A little about Summer

For the past two semesters in my literature courses, I have felt a little behind.  Novels are mentioned that I have never read and stories are discussed that I have never heard of.  With this in mind, I have decided that, being as I'm an English major, I should give it my best shot to catch up.  So... This summer I have decided I want to make a reading list.  So far my list is as follows:

1.  Sister Carrie by Theodore Drieser

2.  White Noise by Don DeLillo

3.  To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

4.  The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck

5.  A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway

6.  Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell

7.  All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy

This is my list so far.  If you have any other suggestions, please let me know.  I am really looking forward to reading these novels and feeling a little less out of the loop in particular classes or discussions.  After completing each novel, I will give a brief summary of my reactions on my blog in case you all want to know.

Anyways... Have a wonderful summer!!  You can read with me if you'd like!

Mao II: If you liked the Novel then don't read this blog

Mao II was an extremely difficult novel for me to get into.  Before opening the novel to begin reading, I was excited.  I was ready to step away from the Anthology for the remainder of the semester and invest my time into another novel.  The first chapter immediately gave me a change of heart.  I will openly admit that it was, up to this point, the first novel I could not complete.  I was bored and continued asking myself, "What's the point?" and "does DeLillo even know what he wanted to write about?"  Perhaps I'm close-minded, arrogant, ignorant and unwilling to accept that there may in fact be a point to the novel, however, I'm too over-come with boredom to concentrate on the bigger picture.  I am hoping that in the future, I can grow-up a bit, as this is the only conclusion I can come to, and begin to appreciate the novel.  At this point though, I will remain confused, a little stubborn, and biased against DeLillo.

Despite the above information, White Noise is on my summer reading list, so I am giving DeLillo another chance, I just hope it's worth it.

The Road Not Taken

For years I was a fan of Robert Frost's poem, The Road Not Taken, however this time around, I'm not quite sure.  I still enjoy the imagery and between of the poem, yet there is a lingering sense of regret in the poem.  The emphasis of the poem, including the title is about the road the author didn't take.  The irony is that both roads were "about the same, and both that morning equally lay..." so why would Frost emphasize the road he didn't take?  I concentrate on the line, "I shall be telling this with a sigh..." and argue that Frost was regretting past decisions in his life, he simply took the "wrong" road.  When I look at the poem in this light, I'm drawn away from it.  In the past, the poem always meant, be unique and don't take the same road as everyone else.  In this reading, I still draw the same conclusion, however, Frost's regret contradicts my own personal beliefs.  I believe firmly that the no matter the decision I have made in the past, I can't regret it, because at the time it was what I wanted to do and it has gotten where I am today, good or bad.

Click

In the short story, Cathedral, by Raymond Carver, the narrator, dubbed Bub, is insecure and ignorant about himself and others around him.  In the story, Carver allows the reader to become engulfed in the narrator’s pessimistic, stereotypical outlook on life.  Throughout the story, Bub tries to decide what to make of his wife’s friend, Robert, a blind, open-minded and empathic man.  Together, Bub and Robert drink, smoke, watch TV, and talk about religion and cathedrals.  In the midst of it all, Bub has an epiphany.  With help from Robert, Bub comes to an understanding that blindness isn’t simply a physical impairment but can stem from ignorance.  He also realizes that by taking another’s hand, a whole new, colorful world is still in sight.

Cathedral offers many different ideas, themes and symbols.  Carver explores the idea of media and the effects it has on people, such as Bub.  Bub’s learned ignorance via the media leads to his insecurities and he continues to return to the TV when feeling insecure.  It’s as though Bub was watching his life on a black and white TV; his relationship with is wife was weak causing resentment and loneliness between the two of them; his outlook on life was pessimistic and he was jealous of a blind man for living life better than he had.  Everything was simple and life was good or bad, black or white.  Then all of a sudden, that blind man, walked into the living room where Bub was smoking his dope, turned off the black and white TV and instantly flipped on the color TV, changing the way Bub saw life and the people surrounding him.

