Shakespeare's Use of Mixed Vocabulary
THIS IS the text I spoke in class, showing how well Shakespeare mixed long (Latin) and short (Anglo-Saxon) words to gain greater effect in his use of vocabulary.Macbeth's murders now haunt him; the knocking is like a knocking of his conscience. Every noise frightens him.
He looks at his hands and sees blood. Neptune was the god of the ocean. But in his guilt Macbeth knows that not even Neptune's waters can wash the blood from his hands. Rather Macbeth's hands are so bloody (in his guilty mind) that he feels there's more than enough blood to turn Neptune's many green seas red.
Macbeth:
Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appalls me?
What hands are here? Hah! They pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.
What Is Plagiarism?
Plagiarism is taking the words or ideas of other writers and passing them off as one's own.Students must realize that plagiarism is not allowed in school work and can result in serious penalties in some schools, including class failure or even expulsion from the school.
Because of real or feigned ignorance among students as to what plagiarism is, I give several examples below to indicate when plagiarism occurs.
As a model text, I use part of film critic, Roger Ebert's review of a recent movie, Cloverfield. I highlight words that illustrate where plagiarism might occur in the samples that follow.
But bear in mind, no student can claim ignorance when accused of plagiarism, whether that ignorance is feigned or real.
Here's the model text by Roger Ebert:
The movie, which has been in a vortex of rumors for months, is actually pretty scary at times. It's most frightening right after something Very Bad begins to happen in lower Manhattan, and before we get a good look at the monster, which is scarier as a vaguely glimpsed enormity than as a big reptile.
Here are examples to study for plagiarism:
1. I found this movie pretty scary at times.
This is plagiarism. The phrase, "pretty scary at times" was lifted from the original review. It's common to use the word "scary" ("Cloverfield is a scary movie") but unlikely to use just that collocation of words ("pretty scary at times") by mere coincidence, especially regarding the same film. There would be less chance of being accused of plagiarism for such an ordinary collocation of words if another film was being reviewed. In this case, the phrase is not memorable and fairly ordinary; but the problem becomes even more serious when the phrase is fairly original, such as "vaguely glimpsed enormity."
2. A vaguely glimpsed enormity makes for a pretty frightening movie called Cloverfield.
Here the plagiarism is even more serious, since the phrase, "vaguely glimpsed enormity" is a sufficiently original collocation of words; and, though not exactly memorable, is fairly stylish.
3. If you want to be scared, go see this film.
Though both reviews use forms of the word, "scare," there's no plagiarism because the word "scare" or forms of the word, are common. Moreover, the sentence in which the word is used is different in either review.
4. . Movie critic, Roger Ebert, argues that Cloverfield is "pretty scary." I disagree.
This is not plagiarism, because the quote is properly attributed (to Ebert).
5. A movie critic argues that Cloverfield is "pretty scary." I agree.
This is not plagiarism, though it may not be correct scholarship. Although Ebert's name is not mentioned, the writer doesn't claim the phrase as her own.
6. Ebert argues that Cloverfield is pretty scary at times.
Although Ebert's name is mentioned, this is still plagiarism, because quotes are not properly placed around Ebert's words to distinguish his words from the writer's. In this case, "pretty scary at times" is not a memorable phrase that may have taken a writer minutes or even hours to work at and revise. Still, they are Ebert's words and the reader should know which are the writer's original words and which are the quoted words.
7. Ebert argues that Cloverfield's monster is scarier when he's a "vaguely glimpsed enormity" than as a big reptile.
Although quotes are placed around some of Ebert's phrases, this is still plagiarism, since other phrases lifted from Ebert's text are not similarly attributed with quotes (for example, "than as a big reptile").
8. A vortex of publicity has preceded the release of Cloverfield and the movie lives up to its advance hype. Indeed, it's scary in parts and even frightening. Something quite bad happens in the beginning and its scary even when the monster is only vaguely seen.
Although no phrases are lifted, only separate words (vortex, scary, frightening, bad, vaguely), this would be called plagiarism, since there are too many words similar to the original. Even though these words are ordinary, their loose collocation (that is, occurring in the same location) is unlikely to be a mere coincidence, especially on the same topic. Although "monster" is clearly used in the same way (from the same point of view) as the original, it would be a less suspect word, since fairly general for horror films.
9. Put together a monster in the form of a reptile and a big city like Manhattan and what do you get? A pretty scary movie.
Here, as in 7, there is a loose collocation of words (reptile, monster, scary, Manhattan), but unlike the case in 7, these are generic words for this kind of film and they would be fairly predictable (co-located) in a review of this kind of film. The idiomatic word,"scary," is often used in movie reviews in order to cultivate a "low" style and appeal to the ordinary reader.
10. Cloverfield pretty much lives up to its advance hype. The monster is scary enough.
Although the reference to "vortex of publicity" in the original is similar here ("advance hype"), this would be considered a reasonable point of view for critics to use as a vantage point from which to review a film. Moreover, the phrasing is completely different from Ebert's review.
No writer can claim ownership of ideas in the public domain or to facts, such as birth dates, director's name, actors' names, genres, etc.
Ironically, that's when students DO NOT rely on checking sources. Often in my film class, students will list a wrong actor or director or at least misspell the names, when a mere check in the IMDB (International Movie Data Base) would prevent such errors. One commentary on the movie, Blow-Up names Michelangelo Antonioni, the movie's director, as its leading star! So when students should rely on published material, to insure their facts, they don't.
Here are some suggestions for journal exercises:
1. Direct copy of a text. "He came in." = "He came in."
2. Indirect dialogue as direct dialogue. "He said he was sick." = "'I'm sick,' he said."
3. Direct dialogue as indirect dialogue. "'I'm sick,' he said." = "He said he was sick."
4. Paraphrase. "He said he was sick." = "He claimed to be unwell."
5. Epitome (summary). "He said he had a fever and a cold." = "He said he was sick."
6. Elaboration. "He said he was sick." = "He had a fever and a cold." Better: "He said he had a fever and a cold and all kinds of vague symptoms he was unable to describe, but which kept him in bed the whole time." (In principle, elaboration is unlimited. See #15)
7. Dialogue elaboration. "He was sick." = "'I am sick," he cried. 'Don't you believe me? I can't drink, I can't keep my food down, I throw up everything I eat, I sneeze constantly, my wife can't stand to be around me. She says my wheezing ruins her television shows when we watch together. Even my dog hides from me. Finally, my children are afraid they'll catch worse colds if they're in my presence.'"
8. Decombination. "I was sick and felt terrible and was a burden to my family." = "I was sick. I felt terrible. I was a burden to my family."
9. Combination. "I was sick. I felt terrible. I was a burden to my family." = "I was sick and felt terrible and was a burden to my family.
10. Prose paraphrase (from poetry). "Whose woods these are I think I know / His house is in the village though" (Robert Frost). = "As I journeyed through the woods, I guessed the name of the person who owned them. As it turned out, his house was in the village."
