had been steadily advancing closer to her, face hidden by his cloak. The stranger clearly didn’t think Eve would be able to pick him out from the crowd, but she had grown up on these streets. She knew the downtrodden look of the peasants and beggars well. She had worn the same countenance many times before. The Seeker’s imitation of a peasant’s walk and hunch hadn’t been far off. Another Shadewalker may have been easily fooled, but not Eve. Here, in the Foundry, she was another breed altogether, mothered by the same streets she now walked.

Quickening her pace, Eve changed course. She made for the north side of the Foundry, stealing glances behind her at every turn. The stranger drew closer, moving faster now to match her pace. He stole through the streets and crowds with the fluidity of a Seeker, nearly able to match a trained Shadewalker. But few Shadewalkers had prowled the streets of the Foundry from childhood. As the Seeker drew close, Eve turned a corner and vanished from his sight. Acting on pure instinct, she scaled a ladder without even looking at the rungs, leaped atop a building, and broke into a sprint, watching the Seeker behind her do the same as she passed over the familiar rooftops. Eve’s instincts led her on as her subconscious shifted into pure analytical defense. Although no two chases were the same, Eve had practiced her elusion skills over Foundry rooftops so many times that her body moved almost without her knowledge, leaving time for her mind to wander the train of hundreds of memories she had formed through countless evaded pursuits. Memories of things Kell and many others had taught her. Memories of the hunter and the hunted.

Just make it until sunset, she thought. Dash over the rooftops; feel the wind on your face. Don’t think. React. Your body flows into the motions you have drilled thousands of times, near perfect. But not perfect. Remember that. Your feet rustle against the bricks of the streets, your cloak against the stone of the houses. Your breath gives you away in a dark room; your eyes flash under the moon; your pale skin reflects the lantern light. You are only ever half as good as you think you are. So think less... and move faster. Almost there.

The sun was beginning to disappear beneath Cinder’s walls as she ran. This time, darkness would indeed be her ally. She thought back to something Kell had taught her.

“Let your reflexes overwhelm you. Think only of the unexpected, the irregularities that could disrupt well-drilled routines. Let yourself be guided by pure, terrifying instinct. Become the line that separates the dark and the light. To live this life, you must learn to dance in the shade.”

They spent that evening flying over the rooftops together. One of the few moments when Kell would leave his duties behind and join Eve in the city. She would never forget the way their laugh rang out over the aging stone that night, pride gleaming from Kell’s eyes.

Eve snapped out of her reverie just in time to leap past a tent above a small shop. Using the piece of cover to break the Seeker’s line of sight, she dove into an alleyway at just the right angle. Stuffing herself in an opening, she held her breath as the sun’s final rays died out. She crouched, silent as a shadow, as the stranger passed through the darkness above. The alley was small and unlit, but easy to see into. Anyone looking for her would see an alleyway that could scarcely hide a rat, let alone a person. As she watched from below, she noted the telltale blue glow of the Seeker’s eyes pass overhead. She dared not breathe a sigh of relief. The small hole in the wall which she occupied had served her well many times, but a Seeker’s hearing went beyond that of a normal human. Even a Shadewalker’s honed senses would never quite reach the same level as a fully trained Seeker’s. Dusk made sure of that when devising the Seeker’s training, taking advantage of the unique abilities granted to them by a process few knew, and less understood. The nobles had some inkling of it. Shadewalkers who served them were known for manifesting unheard of abilities from time to time. But Eve thought the stories were likely exaggerated, just like the ones that began the Shadewalker mythos. She had seen some rather unconventional skills in her time and had performed daring escapes from situations that seemed utterly hopeless, but none, to her knowledge, were aided by supernatural powers. That was a realm that Dusk had claimed for himself.

Uncomfortable as it was, with rough bricks closed in around her, Eve’s bolthole was secure. A realm all her own. She sat silently for a few more minutes, not for fear of discovery, but because moments of calm and peace, even in a dark alley pressed against the edges of broken bricks, did not come often to her. She sat, motionless as the brick around her, until no stranger passed in the streets. She enjoyed the stillness, the serenity, the aftermath of the chase... the thrill of escape.