 

I loved the short story Cathedral by Raymond Carver.  I wrote my second paper on it and therefore decided to put a little excerpt from my paper in my blog.  I'm comparing Bub to his television set he retreats to so frequently.

Recess

Cathy Song's poem, The White Porch, was one in which I related to the most.  It was an easy read, much like A Blessing, allowing the beauty of the poem to overwhelm the reader.  I appreciated this poem because of the simplicity of it and how sitting on a porch and enjoying the sunlight can be made into art.  The lines,

Still dripping water,

it'll be dry by supper,

by the time the dust

settles off your shoes,

though it's only five

past noon (7-12)

reminds me of summers at home.  When my brother and I were younger, summer was our favorite time of the year.  No matter how hot the temperature was outside, we would find something entertaining to do, such as running through the sprinkler a multitude of times.  For hours we would run around enjoying the cool water and eventually tire out and retreat indoors.  Although it wasn't dust settling off our shoes, we would soak up the day and go about it again the following day. 

It's reading poetry like this poem that encourages me to be persistent in this major.  Yes, the difficult text is important and sometimes well worth the read, but poems like this... well it's like I'm back in elementary school, like I have just spent the past two hours interpreting a difficult poem and then this poem comes along, a fifteen minute recess break on the playground that makes my whole school day worth it. 

A Blessing

Out of all the poems we have read this semester, James Wright's poem, A Blessing, is by far my favorite.  The reader, whether knowledgeable about horses or not, gains a sense of understanding about the creatures via metaphors/similes and imagery.  The two ponies in the poem remind me of home.  When I was younger I could stand in the middle of the pasture watching the horses for hours.  They always seemed so peaceful and content just standing there munching on the grass.  My favorite lines, as I'm sure many would agree, are, "They bow shyly as wet swans.  They love each other.  There is no loneliness like theirs.  At home once more" (11-13).  Wright presents the image that horses are beautiful, calm animals that love.  He then goes on to say they are lonely, yet at home.  The poem is simple, easily interpreted and beautiful.  This poem alone has encouraged me to further reading Wrights' poetry.

Daddy

Sylvia Plath's poem, Daddy, is artistic, yet slightly crazy.  She concentrates on her father's actual death, he died when she was only eight years old, and turns it into a mythological figure, Hitler.  In one brief poem, Plath quickly summarizes her personal life and adds her own twists and turns, emphasizing her developed dis-like of men.

The first attacked man is her father.  She has no real memories of him and therefore she develops her own.  In doing so she dresses her father up as a Hitler like character.  She also makes herself a Jew and a gypsy, two groups Hated by Hitler.  It can be implied that Plath believed her father to hate her because he left. 

The poem goes on to mention Plath's attempted suicide when he was in college: "I was ten when they buried you.  At twenty I tried to die and get back, back, back to you" (57-59).  Plath however survivors her suicide attempt and in the future gets married.  Her marriage only lasted seven years however, as written in the poem,

If I've killed on man, I've killed two--

The vampire who said he was you

And drank my blood for a year,

Seven years, if you want to know (71-74)

Plath's poem is written about the real and the mythological.  I wonder whether or not she actually knew the difference?

Keep This Boy Running

While reading the opening chapter to Battle Royal, a novel I have never read, I was a bit confused.  There are a multitude of scenes all regarding one male character.  I ask the question, what is the point?  The one part of the chapter that caught my attention was the American Flag tattoo.  I have asked myself, why an American Flag?  I take it as though Ellison is pointing directly at the corruption of American society at the time.  It was a time during society, where as mentioned, equality was not an acceptable term.  When the narrator is giving his speech, he repeats social responsibility, however, once he says social equality.  This immediately grabs the attention of the audience.  In American society equality was something to be fought for but hadn't yet been achieved.  Having not read the complete novel, I am going to relate these two points to our current American societal problems.