11. Poetic paraphrase (from prose). "I wondered why the English did not teach their children the language. After all, Norwegians and Greeks teach their respective languages to their children!" = "Why can't the English teach their children how to speak / Norwegians learn Norwegian, the Greeks are taught their Greek!" (My Fair Lady).
12. Variation. "I loved that song." = "That song thrilled me." "I was overwhelmed by that song." "That melody enraptured me."
13. Substitution (replacement).
a. Polysyllabic words by monosyllabic (one syllable) words. "That melody enraptured me." = "That tune thrilled me."
b. Monosyllabic words by polysyllabic words. "I would love to have your help." = "I would be honored to receive your assistance."
c. Proper nouns by noun phrases. "Bob Miller yelled at the top of his lungs, 'You're fired!'" = "The deceived hot-tempered employer yelled at the top of his lungs."
14. Imitation. "It was a cold day and I huddled underneath the only shelter in the woods." = "It was a hot evening and I cooled myself in front of the sole air conditioner in the house."
15. Extended elaboration. "He died." = "The feeble aged man, sick now for many months, and barely clinging to life, finally, after making out his will, and croaking out maudlin farewells to his relatives, all of whom expected to be part of the old man's substantial largess when his last will and testament were read in court, reluctantly went the way of all flesh."
16. Strong-Weak verb exercise. Change strong verbs into weak verbs: "The nation's retailers slashed prices further Wednesday in hopes that a post-Christmas shopping rush will salvage holiday sales." = "The nation's retailers reduced prices further Wednesday in hopes that a post-Christmas shopping rush will help holiday sales."
17. Specific-General exercise. "They're waiting for legions of shoppers armed with gift cards to snap up bargains and buy new merchanise that has just hit store shelves." = "They're waiting for new customers."
18. Coherence exercise. Make a text less coherent. "The nation's retailers slashed prices further Wednesday in hopes that a post-Christmas shopping rush will salvage holiday sales that, so far, have fallen below even modest expectations. They're waiting in particular for legions of shoppers armed with gift cards to snap up bargains and buy new merchandise that has just hit store shelves." = "The nation's retailers slashed prices Wednesday. They hope for a post-Christmas shopping rush. Sales have fallen below expectations. They're waiting for legions of shoppers. New merchandise has just hit store shelves."
BARBARA ALLEN
"Barbara Allen" is one of the most famous of the Child ballads (named after a collector named "Child"). Folk songs come in variants and versions. There are many versions on youtube. This link will take you to one of them, with the following lyrics:In Scarlet Town where I was born, there was a fair maid dwelling, made every youth cry, "Well, a-day," and her name was Barbara Allen. It was in the merry month of May, dogwood buds were swelling, sweet William on his death bed lay for the love of Barbara Allen. He sent his servant to the town, the town where she was dwelling, said, "My master's sick and he bids for you, if your name be Barbara Allen." Slowly, slowly she got up and slowly she went nigh in, and the only words that she did say, "Young man you're surely dying."
Since A Christmas Carol is about death, this became the theme song of Fanny (Scrooge's sister, who dies young). Since her death has determined Scrooge's life, he lives her death as a way of life. The three ghosts (spirits) help Scrooge choose life over death. So when he finally visits his nephew, the guests are singing "Barbara Allen," but stop at the words about dying: "Young man I think—[you're dying]."
It's a clever use of a song to illustrate a film's theme.
For those who wish to hear a brief harp version of the song, go here. A short cartoon version of A Christmas Carol, by Disney, is called Mickey's Christmas Carol.
Style analysis of my short essay (using the revised version):
I used strong verbs: "studied," "shuffle" (second version as noun, first version as strong verb); pacing; cradled; crouches; retrieve; slid; grill; mimick; whirls; "owns" instead of "has" grilling chores.
I used details (specificity) selectively, according to my focus. My focus was on "Grandfather." I included specifics and concrete nouns, but only subordinated to my focus.
Note that I did not mention other food items, because they would hae marred my focus: Grandfather and Moon Day. The point is, nothing is an end in itself, but is always subordinated to good writing, which includes: focus, subordination, unity, coherence, completeness.
Note that the essay, though short, seems complete. In other words, the reader does not feel (or should not feel) that anything of substance has been left out; because whatever is important to my focus (and my length) has been left in.
Obviously if my length were longer, say ten pages, I would then brainstorm for more details and subordination: descriptions of the family, the backyard, my grandfather, etc. But in terms of my self-imposed limits (several short paragraphs), the reader feels that nothing of importance is missing.
The test is the writer becomes the ideal reader. I ask myself, "Is there anything missing?" My answer is No. The writer, if not skilled enough, may be wrong in his or her answer. Only readers can judge. But this seems to be complete to me.
As for revision, one change I made was to shorten the second version. As I "saw again" my first version, I saw places that were, short as it was, still redundant (repetitious, saying the same thing unnecessarily twice). I shorted the opening. I took out the part about eating cold cuts, because I implied that anyway in my revision.
Other changes were in vocabulary: I replaced "emaciated" with "venous" (vein-lined). Some choices are based on subjective judgment, itself based on wide reading. "Emaciated" sounded too long and cumbersome; "venous" got the job done faster. I added another strong verb, "studied" (compared to just "see"). At the end, I replaced "senile" with "senescent."
Actually, I thought of "senescent" (old) the first time but thought it might be too long a word for a simple essay and typed "senile" instead (like "venous," it was shorter). But "senile" had a too negative connotation (not strong in the head) and changed back to "senescent" (a more neutral word meaning simply "old" or "aging"). Also, the extra "s" sound created a nice sibilance in the final sentence (a final sentence should always be strong): "Grandfather'S Slow SeneScent shuffle beneath an autumn moon on a Still September night."
Note also that I replaced "underneath" with "beneath": again, I prefer shorter words if possible, even if only one syllable shorter.
I used strong verbs: "studied," "shuffle" (second version as noun, first version as strong verb); pacing; cradled; crouches; retrieve; slid; grill; mimick; whirls; "owns" instead of "has" grilling chores.
I used details (specificity) selectively, according to my focus. My focus was on "Grandfather." I included specifics and concrete nouns, but only subordinated to my focus.
Note that I did not mention other food items, because they would hae marred my focus: Grandfather and Moon Day. The point is, nothing is an end in itself, but is always subordinated to good writing, which includes: focus, subordination, unity, coherence, completeness.
Note that the essay, though short, seems complete. In other words, the reader does not feel (or should not feel) that anything of substance has been left out; because whatever is important to my focus (and my length) has been left in.
Obviously if my length were longer, say ten pages, I would then brainstorm for more details and subordination: descriptions of the family, the backyard, my grandfather, etc. But in terms of my self-imposed limits (several short paragraphs), the reader feels that nothing of importance is missing.
The test is the writer becomes the ideal reader. I ask myself, "Is there anything missing?" My answer is No. The writer, if not skilled enough, may be wrong in his or her answer. Only readers can judge. But this seems to be complete to me.
As for revision, one change I made was to shorten the second version. As I "saw again" my first version, I saw places that were, short as it was, still redundant (repetitious, saying the same thing unnecessarily twice). I shorted the opening. I took out the part about eating cold cuts, because I implied that anyway in my revision.