Eventually, Eve left the alley, taking a circuitous route to the inn. She would sleep with a dagger in hand tonight, one safe beneath her pillow. Neither strayed far from her, Seeker or not. Reaching the inner section of the Foundry, Eve made her way to the side of the Silent Swan, the inn she had been staying at ever since her last big score had made it affordable. She entered through a low door, mounted the stairs, and climbed until she had reached the second story. When she came to her room, she put her ear to the door. There was no sound except for the rustling of the wind. The innkeeper must have taken her window cover off. She would have to discourage him from doing so again. Entering with restrained ease, Eve checked the corners of the small but cozy room, then put her ear to the floorboards. It never hurt to be careful. All she could hear was muffled conversation from the bar below. Nothing unusual there. She crossed to the washroom, listening at the door, daggers at the ready. No need to check underneath the bed in the other corner. Eve would never rent a room where the bed was high enough to conceal an attacker. The lower to the ground it was, the faster she could roll off if necessary. This was one of the first lessons she had learned from Kell: every second counts. Eve let out a sigh of relief, letting her shoulders drop and rising from the half-crouch she had naturally sunk into while entering the room.

Looking around her, she slipped one of her daggers under her pillow, turning to survey the rest of the room. Though the inn was little more than a two-story house, it included more than the essentials. A window opposite the door she had entered by let cool air into the room, with a desk to the right of it. Along the same wall lay her bed, and across from the bed stood a cramped closet, which she always left open. A dresser sat between the closet and door, with a single painting hanging above it. The painting depicted a dark-furred wolf stalking through moonlit shadows towards the room’s only window, fangs bared with eyes as pale as the moon peeking above the rooftops, bathing the room in a silvery light.

Eve laid her cloak across the desk, checked the reinforced lock on her door, and pulled the custom-made plate back over her window. She paused to look out at the moon one final time before she bolted the piece back into place. She would really have to talk with that innkeeper. Unstrapping her belt, Eve undressed, laid her clothes across the foot of the bed, and sighed, lowering herself and sinking under the covers before finally closing her eyes. She let the darkness take her, dreams carrying her into the starry night sky above Cinder. Laughing, she flew among the clouds to a land where dark-furred wolves like the ones in her painting ran among the stars. Their eyes gleamed with green gems, not unlike the one she had sold Kell. The jewels danced in their eyes as they chased after the scarlet clouds of dawn.

Chapter 3

In the morning, Eve exited the Silent Swan, resting her fingers against her daggers’ sheaths in case of an attack. She had bought them from Kell—daggers made by the city’s best blacksmith, a man named Gorlog, who liked his liquor hard, and his steel harder. Kell seconded that sentiment.

Scanning the crowd, she perceived only the mild unrest of irritated workers in the morning. No Visionary appeared from behind a corner, and no Seeker launched themselves at her from a second-story window. This had happened only once before, but Eve quickly learned to scan the skies as well as the ground. The Seeker would have skewered her in the back if it weren’t for her cloak flowing around her, obscuring her exact position and causing the Seeker’s downward plunge to miss by mere inches. Some sixth sense told her to step slightly to the right and the Seeker’s blade shattered against the sun-hardened bricks of the street, his momentum acting as his undoing and leaving him defenseless. Evidently, he didn't buy his blades from Gorlog, the liquor-infused master craftsman. What a pity.

Luckily, he had attacked her in an alley removed from the public eye. She had left him senseless in an alcove, only to wake up hours later with the shards of his broken blade scattered about and a headache that would leave him to recover for days afterward. She had used the Seeker’s dagger to replace the original hilt of one of her own weapons during her last trip to Gorlog’s. Eve gripped her right dagger tighter in her palm. When she had related the events to Kell, he had only one thing to say.