Ellison concentrates on America specifically and the inequalities associated with it.  Recently in America, we witnessed something never having been done before, an African-American President voted to office.  Politically, yes, black and white citizens have reached a sense of equality.  I ask the question, politics aside, how equal is America really.  I moved to Sioux Falls from a small city in Arizona where half my high school population was of Mexican decent.  Racial equality among students was difficult to maintain and there were constant power struggles.  After reading Ellison's chapter, I'm forced to ask myself, will there ever be an equal America?  I'm hopeful that one day race or color will not matter, but I'm asking you, what can we do to help?

Fish

Elizabeth Bishop's poem, The Fish, was a rather debated poem in class.  I'm going to pick on Dan Hodges a minute (sorry Dan), because we had differing ideas about the poem.  For Dan, the poem almost seemed pointless.  I could understand where he was coming from.  In my opinion, its pointlessness is what makes it beautiful.  The poem forces the reader to acknowledge that something so simple could be something beautiful.  This poem was definitely the most eye-opening poem of the semester for me.

Again I'm going to touch base on day-to-day lifestyles.  For myself, I'm always so busy with many different things I have going on, work, soccer, school and choir, that when I'm doing something simple, it sometimes goes without acknowledgement.  One example is: when I have a day off, sometimes from everything, I forget to appreciate that day.  I forget to enjoy the weather outside, especially on a nice sunny day; I forget to take pictures, to take walks, to simply enjoy life.  Then the following day I regret not using the previous day to my advantage.  The poem, The Fish, seems like one of those moments.  It's as though the author is finally recognizing the beauty of fish and how a simple creature can be something beautiful.  The end of the poem adds to my argument.  The author is describing the oil and bilge from the boat; it's an image of filth.  However, it's victory for the narrator to have this fish in her hands.  The victory symbolizes the fish still being alive and overcoming the filth surrounding it.  I compare this to our lives; we go through life, busy, perhaps surrounded by oil and bilge, yet at the end, we catch a break and life goes back to being colorful.

A Memory

I have read the poem My Papa's Waltz by Theodore Roethke twice this year.  The first time I encountered the poem was in Intro to Literature in the fall semester.  At the time, I wasn't sure what I thought about the poem.  I immediately came to the conclusion that the father of the narrator was a drunk as it was written, "the whiskey on your breath could make a small boy dizzy...” I also thought the father was reckless with his child as the narrator recalls, "my right ear scraped a buckle..."  With these thoughts in mind, I simply closed my mind off to the idea that there was beauty behind the poem.

During my second reading of the poem, I was brought back to my own childhood memories of dancing with my father.  He began to teach me how to dance when I was about three or four years old; my feet would be atop of his and we would move around the living room.  For years my dad and I danced in this fashion.  At times it was easy and others I would slip and fall or sometimes get stepped on myself.  No matter what though, these will always be wonderful memories, despite getting stepped on every so often.  Having remembered this, I have been forced to rethink my initial reactions to the poem.

There are very few memories people hold onto from their youth.  Life eventually becomes difficult and we have to grow up and face the day-to-day worldly challenges.  The older I get, sometimes the harder it is to recall memories from my younger youth, particularly anytime before I was about 7 or 8.  When I reread My Papa's Waltz this semester, I asked myself whether or not the same was true for Roethke.  Perhaps the night he danced with his father was one significant memory he had of his father.  Although his father had been drinking whiskey, it simply made the memory more alive and real to him as an adult.  We all strive to hold onto memories when we're older hoping they don't slip away.  The language from this poem, the writing, the description, simply keeps the time spent with his father alive.

My Poem for American Literature

There were two poems in particular that we read from Langston Hughes that really stuck out in my mind, Mother to Son and Theme for English B.  Here's my effort at writing a poem, similar to Hughes's Theme for English B, to honor Langston Hughes.  I apologize for the suffering you're about to endure.

The professor said,,

            Go home and read

            some poetry tonight

            And let that poetry evade your mind

            Then, ask a question of some kind.

I wonder if I will like Hughes?

I am nineteen, American, born in Arizona.

I went to school here in Sioux Falls,

to this college on flat green lands in northern America.