Other changes were in vocabulary: I replaced "emaciated" with "venous" (vein-lined). Some choices are based on subjective judgment, itself based on wide reading. "Emaciated" sounded too long and cumbersome; "venous" got the job done faster. I added another strong verb, "studied" (compared to just "see"). At the end, I replaced "senile" with "senescent."
Actually, I thought of "senescent" (old) the first time but thought it might be too long a word for a simple essay and typed "senile" instead (like "venous," it was shorter). But "senile" had a too negative connotation (not strong in the head) and changed back to "senescent" (a more neutral word meaning simply "old" or "aging"). Also, the extra "s" sound created a nice sibilance in the final sentence (a final sentence should always be strong): "Grandfather'S Slow SeneScent shuffle beneath an autumn moon on a Still September night."
Note also that I replaced "underneath" with "beneath": again, I prefer shorter words if possible, even if only one syllable shorter.
Here are some suggestions for journal exercises:
1. Direct copy of a text. "He came in." = "He came in."
2. Indirect dialogue as direct dialogue. "He said he was sick." = "'I'm sick,' he said."
3. Direct dialogue as indirect dialogue. "'I'm sick,' he said." = "He said he was sick."
4. Paraphrase. "He said he was sick." = "He claimed to be unwell."
5. Epitome (summary). "He said he had a fever and a cold." = "He said he was sick."
6. Elaboration. "He said he was sick." = "He had a fever and a cold." Better: "He said he had a fever and a cold and all kinds of vague symptoms he was unable to describe, but which kept him in bed the whole time." (In principle, elaboration is unlimited. See #15)
7. Dialogue elaboration. "He was sick." = "'I am sick," he cried. 'Don't you believe me? I can't drink, I can't keep my food down, I throw up everything I eat, I sneeze constantly, my wife can't stand to be around me. She says my wheezing ruins her television shows when we watch together. Even my dog hides from me. Finally, my children are afraid they'll catch worse colds if they're in my presence.'"
8. Decombination. "I was sick and felt terrible and was a burden to my family." = "I was sick. I felt terrible. I was a burden to my family."
9. Combination. "I was sick. I felt terrible. I was a burden to my family." = "I was sick and felt terrible and was a burden to my family.
10. Prose paraphrase (from poetry). "Whose woods these are I think I know / His house is in the village though" (Robert Frost). = "As I journeyed through the woods, I guessed the name of the person who owned them. As it turned out, his house was in the village."
11. Poetic paraphrase (from prose). "I wondered why the English did not teach their children the language. After all, Norwegians and Greeks teach their respective languages to their children!" = "Why can't the English teach their children how to speak / Norwegians learn Norwegian, the Greeks are taught their Greek!" (My Fair Lady).
12. Variation. "I loved that song." = "That song thrilled me." "I was overwhelmed by that song." "That melody enraptured me."
13. Substitution (replacement).
a. Polysyllabic words by monosyllabic (one syllable) words. "That melody enraptured me." = "That tune thrilled me."
b. Monosyllabic words by polysyllabic words. "I would love to have your help." = "I would be honored to receive your assistance."
c. Proper nouns by noun phrases. "Bob Miller yelled at the top of his lungs, 'You're fired!'" = "The deceived hot-tempered employer yelled at the top of his lungs."
14. Imitation. "It was a cold day and I huddled underneath the only shelter in the woods." = "It was a hot evening and I cooled myself in front of the sole air conditioner in the house."
15. Extended elaboration. "He died." = "The feeble aged man, sick now for many months, and barely clinging to life, finally, after making out his will, and croaking out maudlin farewells to his relatives, all of whom expected to be part of the old man's substantial largess when his last will and testament were read in court, reluctantly went the way of all flesh."
Though born into a Chinese family, her filial compliance had nothing to do with traditional Chinese values. After all, her family had immigrated to Canada when she was still only two years old. Soon thereafter, her parents had converted to the Christian faith and enthusiastically embraced Canadian ways.
Besides, that wasn't the way her siblings behaved. If Mom or Dad told them to do something, they might or might not obey; and then, not at once; or not without negotiation and compromise.
Susan, for example: she usually did what her parents asked. But not without dirty looks and arguments.
Rebecca often wasn't even told what to do. She was cajoled into doing it. Her parents dare not distract the family scholar.
"Becky, dear. If it won't disturb your reading, do you think you might hand me today's newspaper. It's on the bed stand next to you, still bundled. Just lean over and throw it to us, dear, if you please."
And Bob was the pampered one; the "man" of the house. He never got the kitchen chores. And the jobs assigned him at least involved adventure that Martha wouldn't have minded herself: like driving the family's business truck to the market to pick up fresh vegetables for the family restaurant. But Martha considered herself lucky if Bob would even let her ride with him in it.
Perhaps she should have asserted herself more. That was what any "normal" child would have done.
But Martha didn't consider herself normal. She was always the timid one in the family. She never debated the debt she owed to her family. She never contested a ruling that favored a sibling over her. She never questioned if her mother said it was her duty to do the laundry; even if the laundry included the dresses her sisters stained, or the dungarees her brother soiled in the backyard training the family dog, Cyborg, to do tricks.
That was her nature. How had she heard it phrased in class one day? "Ours not to reason why—ours but to do or die."
That was Martha in a nutshell. But why must she always be the one to die? Wasn't life meant for her as well as for her siblings?
As a Christian, Martha had every reason to expect that eternal life was guaranteed to her by her Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. This was not something she was told; it was something she believed.
But she feared that her bitterness and resentment over being controlled by others would not only complicate her relations with those closest to her, but would even deprive her of life in the hereafter as well. Bitterness and resentment were venial sins to be sure (her parish priest assured her of that in Confession), but they could lead to more deadly sins, such as anger.
The issue became even more urgent now that she was repatriated to Taiwan and the head of a single-parent family, the result of her recent divorce from a Taiwanese husband. Doubtless her timidity discouraged her from demanding a divorce settlement more advantageous to her as a single mother, thus straitening her financial situation and aggravating her relationship with her son, Kenneth.
All these factors added fuel to the fire of her resentment, which kept burning and might (she feared) sear her soul as well. So it was something of a revelation to her when her neighbor, and now best friend, Ann, advised her, during this especially traumatic time in her life, that it was not her place to always give in to others. She had alternatives, as Ann reasoned.
"You don't have to, you know."
Ann wagged her finger at Martha before taking another sip from her teacup.
"I do know. But I feel I'm being pressured by everyone, Ann. Everyone expects me to do what they want.
"When I was a little girl, I always did what my mom wanted, no matter how much it hurt—or no matter how unfair I felt what was expected of me was. Now that I'm a mother myself, my son has taken my mother's place. 'Do this. Do that. Give me the money for this, give me the money for that.'
"Yet he does nothing for me."
Martha gestured in the direction of the front porch.
"I've asked him for several days now to replace the porch light and to cut the weeds, but it's like I'm speaking to the wall. Yet I'm supposed to respond to everything he wants."