“You’d be surprised how many people forget to look up.”

She never forgot again. The education of the streets—never learn the same lesson twice. Only the rich had that luxury. If the Seeker had been more experienced, she would have been dead, sixth sense or no.

Eve slipped her daggers back into their concealed sheaths and joined the press of morning bodies headed toward the Foundry’s core. Even though she had grown up enveloped in them, crowds of this size still bothered her. Her senses were muted by the clamor of many bodies pressed together. As much as the Black Market raised her hackles, crowds like these made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Not that she would ever admit that fact to Kell. He would likely chastise her with some cryptic comment about “the many outnumbering the few.” A right genius Kell was... when his nuggets of wisdom made any sense. Eve still swore the cigars were messing with his head. She made a mental note to steal Kell’s cigar box again the next time she saw him. It wouldn’t be the first time she had managed to take them without his knowledge. Hopefully, the next time would be the first she actually got away with them. Kell was remarkably observant when he wanted to be, especially when cigars and liquor were concerned.

Working her way through the crowds, taking back alleys whenever possible and sticking to buildings’ perimeters, Eve gradually reached the Gray Goose Tavern. Owned by the same man who ran the Silent Swan Inn, the place was a haven for the denizens of the Foundry, a far cry from the Swan, but not an unusual location for a Shadewalker. The owner, Mr. Denegree, like any good merchant, recognized that good business was diversified business and acted accordingly. He maintained multiple establishments located in three different quadrants within Cinder’s walls. His name kept unsavory characters out of the Gray Goose—most of the time.

Despite Denegree, the shadowy doorways of various taverns still concealed much of the city’s underground inhabitants, even in the light of early morning. Or perhaps especially then, given the number of drunkards who spent the hangover-laden dawn recovering in taverns throughout the city. Whatever the case, the Gray Goose would hold more than idle drunkards before the morning was through. Eve approached the generously entitled “establishment” with a confident stride. One did not enter an inner-Foundry tavern timidly. Sliding the door open, Eve stepped into the tavern, her boots making a slight rasping sound against the floorboards as she crossed to the bar, meeting the eyes of anyone who glanced at her, never the first to look away. The bartender greeted her with a gray-bearded smile and a twinkle in his eye, as he greeted any guest who appeared even partially capable of paying a tab.

“What’ll it be this mornin’, friend? A whiskey to start yer day off right?”

Eve fought not to roll her eyes. Every barkeep was just the same in the Foundry. Kind, crafty, and as generous as a farmer is to his pigs on their final year of feeding.

“Water,” Eve responded, “on the rocks.”

The barkeep’s smile turned to a slight frown as Eve slid a shill across the counter. When he saw the coin, his frown deepened. He looked into Eve’s eyes with apprehension. Seconds later she left the bar for the table furthest from the entrance, glass of water in hand. The shill, emblazoned with the crest of the royal family on one side and the eye of Dusk’s Watchtower on the other, had been carefully doctored to darken the eye—only enough to notice if you were searching for it. For a barkeep who’d been handling all kinds of shill for decades, the difference was immediately apparent. The pupil of the Watchtower’s eye was obscured by the pigment on the silver coin. The barkeep would turn a blind eye to Eve and would recall at most a “small figure in black” if questioned about any odd occurrences in his tavern of late.

To the men and women of the Foundry, Shadewalkers were legendary figures. The myths about the best of them had spread so widely that large cities outside of Cinder had begun to produce their own forms of Shadewalkers, even in the King’s city of Bastion. Even the relative novices like Eve would be afforded proper caution and respect by the Foundrymen. In truth, the legends were mostly just that—myths spread by the growing reputations of certain Shadewalkers in high noble houses. Most Shadewalkers did not believe in supernatural abilities, though some may seem to have come close with their uncanny skills in evasion, thievery, stealth, and more. But the legends were startlingly effective in reaching the masses and Eve didn’t see any reason to make the Foundrymen question them. In fact, she encouraged them whenever she could.