I am the youngest person in my class.

The steps from the library lead to a sidewalk,

past many large trees and two buildings

22nd St. and Menlo is the corner where my building lies,

where I walk up a flight of stairs,

"up to my room", where I "sit down, and write this..." poem:

"It's not easy to know what is true for you or me"

at nineteen, "my age.  But I guess I'm..." not that different

I hear and feel and see the same poem, Theme for English B, as you.

we read it, listen to it--Langston Hughes--we all read his poetry.

(We discuss it in the library) Me--the class.

"Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love."

I would like to continue reading Hughes.

I like a good book as a Christmas gift,

or perhaps no homework.

I guess being American means I am free

to like the same things as other folks.

My poem has no smart, honest words,

But will simply be me, attempting to write poetry.

It will also be a part of you, classmates/professor

Because we all read Hughes one night.

Your a part of me, and I a part of you

because we shared this poem.

That's American literature.

Sometimes we don't like this class

But more often than not we do

We're students, "that's true!"

As we learn from our professor

We learn from Hughes

That life is never a crystal stair

and we must not fall but keep on going.

Because then we'll all be free (from school).

That's my poem for American literature.

I hope you enjoyed my poem.  It was quite an effort.  To put it simply, I really enjoyed Langston Hughes and look forward to continue reading more poetry from him in the future.

Their Eyes Were Watching God

At this point, I can honestly say the novel by Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God, was my favorite reading all semester.  The themes, superstition, youth, life, love, etc. were wonderful.  I also thoroughly enjoyed the characters, particularly Janie.  Her ambition during the second half of the novel to better her life, to actually live her life is a trait that I hope one day to have.  I have compared her character to myself.  At this point, I am working full-time, going to school full-time, and play for the soccer team.  Trying to find a balance between all three, not to mention somewhat of a person life, is challenging.  I am questioned frequently about my work ethic and have been told by many that I work too hard for being only nineteen.  I however disagree.  I have always said, "I would rather work hard now, so in the future, when I'm mature enough to appreciate what life is and the things in it, I can do so freely."  Janie's character was in a similar situation.  While married to Jody, Janie worked hard, had limited free time, and lived her life according to someone else's schedule.  When Jody died and she ran away with Tea Cake, her life became entirely different.  Janie began to not only live her life, but also appreciate all that was in accordance with it.  Hopefully, I'll be able to appreciate my life later on and not resent working hard now.

The one thing I will most likely remember about the novel was the way in which Hurston wrote the novel.  I felt as though if the dialogue were to be removed, the novel would become a poem.  The imagery, predominantly in the first couple chapters, will forever be engrained in my memory.  I'm actually afraid to watch the movie because I am frightened that particular scenes, like when Janie is lying under the tree watching it bloom, will have been removed for times sake.  I am looking forward to re-reading the novel at one point in the future.

It's Been a While

So, I know that I'm in the same boat as many others...I haven't written a single blog since our first set of blogs.  Right now it's 10:00 pm on Tuesday the 19th of May and I'm determined to catch up.  I'm going to start with this blog.  In this particular blog I'm going to explain what this class has meant to me throughout the semester and how I am hoping to apply this to my personal life.

 

This class has helped me discover a bit about myself, literally.  First off, I have discovered that I'm very much a fan of early American literature, particularly the late 1800's through the Realism/Naturalism movements.  Much of the modernists/postmodernist works of literature were difficult for me to read, let alone enjoy.  I have recently realized that much of my own writing reflects much of the same ideas as the writers from early American literature.  I am hoping that in the future I can come to appreciate modernists/post-modernist literature and continue to further my interest in Realism/Naturalism.