Ann seemed preoccupied with munching on the Chinese Moon Cakes set out before her on the kitchen table, while taking sips of the Jasmine tea Martha had made for her. She had heard it all before.
"Kenneth knows I'm alone here," Martha continued. "His daddy isn't even paying child support. Yet he expects me to be both mom and dad to him.
"And this is not only a matter of finances. I'm supposed to stop everything I'm doing every time he has another argument with his girlfriend. And I can't help thinking he's right: that I am supposed to stop everything I'm doing—even when I resent it so much it hurts."
Ann shrugged.
"What do you expect? People have you marked as an easy victim. Do you blame them for taking advantage of you? I tell you, Martha, there's no reason to jump to serve everybody's needs. Just tell them no."
"I know that—in my mind. But in my heart I act otherwise. Or if I don't, I feel guilt."
Ann shook her head in disapproval.
"That's what I'm telling you. You shouldn't have to feel guilt. That's how you ended up in this financial mess in the first place. Most women would have gotten the better of the divorce settlement instead of the worse. And it's not just your family that makes you feel guilty. You're such a wimp, you feel guilt if you don't let everyone who knocks at your door in—so they can sell you something you don't even need."
Ann was referring to the door-to-door salesmen, who never stopped pestering her, both day and night.
"Look at these."
Ann picked up a package of wafer cream cookies.
"You're on a diet. Did you really need to buy these? And that—on the wall."
"That" was a plaque; a motto of the Aaronic Blessing, which said, in gold-tinted letters, "May the good Lord bless and keep you."
"May the good Lord bless you and keep you from salesmen," Ann quipped. "But you seem to think it means, 'May the good Lord bless you and keep you buying.' And that over there."
"Over there" was a print of Jesus by a pre-Raphaelite painter.
"You know, Ann," Martha reasoned, "young children develop self-esteem by selling their cookies. I'm helping them develop self-esteem. And those," she continued, pointing to the motto and print on the wall, "I had to buy them to remind me of God and His Son in my daily life. Especially in these difficult times I'm going through."
Now living in Taiwan, where Christianity was a minority religion, Martha felt it important to remind herself of her native faith, even more so around the time of the local Chinese holidays, such as the Lunar New Year or Moon Day. That was when personal commitment mattered most. Though not adverse to offering Moon Cakes to her guests, she felt that, as a Christian, serving such harmless delicacies was as far as she should go in observance of the local holidays.
Still, she took Ann's criticism to heart.
"Our church sent people to my home. What was I to do?"
"You mean you have to buy from any aggressive salesman who knocks on your door," Ann replied, unconvinced. "They sent people to my door too, but you'll never see me buying those things. I've got more important household expenses to meet with my husband's hard-earned money."
Martha seemed embarrassed, possibly even annoyed a little by Ann's aggressive stance.
"Every Christian should have a plaque to bless her house, Ann. And that print: the salesman said it was by Rubens or Raphael. I don't know much about art; but it makes my kitchen look artistic, and it keeps Jesus in my home at all times."
Indeed, Martha had just allowed Jesus back into her life, after many years during which she had neglected her family religion. Though she had attended church with her parents throughout her childhood and adolescence, she had left her religion behind, along with her Canadian residency, after repatriating to Taiwan with her then husband. But this time around it was not just a family religion with which she was formally affiliated. It was an affirmation of personal faith. She now referred to herself as a "born-again" Christian, like Ann.
"You're already in debt, Martha. Yet you keep opening your door to salesmen who make you buy things you don't even need."
Martha started to cry: perhaps out of an awareness of her own weakness; or merely from the misery that had accumulated in her life over several months, including financial debt and an emotional estrangement from her own daughter. It was these problems that, partly due to encouragement from Ann, had caused her to turn to the Christian religion she had abandoned at adolescence.
It was in fact her rediscovered faith in Jesus that had helped her survive the last several months. Her faith was displayed on the book shelves as well as on the walls of her kitchen and bedroom, including the pre-Raphaelite painting with which she adorned her kitchen wall and which, in her ignorance of art, she routinely, if erroneously, credited to Raphael.
But her faith was also displayed in her new-found resolve to assert herself, which was not without its moments of weakness, as Ann knew and therefore tried to discourage.
"You've got to be stronger about these matters, Martha. Stick up for yourself. Don't treat yourself like a doormat. That wasn't the message of Jesus or his apostles. It was a message of confidence in yourself and hope for the future. One day Jesus will call—and you should be ready to receive him. Not weak, or unprepared. Not like the five foolish virgins, like it says in the Bible.
"Believe me, Martha," Ann continued. "Jesus doesn't want doormats; he wants bold messengers: those who can preach his Word with strength. That takes some kind of commitment. 'To him who overcomes, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne.' That's somewhere in the Bible too. I didn't make it up."
Martha hoped, of course, that when Jesus summoned her, she would answer his call. She hoped fervently that that day would come. But for now she was prepared to depend mainly on her own strenth.
But perhaps Ann had overestimated that strength. Perhaps, in this way, Ann was her worst enemy, asking her to be the person she was not—and could never be.
There is no question that sometimes Martha doubted Ann's new influence on her—whether it was in her best interests. After all, a leopard cannot change its spots. That was in the Bible too, though Martha forgot where. Yet mainly Martha felt that Ann was guiding her in the right direction. In fact, she felt she owed Ann more than anyone else—except, of course, Jesus.
The saying, "A friend can be one's worst enemy," might be true in other cases, but not in her case. If it wasn't for Ann, who encouraged her with readings from the Bible, she would never have found Jesus again—the rock of her life in these difficult times.
Ann looked at her watch.
"Gotta be going. Mark's coming home soon. The sweet dear works so hard to support his family, the least I can do is to be home for him when he comes. Good-bye, Martha. And do remember: you're not a doormat—whether for your daughter or those pestering salesmen! There, there. Everything'll be all right."
Martha smiled, brushing the tears from her eyes, as the door slammed.
Yes, she was resolved, now more than ever, to stand up for herself and to be a slave to Jesus alone—not to anyone else. If Jesus called, like Ann said, she would be ready.
Her first victory came swift enough. Her son, Kenneth, came home, slamming the door and asking for a snack.
"Get it yourself, Kenneth. You're not a child anymore and I'm not your slave, at your beck and call all the time," Martha replied with newfound confidence. "I need to relax too, you know."
Later, though, came a greater challenge, as she heard a knock at the door while preparing her solitary supper (Ken had evening football practice). She felt a spasm of dread pass through her.
"They always knock around supper time," she thought. "Just when you're busy setting the table. Do I have the courage?" she asked herself.
At first Martha simply ignored the knocking, which became more persistent.
"Is the lady of the house home?" the voice queried.
"Lady." Martha considered the word suspiciously. "They always ask for the lady of the house. Like they were asking for an easy spender," she reasoned.
"Go away!" she whispered, still lacking the courage to speak her defiant words out loud. But finally, with greater effort, she managed to raise her voice.
"Go away! What do you want?"