“Better business that way,” Kell had told her.

Eve sat in silence, sipping her drink and preparing for a session of bargaining. The knowledge broker would arrive soon. His drinks would be on her, and her payment would include a bribe for the barkeep’s silence. One could never be too cautious, no matter what the legends said.

The Table Ministry of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke

By Emma Rooker

Over the course of His ministry, Jesus repeatedly creates sacred space over the dinner table, ministering to the hurting and delivering understanding to the proud. These occurrences run like a thread throughout the gospel narrative and are most frequently found in the book of Luke. In Luke’s writings, Jesus is described as One Who freely extended hospitality, as well as Someone Who was often the recipient of it, sharing in both physical and spiritual nourishment with people from all walks of life. While His meals shared with those living on the fringes of society were audacious in the eyes of many, they served as the entry point to the Kingdom of God for many more. The intentionality of Jesus’ table ministry and implementation of hospitality echoes throughout the Gospel of Luke as He habitually takes a seat next to the marginalized, offering both provision and understanding to their spiritual and physical needs.

The provocative nature of Jesus’ eating habits revolved around those with whom He chose to dine with: the marginalized, the oppressed, and the socially outcast. Those He kept company with during His ministry raised eyebrows as well as several questions from the devout, pious people around Him; and this is especially highlighted in the Lukan narrative. Luke was likely a Gentile believer himself, and Jesus’ habit of spending time with outsiders may have been especially prominent to him. In the eyes of the rule-followers and the religious leaders of His time, the table ministry of Jesus fell nothing short of being outlandish. Nonetheless, Jesus used the simplicity of a meal to live out His simple mission: to seek and to save the lost. By doing so, He ate with all the wrong characters. The first meal recorded in Luke is no exception, shown in Luke 5:27-32, when Jesus calls Levi (formally known as Matthew), a tax collector, to follow Him. Levi’s occupation was a disgrace in the watchful eyes of the Pharisees and teachers of the law, as tax collectors “were a part of a despised system... considered most in need of repentance” (Barker and Kohlenberger 222). Culturally, Levi was considered ritually unclean, his reputation tainted with greed because of his affiliation with Roman occupiers. Despite his abhorrent occupation, Jesus chooses Levi, no doubt with great intention. Consequently, Levi drops everything to follow Him.

This summoning results in a banquet held at the household of Levi, in honor of Jesus. Considering that Jesus was guest of honor, Levi might have felt the need to edit the guest list, but this does not appear to be the case. Instead, he does not hesitate to invite those in his normal circle, along with his former business associates, those who had been labeled as “sinners” by the Pharisees. This gesture of hospitality brought even more religious outcasts to the banquet, welcoming a great number of people into the presence of Jesus. Barker and Kohlenberger’s commentary on the New Testament observes that “[n]o act, apart from the participation in the actual sinful deeds of the guests, could have broken the wall of separation more dramatically” (230). Jesus’ willingness to sit among people of such various statuses shocked His adversaries, yet His response to their criticism is simple and straightforward in verses 31-32. He counters their indignation by saying, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor but the sick[;] I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” This initial display of Jesus’ generosity to the most unlikely of people sets the stage for the rest of Luke’s gospel, where Jesus repeatedly wines and dines with a myriad of different characters throughout the course of His time on earth.