 

To conclude this blog I would like to thank Dr. Dyer (no I'm not brown-nosing) for making this one of my most enjoyable classes.  I believe I only missed one, maybe two classes all semester simply because I enjoyed this class.  I have a greater appreciation for American literature and look forward to furthering my study of literature.  I wasn't sure what to expect when I began this class and whether or not I was going to enjoy the reading, however, with the exception of Mao II, I enjoyed most all of it.  I was introduced to many authors I have never heard of and probably never would have given a second glance at a bookstore.  At this point, I can honestly say there are at least four authors I would like to continue reading: Wright, Whitman, Dreiser, and Hughes.  So again, thank you Dr. Dyer for giving me that opportunity and making this a very enjoyable class.

 

I hope you enjoy the continuation of my one-night blogging.

I was too cool for gloves, that's what my coat pockets are for...

The irony in To Build a Fire is, well, unfortunately funny.  Here’s a man, having very little, if any experience out in cold weather, going about a trip to find his friends, while the temperature is roughly seventy below.  Yet, despite the warnings of traveling alone and how severe the weather can be, the man continues on his trip; his only companion was a dog.  The irony of the story was how the dog knew that the journey was dangerous and the man too ignorant and arrogant to turn around or start a fire sooner.  Ultimately, it causes his death and the dog is left confused and runs off to find “…other food-providers and fire-providers.”  As human we are regarded as superior; we have the ability to walk on two feet, talk, listen, read, write, etc., while dogs and other creatures can not therefore making them inferior.  However, despite the knowledge that a human may be able to access, the intuition and instinct residing within us, can sometimes be neglected, a fact we learned via the man in the story.  The story is funny in a sense because London writes down a classic example of human ignorance and makes the dog the superior character in the story.

On another note, I empathized with the character.  His ignorance regarding the cold weather is something I recently experienced myself.  In Bullhead City, Arizona, where I am from, our precipitation consists of rain, maybe one to two inches a year and snow, well, it hasn’t snowed in Bullhead in roughly twenty years.  It was a new concept and a rather cold one at that.  I remember the first good snowfall we had here in December and I didn’t know what an ice scraper was.  I was so mad because my windows were frozen, I had nothing to get the ice off, and oh yeah, I thought I was too cool for gloves, that's what my coat pockets are for.  Put the combination together and it spells disaster.  Well what I did was brush the snow off my car with my hands and sit in my car with the defroster on waiting patiently for my windows to defrost.  I learned very quickly just how cold snow was, thankfully, it wasn’t seventy below and I didn’t die.  I did learn a great lesson however: gloves are awesome and ice scrapers and very much worth the five or ten dollars.

Similarities: the good and the bad

            I was very fond of the two chapters from Sister Carrie.  I related to Carrie on a few different levels and although the feminist in me disagrees with particular statements Dreiser made regarding women, I still felt a connection.  In the first chapter, the city and the man who she was speaking with on the train fascinate Carrie.  Dreiser writes, “To the child, the genius with imagination, or the wholly untraveled, the approach to a great city for the first time is a wonderful thing.”  When moving up here to Sioux Falls, I had never been further east than Flagstaff, Arizona or further north than Durango, Colorado once when I was very young.  It was a road-trip that I believe I will never forget because everything I saw completely amazed me.  The mountains, the fields (after a while however the fascination with that ceased), Mount Rushmore, and buffalo all captivated my imagination and opened my mind to what else the world could be besides desert; it was truly a wonderful trip. 

            In the third chapter, when Carrie is out job-hunting, she comes across a retail store and the items in it are explained with much detail:

“They were handsome, bustling, successful affairs, with a host of goods, shoes, stationary, jewelry…dainty slippers and stockings, the delicately frilled skirts and petticoats…[they] all touched her with individual desire.”

Having come from a town in which shopping for the past seventeen years was limited to Wal-Mart and two grocery stores, the mall quickly caught my attention.  Having similar job-hunting issues as Carrie however, limited the amount of spending actually completed.  But it was a moment of pure bliss to realize the world offered more than Wal-Mart in regards to shopping.