"I've got a wonderful invitation for you, Madam. May I come in for just a few minutes?" the voice answered.
"An offer I can't refuse," she thought, remembering an old gangster movie. "I told you to go away. I've got no money—only bills to pay. I can't buy what you're selling! I told you: go away!"
"What I've got can help change your life."
Martha resented the brazen sales pitch and remained defiant.
"I'm not buying," she answered.
She heard footsteps shuffling on the paved steps, seemingly impatient with the unexpected delay of the occupant inside. The knocking stopped.
Martha smiled and raised her shoulders, proud of her new strength. She scarcely wavered.
She did it. She stood up for herself. She was no longer a doormat and was now ready to face the world. Indeed, she was ready for Jesus, as Ann suggested.
She smiled with understandable satisfaction. She could hardly believe the ease of her victory and wondered why it took her so long to achieve it. If she had known it could be that simple, she would not be in the mess she currently found herself in.
Eager to measure the size of her conquest, she paced to the window and lifted a slat of the venetian blind with her pinkie to see who her first conquest was. Beneath the bright glow of the porch light, she could see the outline of a man still patiently waiting outside the door in the early dusk. He was rather oddly dressed, somewhat like a hippie of her rebellious adolescence, coifed in long hair, with his sample merchandise—a paper lantern—in one hand.
It looked like the battery-operated kind. Just the thing to sell for Moon Day.
But she already had several of those in the house. She acquired them when she started observing the Chinese holidays again with her Taiwanese husband. But she had long since relegated them to the storage room, now that she had embraced Christianity again.
She removed her pinkie from the slat and let it imperceptibly and silently slide back into place as she stood, frozen, behind the blind. For a moment, thinking of the hospitable welcome with which she had been received in Taiwan, she had doubted her rebuff of the salesman as perhaps being too harsh. But as she saw the man with the lantern in his hand, not even looking presentable, she realized it was the right thing to do: what could she possibly use a lantern for anyway?
And yet—a wave of doubt, even regret, suddenly passed over her, like a chill. Perhaps it was the old complaisant guilt returning.
Regretful, she stole another glance through the blind. Perhaps it was something vaguely familiar in the man, softly illuminated, now by a bright street lamp, as he walked slowly away, not even bothering to knock at other doors as he did so.
Prepossessessed by her rapidly shifting moods, she paused to reflect and collect herself. She wondered at the bright glow of the street lamp, which she had never realized before. It seemed odd to her, now, how bright a street lamp looked from indoors.
On rare occasions, when she arrived home after dusk, she would quicken her footsteps, until she reached the safe haven of her home, off the dimly lit sidewalk. Yet now, from inside her house, the street seemed adequately illuminated.
As she continued to stare at the departing figure in the early night, Martha became even more perplexed, observing that the man's figure was quite distinct, even as it passed beyond the ambient illumination of the nearest street lamp. For she could still discern him clearly enough, with the same glow surrounding him as before.
Now, in the bright light, she felt certain she recognized the figure. But where had she seen him before?
She had certainly never purchased a lantern. Not from a door-to-door salesman!
Why should she? Why should anyone else, for that matter? These were easily available in night markets or on street corners monopolized by venders. Why sell them door-to-door?
The question was logical. But it did not come from the logical part of Martha's mind. It came from a part of her mind that had eschewed logic for faith.
Her face paled as she spun around in a panic to face a wall of her kitchen room. Her neck tensed as she zeroed in on the painting that hung there.
She strained at recognition. Could it be?
Yes. It was a fair resemblance. It looked like him.
There he was. In the picture. The same man: a lantern in his hand.
It was a print she had loved since she hung it several months before. As soon as she hung the painting, she had even marked her Bible for the verses the painting referred to.
She scurried to the kitchen table and thumbed through her Bible for the passage. In fact, the referenced page had been carefully dog-eared by her at the time, so she had no trouble locating the verse. It was from the final book of the Bible: the book of Revelation, chapter three, verse twenty. It read:
"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and sup with him, and he with me."
Overwhelmed with dread, Martha felt sick to her stomach. She raced to the front door and hurled the door open, causing a violent chill wind that gushed suddenly past her as she peered out, looking for the man.
She strained her neck in every visible direction. But he was gone.
Odd, how dim the street lamp now looked. Suddenly, with a violent shudder, she remembered that Kenneth had not replaced the porch light, which was now out.
She commenced to cry. Hot tears streamed down her face.
She noticed the uncut weeds. She regretted her many failures. Her failure in marriage. Her failure in raising her child. But most of all, she regretted her lack of faith in the God of her conversion.
Now in a profound trance, Martha silently closed the door, not bothering to lock it behind her.
She paced solemnly to the picture hanging on the wall and, in the growing darkness of her kitchen room, which seemed to voice her own despair, she lowered her head to read the inscription:
THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.
The song is written from the point of view of a teenager, irritated by his parents' nagging ("yakety yak" imitates that nagging). "Don't talk back" is the parent's dialogue in response to the child's imitation."Trash" is garbage. "Laundromat" is an automated (coin-operated) washing machine venue. "Hoodlum" is a gangster or (in this case) teenage gangster type. "Dirty looks" are angry looks. "Hip" means "knowing." "Cooks" here means "happening." So: "Your father knows what you're doing."
The stuttering sax solo by King Curtis occurs 54 seconds into the song. The stuttering phrasing begins the solo; but the entire solo is a marvel of structure, a story in itself, with several changes of tempo in its brief duration.
The structure of the solo is based on simple sequential patterns: that is, a phrase is repeated at different pitch levels, sometimes five times in succesion, adding to the feeling of wild abandon of the song in general. The solo itself would be worth the price of the record and seems never to lose its freshness and immediacy, no matter how often one listens to it, either within the context of the recording or entirely isolated from the record.
But in addition to this remarkable solo, the lyrics are another delight, a concise teenage drama, using idioms and words common in the era of the 1950s, such as "hoodlum" (anybody one's parents didn't like was called a "hoodlum," or teenage gangster); "hip" comes from the jazz subculture, meaning "wise" or "knowing," etc. Finally, one should not underestimate the buoyant vocal by The Coasters, making this a truly timeless record. And they said Rock 'n' Roll wouldn't last! :-)
1. Direct copy of a text. "He came in." = "He came in."
2. Indirect dialogue as direct dialogue. "He said he was sick." = "'I'm sick,' he said."
3. Direct dialogue as indirect dialogue. "'I'm sick,' he said." = "He said he was sick."
4. Paraphrase. "He said he was sick." = "He claimed to be unwell."
5. Epitome (summary). "He said he had a fever and a cold." = "He said he was sick."
6. Elaboration. "He said he was sick." = "He had a fever and a cold." Better: "He said he had a fever and a cold and all kinds of vague symptoms he was unable to describe, but which kept him in bed the whole time." (In principle, elaboration is unlimited. See #15)
7. Dialogue elaboration. "He was sick." = "'I am sick," he cried. 'Don't you believe me? I can't drink, I can't keep my food down, I throw up everything I eat, I sneeze constantly, my wife can't stand to be around me. She says my wheezing ruins her television shows when we watch together. Even my dog hides from me. Finally, my children are afraid they'll catch worse colds if they're in my presence.'"