The tables that Jesus occupied created a space where both brokenness and blessing collided and where inclusivity was continually prioritized. In Luke 7:36-50, Jesus receives an invitation to dine at the house of Simon the Pharisee. Not only was He willing to sit with those who were considered unclean, but He also chose eat with those who had spent their entire lives making sure they were considered clean. At Simon’s house, Jesus is found reclining at a table, when a woman enters the scene. As a local, her sinful reputation followed her into the room. Cultural norms tell us that she was taking “advantage of the social custom that permitted needy people to visit such a banquet to receive some of the leftovers.” (Barker and Kohlenberger 237). However, her interactions imply that she had come with the intention of seeing Jesus. Thus, she entered the room fully aware of the ridicule that her presence would elicit. The Scriptures even show Simon’s personal thoughts, which reflect his own ostracism toward her. Despite social scorn, she ignores Simon’s display of judgment, turning her attention solely to Jesus. She is moved to tears, overcome by His presence, and proceeds to pour costly perfume over His feet and kiss them. This would have been a strange sight to the onlookers that sat around them, as they undoubtedly wore facial expressions of shock, disgust, and secondhand embarrassment for the woman, and especially Jesus. Martin Bucer writes that “[t]he Pharisee thinks to himself that Christ is not a prophet and that it is not in the office of a prophet to welcome just anyone[; h]e thinks that Christ is polluted and dishonored by the woman’s presence” (George et. al. 164). However, Jesus is not disturbed by her presence but rather intrigued, sensing Simon’s disdain for her. As illustrated before, Jesus never misses an opportunity to teach, especially over the dinner table. He tells a parable about the misgivings of greed, directing His focus to Simon. Afterward, He addresses the woman at His feet, verbally forgives her sins, commends her, and sends her on her way with “a traditional benediction, ‘go in peace,’ though it now has a deeper meaning for her” (Barker and Kohlenberger 237). Amid those considered to be the most reverent of society, the woman kneeling on the floor before Jesus had shown the most reverence of all. In her fervency and humility, she had the audacity to touch Jesus’ feet, to pour upon them expensive perfume and anoint Him. Consequently, He responds with a similar air of audacity; addressing her and extending forgiveness to her. Jesus continually crosses constricting cultural and social barriers, blurring the lines in a culture divided between insiders and outsiders.

As the Lukan narrative progresses, Jesus finds Himself the dinner guest once again, this time at the household of an affluent Pharisee in chapter 14:1-24. This dinner party was held on the  Sabbath and the text indicates that  the religious leaders and teachers of the law were carefully observing Him. In this instance, Jesus is leading the conversation. He asks two different questions  but no one answers. Before the meal begins, Jesus’ attention is immediately drawn to a man with an abnormal swelling on his body. Fully aware of the Jewish culture regarding the host and company, He asks them whether  they believe healing is  acceptable on the Sabbath. When they offer no response, Jesus answers His own question. As they look on, He heals the man of his ailment and sends him on his way.

Barker and Kohlenberger observe that “during the silence of the Pharisees and the experts of the law, Jesus met the man's need. His condition could have waited another day, but Jesus was concerned to establish a principle” (260). Through this healing, Jesus reclaims the Sabbath for doing His Father’s work. Jesus’ statement in this scenario serves as a doorway for those whom society had deemed unredeemable.

However, the meal just begun, and Jesus turns His attention to the rest of the room, observing the dinner party as they carefully choose their seats. Traditionally, seating was determined by a person’s social status, “the important places were those nearest the head couch position. If an important person came late, someone might have to be displaced to make room for him” (260). Jesus parabolically reclaims  this stigma of honor and shame in Pharisaic culture . Rather than inviting those of heightened status or importance to their meals and celebrations, He instructs the Pharisees to extend hospitality to the underprivileged, the disease-ridden, the hurting, and the broken. He delves into the parable of the great banquet, emphasizing the importance of including marginalized people groups. This heart posture would have been  strange and abnormal to His listeners: “[T]he sense of horror involved gives bite to the situation the parable actually refers to: the great reversal that is to come. If everything is going to be reversed when the kingdom of God is established...those who choose now to sit with the poor and lowly are destined for promotion, while those who sit now with the rich and powerful will find themselves ordered down to the lowest places” (Byrne 111). Jesus clearly has different priorities than those around Him: priorities that reflect the reality of this great reversal, of the coming Kingdom. He encourages those He encounters to do the same to ensure that they do not miss the real meaning of His Father’s Kingdom. His actions and instruction mandate humility, emphasizing that there is always room at the table.