            Stepping away from how Sister Carrie relates to my life personally, it’s a novel that was first published in 1900 and it still has much relevance to America today.  People embarking on new journeys everyday, America’s obsession with material objects, and the most recent, job hunting.  I heard on the news today that in California, 700 applications were turned in to a school district for one, yes only one, janitor position; 699 people will be looking for another job tomorrow.  How much can the world change in over 100 years?  Apparently not very much.  I’m very interested as to how the novel continues and come to an end.

"...It quaintly came to him as a human, living thing..."

Four the past eight and half years, I had lived on the outside of a war I could have cared less about.  The events that occurred on September 11, 2001 were insignificant to an eleven year old who was concerned whether or not the boy at the front of the class liked her or not.  The war following that day was similar in outcome, until recently. 

Growing up, my family has always been very proud to be American; I come from a long line of family being in the military.  I never understood the importance of war and the need for a military until I reached high school and began to wrap my young teenage brain around other things.  High school was the beginning of what we “wanted to be when we grew up.”  Coming from my hometown, there are not many opportunities past high school except working on the railroad or joining the military.  The military was a popular choice, especially among most of my friends; it was guaranteed pay and education for four years of service, and for a few, it was their chance to make a difference.  For one of my friends however, a mere month before his twentieth birthday, it was his last chance at anything.  I went through life for 18 years not caring about war and thinking it was pointless.  That people were making a big deal out of the death toll and in the big picture, what’s a couple thousand people?  June 2008 changed my perspective. 

While reading the short story by Crane, The Open Boat, the one scene that made me stop and re-read it over and over again was when the “soldier of Legion lay dying in Algiers.”  Crane writes the significance about the soldier “…was less to him than the breaking of a pencil’s point.”  A point that I had cared less about as well.  But what really got to me was the line, “Now, however, it quaintly came to him as a human, living thing…it was an actuality—stern, mournful, and fine.”  If I had read this story a mere 8 months ago, I would have deemed this part of the story insignificant, now however, it’s the one part that caught my attention.

Life is more than just a pencils point breaking and every life lost matters to someone.  I hope for others, ignorance doesn’t stand in the way of empathy as it did for me.  

Who are we?

Recently in class we discussed the topic of Americanization and heritage.  It brings up such questions as, “who are we?” and “where do we come from?”  A little off the topic but still relating to Americanization was DuBois’ article titled The Souls of Black Folk.  In the article by W.E.B. DuBois he asks similar questions; is he a Negro or an American?  In today’s society, many of us are still asked similar questions; what’s our heritage? our race? our religious beliefs? etc.  How many of you have recently filled out a job application?  Or a college application?  I know I have and at least four of the questions related to my heritage.  DuBois makes an interesting point, “—An American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body…to merge his double-self into a better and truer self.  In this merge he wishes neither of the older selves to be lost.”  The point DuBois is making is still a topic of conversation even in the America we live in today. 

I have dark, thick, curly hair because my grandfather was Italian and my friend Daniel lived with his grandmother, a wonderful woman who speaks no English, however both of us, with different heritages, can agree on one thing, we’re both American.  I am an American college student struggling to find out where my place in this world may be; he’s an American soldier fighting for our freedom and safety.  We both embrace the red, white and blue and stand with our hands over our hearts when the National Anthem is playing.  We both understand and appreciate our heritage as well though.  My mom makes Italian food for almost every meal; he still speaks fluent Spanish at home.  My point is DuBois was struggling with the concept of being American and I struggle with the concept of being anything but American.  There will always be a connection between what and who our ancestors were, and it will impact our lives, but the force of that impact depends on how we, as individuals, decide who we are.

We're All a Little Crazy

While reading Huckleberry Finn, I was interested by the amount of superstitions that were prevalent in Jim’s life; his ideas about having a hairy chest will bring good luck and touching a snake would bring bad luck.  I know in class when we mentioned the superstitions I thought they were a bit off the wall and that Jim needed to take a grasp on reality.  Later that day however, I remember that I was just a bit off the wall as well.