8. Decombination. "I was sick and felt terrible and was a burden to my family." = "I was sick. I felt terrible. I was a burden to my family."
9. Combination. "I was sick. I felt terrible. I was a burden to my family." = "I was sick and felt terrible and was a burden to my family.
10. Prose paraphrase (from poetry). "Whose woods these are I think I know / His house is in the village though" (Robert Frost). = "As I journeyed through the woods, I guessed the name of the person who owned them. As it turned out, his house was in the village."
11. Poetic paraphrase (from prose). "I wondered why the English did not teach their children the language. After all, Norwegians and Greeks teach their respective languages to their children!" = "Why can't the English teach their children how to speak / Norwegians learn Norwegian, the Greeks are taught their Greek!" (My Fair Lady).
12. Variation. "I loved that song." = "That song thrilled me." "I was overwhelmed by that song." "That melody enraptured me."
13. Substitution (replacement).
a. Polysyllabic words by monosyllabic (one syllable) words. "That melody enraptured me." = "That tune thrilled me."
b. Monosyllabic words by polysyllabic words. "I would love to have your help." = "I would be honored to receive your assistance."
c. Proper nouns by noun phrases. "Bob Miller yelled at the top of his lungs, 'You're fired!'" = "The deceived hot-tempered employer yelled at the top of his lungs."
14. Imitation. "It was a cold day and I huddled underneath the only shelter in the woods." = "It was a hot evening and I cooled myself in front of the sole air conditioner in the house."
15. Extended elaboration. "He died." = "The feeble aged man, sick now for many months, and barely clinging to life, finally, after making out his will, and croaking out maudlin farewells to his relatives, all of whom expected to be part of the old man's substantial largess when his last will and testament were read in court, reluctantly went the way of all flesh."
REVELATION
It was a revelation to Martha—something she had never considered herself. After all, it was she who was the youngest in the family, always browbeaten by her two elder sisters and an elder brother; always told what to do by her mom and dad. She was eager to comply, too.Though born into a Chinese family, her filial compliance had nothing to do with traditional Chinese values. After all, her family had immigrated to Canada when she was still only two years old. Soon thereafter, her parents had converted to the Christian faith and enthusiastically embraced Canadian ways.
Besides, that wasn't the way her siblings behaved. If Mom or Dad told them to do something, they might or might not obey; and then, not at once; or not without negotiation and compromise.
Susan, for example: she usually did what her parents asked. But not without dirty looks and arguments.
Rebecca often wasn't even told what to do. She was cajoled into doing it. Her parents dare not distract the family scholar.
"Becky, dear. If it won't disturb your reading, do you think you might hand me today's newspaper. It's on the bed stand next to you, still bundled. Just lean over and throw it to us, dear, if you please."
And Bob was the pampered one; the "man" of the house. He never got the kitchen chores. And the jobs assigned him at least involved adventure that Martha wouldn't have minded herself: like driving the family's business truck to the market to pick up fresh vegetables for the family restaurant. But Martha considered herself lucky if Bob would even let her ride with him in it.
Perhaps she should have asserted herself more. That was what any "normal" child would have done.
But Martha didn't consider herself normal. She was always the timid one in the family. She never debated the debt she owed to her family. She never contested a ruling that favored a sibling over her. She never questioned if her mother said it was her duty to do the laundry; even if the laundry included the dresses her sisters stained, or the dungarees her brother soiled in the backyard training the family dog, Cyborg, to do tricks.
That was her nature. How had she heard it phrased in class one day? "Ours not to reason why—ours but to do or die."
That was Martha in a nutshell. But why must she always be the one to die? Wasn't life meant for her as well as for her siblings?
As a Christian, Martha had every reason to expect that eternal life was guaranteed to her by her Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. This was not something she was told; it was something she believed.
But she feared that her bitterness and resentment over being controlled by others would not only complicate her relations with those closest to her, but would even deprive her of life in the hereafter as well. Bitterness and resentment were venial sins to be sure (her parish priest assured her of that in Confession), but they could lead to more deadly sins, such as anger.
The issue became even more urgent now that she was repatriated to Taiwan and the head of a single-parent family, the result of her recent divorce from a Taiwanese husband. Doubtless her timidity discouraged her from demanding a divorce settlement more advantageous to her as a single mother, thus straitening her financial situation and aggravating her relationship with her son, Kenneth.
All these factors added fuel to the fire of her resentment, which kept burning and might (she feared) sear her soul as well. So it was something of a revelation to her when her neighbor, and now best friend, Ann, advised her, during this especially traumatic time in her life, that it was not her place to always give in to others. She had alternatives, as Ann reasoned.
"You don't have to, you know."
Ann wagged her finger at Martha before taking another sip from her teacup.
"I do know. But I feel I'm being pressured by everyone, Ann. Everyone expects me to do what they want.
"When I was a little girl, I always did what my mom wanted, no matter how much it hurt—or no matter how unfair I felt what was expected of me was. Now that I'm a mother myself, my son has taken my mother's place. 'Do this. Do that. Give me the money for this, give me the money for that.'
"Yet he does nothing for me."
Martha gestured in the direction of the front porch.
"I've asked him for several days now to replace the porch light and to cut the weeds, but it's like I'm speaking to the wall. Yet I'm supposed to respond to everything he wants."
Ann seemed preoccupied with munching on the Chinese Moon Cakes set out before her on the kitchen table, while taking sips of the Jasmine tea Martha had made for her. She had heard it all before.
"Kenneth knows I'm alone here," Martha continued. "His daddy isn't even paying child support. Yet he expects me to be both mom and dad to him.
"And this is not only a matter of finances. I'm supposed to stop everything I'm doing every time he has another argument with his girlfriend. And I can't help thinking he's right: that I am supposed to stop everything I'm doing—even when I resent it so much it hurts."
Ann shrugged.
"What do you expect? People have you marked as an easy victim. Do you blame them for taking advantage of you? I tell you, Martha, there's no reason to jump to serve everybody's needs. Just tell them no."
"I know that—in my mind. But in my heart I act otherwise. Or if I don't, I feel guilt."
Ann shook her head in disapproval.
"That's what I'm telling you. You shouldn't have to feel guilt. That's how you ended up in this financial mess in the first place. Most women would have gotten the better of the divorce settlement instead of the worse. And it's not just your family that makes you feel guilty. You're such a wimp, you feel guilt if you don't let everyone who knocks at your door in—so they can sell you something you don't even need."
Ann was referring to the door-to-door salesmen, who never stopped pestering her, both day and night.
"Look at these."
Ann picked up a package of wafer cream cookies.
"You're on a diet. Did you really need to buy these? And that—on the wall."
"That" was a plaque; a motto of the Aaronic Blessing, which said, in gold-tinted letters, "May the good Lord bless and keep you."
"May the good Lord bless you and keep you from salesmen," Ann quipped. "But you seem to think it means, 'May the good Lord bless you and keep you buying.' And that over there."