This story is a trifecta of healing, conversation and parables, demonstrating that hospitality is a matter of the heart.

The ministry of Jesus also speaks to His deep understanding of human existence, mindful of both spiritual and physical needs. This deep comprehension  flowed from His keen awareness of both realities, cognizant of the spiritual and physical. This dualism is largely evident  in Luke 9:10-17 when the masses follow Jesus and His disciples to Bethsaida. Here He speaks  at length about the Kingdom of God, as well as healing the sick. The words He spoke to the crowds that day are not recorded in the Scriptures, but the meal that they shared together is. It is surmised that “most of the crowd came out of curiosity, for entertainment or to see what they might receive from Jesus, but very few out of real faith. While their hearts lacked spiritual hunger, their bellies did not lack physical hunger” (George 193). Jesus was aware of their motives, yet He still chose to provide and cater to their spiritual and physical deficiencies. The disciples were overwhelmed, looking upon the thousands of people; men, women and children alike who had gathered to listen to Jesus speak. While the disciples wanted to send them away, Brendan Byrne observes that “Jesus has other plans. He makes the disciples initiate the provision of hospitality by getting the people to sit down in groups— a clear signal that they are going to be fed. Then, invoking Heaven, blessing, breaking the loaves and the fishes, he miraculously makes it possible for the Twelve to feed the entire multitude. And feed them they do— not merely adequately but so abundantly that even after all were filled they were able to gather twelve basketfuls of broken pieces” (78).  In some wide open space, He prepares the table, picnic-style. While they may have arrived with the motivation of being entertained, they were met with the purest motive of Jesus. Once again, Jesus extends hospitality to meet the needs of people of all ages, both genders, and all demographics, providing for them both physically and spiritually.  Not only does He provide, but He does so in abundance, insinuating that His provision is spilling over.

Moreover, Jesus powerfully uses hospitality to open the hearts of humanity to further instill understanding. A primary example of Jesus teaching through hospitality is His interaction with Mary and Martha, an account that is solely found in the book of Luke. While they do not share a meal, Martha extends hospitality to Jesus, opening up her home to Him. Upon His arrival, Martha is preoccupied with the necessary preparations that accompany the arrival of a guest. While she assumes the role of hostess, her younger sister Mary chooses to sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to what He has to say. Any other guest might have felt humbled and even honored by Martha’s insistent hospitality, but Jesus transforms Martha’s distraction into a  teaching moment . He observes two very different reactions from Mary and Martha, contrasting  their postures to make a point. Mary had assumed the role of a disciple—the correct response in His eyes—and sat at His feet. Conversely, Martha is mistakenly consumed by the work that she must accomplish. Barker and Kohlenberger write that “[i]n comparison with the kingdom, household duties should have a radically diminishing demand on Martha. The word of the Lord had first claim, and for the disciple an attitude of learning and obedience should take first place” ( 251). Through this, Martha’s eyes are opened to an important truth. It is not the mundane ins and outs of everyday life that prove to be noteworthy, but rather, the chance at the abundant life that Jesus offers.  Jesus gently corrects Martha’s disapproval.  He tells her, “Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:41). While Martha was preoccupied by trivial matters, the spiritual sustenance that Mary had gained by sitting at His feet was eternal and would not fade away.

This theme of hospitality continues after Jesus’ resurrection, in Luke 24:28-32, before His ascent into Heaven. On the day of His resurrection, two unnamed disciples are traveling on the road to Emmaus from Jerusalem, recounting and discussing the events of the past few days. It is on this road that they encounter the resurrected Jesus Himself, although at the time they are unable to recognize Him. As the three continue their journey together, the disciples are impressed by His exposition of the Scriptures and knowledge of their Lord, yet they are still unaware of His identity. Upon their arrival at Emmaus, they invite Jesus to lodge with them. Jesus accepts their gesture of hospitality. During their meal, Jesus breaks the bread. Morris observes that by doing this “Jesus went through the motions familiar at the beginning of a Jewish meal, though normally they would have been performed by the host, not a guest” ( 312). The two disciples finally recognize Him as their Lord when He serves them. They “remembered how their hearts had burnt within them…Jesus’ exposition had stirred them deeply. They speak of him as ‘opening’ the scriptures: when he spoke the meaning hidden in the words of the Bible became clear” ( 313). Over the dinner table in Emmaus, they become fully aware, both of His identity and the full reality of His resurrection, as He sat across from them and shared a meal. In a striking, humble manner, Jesus reveals Himself as flesh and blood  while simultaneously extending food and understanding to these two men.