            For as long as I can remember I have always believed in karma and the ability to jinx just about anything.  One of my biggest pet peeves is on game day and the weather is just about as perfect as it gets and someone says aloud, “what a beautiful day!”  I just about have to restrain myself for punching that person because within half and hour it seems the weather usually takes a drastic turn for the worse.  Another case is a pair of the good game gloves.  In soccer I play goalkeeper and so I have to wear these clown gloves to protect my hands and fingers and to give me a better grip on the ball when I catch it.  Anyways, one season I bought a new pair of gloves for the game we had coming up.  We were having a rough beginning of the season having lost five games and I was determined not to lose anymore.  I wore those new gloves in our next game for our first win of the season, a season in which we finished with five losses and thirteen wins.  Still to this day, I say it was because of those gloves, a pair I still keep in my bag at games.  Call me crazy but it is possible to jinx the weather and have a pair of gloves that result in a thirteen game win streak, just like its possible for Jim to be cursed from snake skin or a free man because he has a hairy chest.  It’s a humbling notion to believe we can’t control everything and that perhaps everyone in the world, at one time or another, has believed something just a bit off the wall.

Stand still and Be quiet.

While reading “Up from Slavery” by Booker T. Washington, there was one phrase that really caught my attention. It was after Washington had written an article on the Negro ministry and was condemned for about a year because of his written observations. He goes on to say, “My experience with them, as well as other events in my life, convince me that the thing to do, when one feels sure that he has said or done the right thing, and is condemned, is to stand still and keep quiet. If he is right, time will show it.” This quote fits the profile of many works of literature. One novel that comes to mind first is Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Twain’s novel about a young white boy helping a runaway slave has been through its ups and downs in the literary world. It’s been banned from schools, libraries, and even in the modern literary world, it’s importance is still being debated. Although Twain has long since been dead, he wrote something down that at the time was considered wrong by a white man. He and his novel were both condemned, but now, it’s a classic American read, usually required among high school students.
Other works of literature that fit this profile are: John Steinbeck’s novel The Grapes of Wrath; J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye; Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird; Katherine Paterson’s Bridge to Terabithia; William Golding’s The Lord of the Flies; John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men; Alice Walkers’ The Color Purple; and the ever still popular, J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series. These are among a few on a very long list. It’s an interesting thing to realize that most of the great novels I have read were at one time banned and condemned and are now just pieces of what makes up great, classic literature.

"You mean where's Huck Finn--that's what you mean!"

Upon the completion of the novel, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, I was a bit miffed by what had taken place throughout the novel. Huckleberry Finn begins his life growing up with an alcoholic father who is never around and his mother is never mentioned. He’s independent and intelligent and unlike his friend, Tom Sawyer, he has a better understanding between what is reality and what is imagination. However, I wasn’t quite sure who exactly Huck Finn was. In the beginning of the novel, he’s living with Miss Watson, a woman who begins to civilize Huck into a “…sweet scented dandy…” Huck also spends a majority of his time with Tom and the crew making blood pacts to start a gang. During this “outings” Huck has a steady head on his shoulders even though Tom insists that they are fighting wars and stealing money. Where I start to get confused about Huck is when he plants his own death and runs away. He creates a pretty realistic scene at the place of his “murder” however it’s a characteristic more like Tom than Huck for creating a murder scene; why didn’t he just runaway instead of creating such a mess? Throughout his entire time down river, he lives the adventures Tom was always reading about and making up with his imagination. He helps a runaway slave making him an outlaw and he befriends two con-men who steal money from town to town. The one scene in the novel that caught my attention the most however was when Huck stumbled across Tom’s family. Instead of admitting who he really was, a friend of Tom, he takes on Tom’s name and ultimately becomes Tom until Aunt Polly arrives and sets the situation straight. From early one, Huck is greatly influenced by Tom. While down river, Huck can’t help but think, “what would Tom do?” I sometimes wonder if Tom and Huck are the same character. They may be two different people, but Mark Twain intertwines the two characters throughout the novel in ways that makes me think maybe Huck and Tom are the same character and that Huck’s adventures are that of Tom’s imagination. I don’t know, it’s just a thought.