"Over there" was a print of Jesus by a pre-Raphaelite painter.
"You know, Ann," Martha reasoned, "young children develop self-esteem by selling their cookies. I'm helping them develop self-esteem. And those," she continued, pointing to the motto and print on the wall, "I had to buy them to remind me of God and His Son in my daily life. Especially in these difficult times I'm going through."
Now living in Taiwan, where Christianity was a minority religion, Martha felt it important to remind herself of her native faith, even more so around the time of the local Chinese holidays, such as the Lunar New Year or Moon Day. That was when personal commitment mattered most. Though not adverse to offering Moon Cakes to her guests, she felt that, as a Christian, serving such harmless delicacies was as far as she should go in observance of the local holidays.
Still, she took Ann's criticism to heart.
"Our church sent people to my home. What was I to do?"
"You mean you have to buy from any aggressive salesman who knocks on your door," Ann replied, unconvinced. "They sent people to my door too, but you'll never see me buying those things. I've got more important household expenses to meet with my husband's hard-earned money."
Martha seemed embarrassed, possibly even annoyed a little by Ann's aggressive stance.
"Every Christian should have a plaque to bless her house, Ann. And that print: the salesman said it was by Rubens or Raphael. I don't know much about art; but it makes my kitchen look artistic, and it keeps Jesus in my home at all times."
Indeed, Martha had just allowed Jesus back into her life, after many years during which she had neglected her family religion. Though she had attended church with her parents throughout her childhood and adolescence, she had left her religion behind, along with her Canadian residency, after repatriating to Taiwan with her then husband. But this time around it was not just a family religion with which she was formally affiliated. It was an affirmation of personal faith. She now referred to herself as a "born-again" Christian, like Ann.
"You're already in debt, Martha. Yet you keep opening your door to salesmen who make you buy things you don't even need."
Martha started to cry: perhaps out of an awareness of her own weakness; or merely from the misery that had accumulated in her life over several months, including financial debt and an emotional estrangement from her own daughter. It was these problems that, partly due to encouragement from Ann, had caused her to turn to the Christian religion she had abandoned at adolescence.
It was in fact her rediscovered faith in Jesus that had helped her survive the last several months. Her faith was displayed on the book shelves as well as on the walls of her kitchen and bedroom, including the pre-Raphaelite painting with which she adorned her kitchen wall and which, in her ignorance of art, she routinely, if erroneously, credited to Raphael.
But her faith was also displayed in her new-found resolve to assert herself, which was not without its moments of weakness, as Ann knew and therefore tried to discourage.
"You've got to be stronger about these matters, Martha. Stick up for yourself. Don't treat yourself like a doormat. That wasn't the message of Jesus or his apostles. It was a message of confidence in yourself and hope for the future. One day Jesus will call—and you should be ready to receive him. Not weak, or unprepared. Not like the five foolish virgins, like it says in the Bible.
"Believe me, Martha," Ann continued. "Jesus doesn't want doormats; he wants bold messengers: those who can preach his Word with strength. That takes some kind of commitment. 'To him who overcomes, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne.' That's somewhere in the Bible too. I didn't make it up."
Martha hoped, of course, that when Jesus summoned her, she would answer his call. She hoped fervently that that day would come. But for now she was prepared to depend mainly on her own strenth.
But perhaps Ann had overestimated that strength. Perhaps, in this way, Ann was her worst enemy, asking her to be the person she was not—and could never be.
There is no question that sometimes Martha doubted Ann's new influence on her—whether it was in her best interests. After all, a leopard cannot change its spots. That was in the Bible too, though Martha forgot where. Yet mainly Martha felt that Ann was guiding her in the right direction. In fact, she felt she owed Ann more than anyone else—except, of course, Jesus.
The saying, "A friend can be one's worst enemy," might be true in other cases, but not in her case. If it wasn't for Ann, who encouraged her with readings from the Bible, she would never have found Jesus again—the rock of her life in these difficult times.
Ann looked at her watch.
"Gotta be going. Mark's coming home soon. The sweet dear works so hard to support his family, the least I can do is to be home for him when he comes. Good-bye, Martha. And do remember: you're not a doormat—whether for your daughter or those pestering salesmen! There, there. Everything'll be all right."
Martha smiled, brushing the tears from her eyes, as the door slammed.
Yes, she was resolved, now more than ever, to stand up for herself and to be a slave to Jesus alone—not to anyone else. If Jesus called, like Ann said, she would be ready.
Her first victory came swift enough. Her son, Kenneth, came home, slamming the door and asking for a snack.
"Get it yourself, Kenneth. You're not a child anymore and I'm not your slave, at your beck and call all the time," Martha replied with newfound confidence. "I need to relax too, you know."
Later, though, came a greater challenge, as she heard a knock at the door while preparing her solitary supper (Ken had evening football practice). She felt a spasm of dread pass through her.
"They always knock around supper time," she thought. "Just when you're busy setting the table. Do I have the courage?" she asked herself.
At first Martha simply ignored the knocking, which became more persistent.
"Is the lady of the house home?" the voice queried.
"Lady." Martha considered the word suspiciously. "They always ask for the lady of the house. Like they were asking for an easy spender," she reasoned.
"Go away!" she whispered, still lacking the courage to speak her defiant words out loud. But finally, with greater effort, she managed to raise her voice.
"Go away! What do you want?"
"I've got a wonderful invitation for you, Madam. May I come in for just a few minutes?" the voice answered.
"An offer I can't refuse," she thought, remembering an old gangster movie. "I told you to go away. I've got no money—only bills to pay. I can't buy what you're selling! I told you: go away!"
"What I've got can help change your life."
Martha resented the brazen sales pitch and remained defiant.
"I'm not buying," she answered.
She heard footsteps shuffling on the paved steps, seemingly impatient with the unexpected delay of the occupant inside. The knocking stopped.
Martha smiled and raised her shoulders, proud of her new strength. She scarcely wavered.
She did it. She stood up for herself. She was no longer a doormat and was now ready to face the world. Indeed, she was ready for Jesus, as Ann suggested.
She smiled with understandable satisfaction. She could hardly believe the ease of her victory and wondered why it took her so long to achieve it. If she had known it could be that simple, she would not be in the mess she currently found herself in.
Eager to measure the size of her conquest, she paced to the window and lifted a slat of the venetian blind with her pinkie to see who her first conquest was. Beneath the bright glow of the porch light, she could see the outline of a man still patiently waiting outside the door in the early dusk. He was rather oddly dressed, somewhat like a hippie of her rebellious adolescence, coifed in long hair, with his sample merchandise—a paper lantern—in one hand.
It looked like the battery-operated kind. Just the thing to sell for Moon Day.
But she already had several of those in the house. She acquired them when she started observing the Chinese holidays again with her Taiwanese husband. But she had long since relegated them to the storage room, now that she had embraced Christianity again.