Jesus’ method of drawing people close to Him through a meal is commonplace throughout the gospels and points to something beyond sharing food.

His meals with others were constantly paired with His intentionality to lead people into understanding, repentance, and belief of Himself. As these meals occur throughout His ministry, more people draw close to His side and into the kingdom. As a result, these meals naturally become celebratory and point to a greater, heavenly celebration that is to take place in the future.  Jesus often used the simplicity of a meal to foreshadow the coming Kingdom and to signify the beginning of the rapidly approaching New Covenant.

Throughout the New Testament, banquets are continually symbolic of both celebration and joy and are closely tethered to covenantal understanding. The writers of the Synoptics saw these meals through an eschatological lens, mirroring the coming Kingdom and the eschatological banquet of the future. The most emblematic meal is the Last Supper. In Luke 22:14-38, Jesus eats with His disciples one last time in the upper room before His death. This narrative holds several significant motifs, but ultimately this symbolic event is shared over a meal in an intimate fashion. Moreover, the Passover meal holds powerful symbolism because it is held on the day of sacrifice, shortly before Jesus Himself would become the ultimate sacrifice for humanity. Jesus knows that His time is drawing near, yet He calmly chooses to do what He considered  important: to sit and eat with the twelve who were closest to Him. Barker and Kohlenberger observe that “the meal is a turning point. Jesus anticipated it; and he likewise anticipates the next genuine meal of its kind that he will sometime in the future when the longed-for kingdom finally comes” (278) Here Jesus presents the elements of the Eucharist to His disciples. Byrne analyzes this specific moment, observing that “at this Passover he is to offer them the hospitality of God in a climactic way and institute something (the Eucharist) that will sacramentally continue that hospitality down the ages” (151). This final meal that Jesus shares with the twelve echoes both symbolism and relevance and initiates the introduction of the New Covenant, the covenant that God would make with His people once and for all. His disciples would soon partake in this meal again as a time of remembrance, but also as a celebration of the eschatological banquet that awaits the family of God.

During His ministry, Jesus transformed a simple  meal into a habit of sharing the hope of the promise of Heaven. He continually made room for all the wrong characters at His covenant table, much to the shock of his adversaries. Those who held the societal right to be seated at the table were excluded at times, while those of low status were invited freely. While the people He sat with came from a limited number of regions, He would later instruct His disciples to extend the same hospitality throughout the entire world. The Gospel of Luke displays an affinity for understanding the universality and magnitude of the Kingdom of God.

Luke 13:29 prophetically states that “[p]eople will come from east and west and north and south, and will take their places at the feast in the kingdom of God.” Jesus used hospitality to usher in His New Covenant. Further, He asks His followers to adopt His model for hospitality, to keep the celebration going, and to follow in His example, pressing on toward an eternal reality. It is at the dinner table, by way of His hospitality, that the future has broken into the present  and the Kingdom is breaking through.

Works Cited

Barker, Kenneth L., and John R. Kohlenberger. Zondervan NIV Bible Commentary. Zondervan, 1994.

Byrne, Brendan. The Hospitality of God: A Reading of Luke's Gospel, Liturgical Press, 2000. Morris, Leon. Luke. Inter-Varsity Press, 2008.

George, Timothy, et al. Reformation Commentary on Scripture. InterVarsity Press Academic, 2011.