She removed her pinkie from the slat and let it imperceptibly and silently slide back into place as she stood, frozen, behind the blind. For a moment, thinking of the hospitable welcome with which she had been received in Taiwan, she had doubted her rebuff of the salesman as perhaps being too harsh. But as she saw the man with the lantern in his hand, not even looking presentable, she realized it was the right thing to do: what could she possibly use a lantern for anyway?
And yet—a wave of doubt, even regret, suddenly passed over her, like a chill. Perhaps it was the old complaisant guilt returning.
Regretful, she stole another glance through the blind. Perhaps it was something vaguely familiar in the man, softly illuminated, now by a bright street lamp, as he walked slowly away, not even bothering to knock at other doors as he did so.
Prepossessessed by her rapidly shifting moods, she paused to reflect and collect herself. She wondered at the bright glow of the street lamp, which she had never realized before. It seemed odd to her, now, how bright a street lamp looked from indoors.
On rare occasions, when she arrived home after dusk, she would quicken her footsteps, until she reached the safe haven of her home, off the dimly lit sidewalk. Yet now, from inside her house, the street seemed adequately illuminated.
As she continued to stare at the departing figure in the early night, Martha became even more perplexed, observing that the man's figure was quite distinct, even as it passed beyond the ambient illumination of the nearest street lamp. For she could still discern him clearly enough, with the same glow surrounding him as before.
Now, in the bright light, she felt certain she recognized the figure. But where had she seen him before?
She had certainly never purchased a lantern. Not from a door-to-door salesman!
Why should she? Why should anyone else, for that matter? These were easily available in night markets or on street corners monopolized by venders. Why sell them door-to-door?
The question was logical. But it did not come from the logical part of Martha's mind. It came from a part of her mind that had eschewed logic for faith.
Her face paled as she spun around in a panic to face a wall of her kitchen room. Her neck tensed as she zeroed in on the painting that hung there.
She strained at recognition. Could it be?
Yes. It was a fair resemblance. It looked like him.
There he was. In the picture. The same man: a lantern in his hand.
It was a print she had loved since she hung it several months before. As soon as she hung the painting, she had even marked her Bible for the verses the painting referred to.
She scurried to the kitchen table and thumbed through her Bible for the passage. In fact, the referenced page had been carefully dog-eared by her at the time, so she had no trouble locating the verse. It was from the final book of the Bible: the book of Revelation, chapter three, verse twenty. It read:
"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and sup with him, and he with me."
Overwhelmed with dread, Martha felt sick to her stomach. She raced to the front door and hurled the door open, causing a violent chill wind that gushed suddenly past her as she peered out, looking for the man.
She strained her neck in every visible direction. But he was gone.
Odd, how dim the street lamp now looked. Suddenly, with a violent shudder, she remembered that Kenneth had not replaced the porch light, which was now out.
She commenced to cry. Hot tears streamed down her face.
She noticed the uncut weeds. She regretted her many failures. Her failure in marriage. Her failure in raising her child. But most of all, she regretted her lack of faith in the God of her conversion.
Now in a profound trance, Martha silently closed the door, not bothering to lock it behind her.
She paced solemnly to the picture hanging on the wall and, in the growing darkness of her kitchen room, which seemed to voice her own despair, she lowered her head to read the inscription:
THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.
YAKETY YAK
For those interested in hearing the "stuttering sax" of King Curtis on the instrumental break of "Yakety Yak," a hit by the doo-wop group, The Coasters, click on the slide show of that song.The stuttering sax solo by King Curtis occurs 54 seconds into the song. The stuttering phrasing begins the solo; but the entire solo is a marvel of structure, a story in itself, with several changes of tempo in its brief duration.
The structure of the solo is based on simple sequential patterns: that is, a phrase is repeated at different pitch levels, sometimes five times in succesion, adding to the feeling of wild abandon of the song in general. The solo itself would be worth the price of the record and seems never to lose its freshness and immediacy, no matter how often one listens to it, either within the context of the recording or entirely isolated from the record.
But in addition to this remarkable solo, the lyrics are another delight, a concise teenage drama, using idioms and words common in the era of the 1950s, such as "hoodlum" (anybody one's parents didn't like was called a "hoodlum," or teenage gangster); "hip" comes from the jazz subculture, meaning "wise" or "knowing," etc. Finally, one should not underestimate the buoyant vocal by The Coasters, making this a truly timeless record. And they said Rock 'n' Roll wouldn't last! :-)
Take out the papers and the trash
Or you don't get no spending cash
If you don't scrub that kitchen floor
You ain't gonna rock and roll no more
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
Just finish cleaning up your room
Let's see that dust fly with that broom
Get all that garbage out of sight
Or you don't go out Friday night
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
You just put on your coat and hat
And walk yourself to the laundromat
And when you finish doing that
Bring in the dog and put out the cat
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
Don't you give me no dirty looks
Your father's hip; he knows what cooks
Just tell your hoodlum friend outside
You ain't got time to take a ride
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
Yakety yak, yakety yak
Yakety yak, yakety yak
Yakety yak, yakety yak
Yakety yak, yakety yak!
Ladybugs, 720,000 of them, have been released in the middle of New York City. They will help protect one of the city's biggest apartment complexes from pests.
Good opening line. Note the reversal of normal word order, which is effective. Instead of writing, "Seven hundred and twenty thousand ladybugs have been released," the writer chose to begin with the main noun instead, for stronger stress. The writer immediately follows with "cause-effect" ("they will help," etc.).
In the next paragraph (below) the writer goes to lower levels of generality (in this case, lower levels of cause-effect: "the ladybugs will crawl into plants"; "they'll search for insects"; "whose smell attracts them"); this is what is called "amplification" (or elaboration) of one's ideas. Note how proper nouns ("Stuyvesant Town" and "Peter Cooper Village complex") add to the quality of the writing. Compare: "Over the next few weeks, the ladybugs will crawl into plants in various towns and cities."
Over the next few weeks, the ladybugs will crawl into plants in the Stuyvesant Town and Peter Cooper Village complex. They'll search for insects whose smell attracts them - including many pests.
The writer continues mostly with cause-effect (there will probably be a dominant commonplace or "topic" in each essay; here cause-effect is dominant, like a dominant key in music). Cause-effect is obvious in the phrase "Because of the bugs," etc. But "more and less" is also here. Because the writer is in effect saying, "Spending money (US$16.50) for the ladybugs is of less concern than avoiding "using chemical pesticides."
The bugs were purchased at US$16.50 (NT$537) for 2,000. Because of the bugs, the complex's owner can avoid using chemical pesticides.
Now the writer gets to a still lower level of generality, using cause-effect again ("we kill not only the 'bad guys'"), but also Testimony (quoting an "expert"). (Note how embedded quotation marks are used, the 'bad guys' getting single quotes because the speaker gets double quotes.) Cause-effect then explains that the ladybugs are the "good guys" used "to tip the scale" (that is, balance out the bad guys).
But here is where the writer fails, despite an otherwise good essay, perhaps a model of economy: it has unity, focus, and direct language. But it doesn't have "completeness." Because the writer never says who the "pests" are, even though the "pests" are a main focus of the article! Put in terms of another model (the dialogue method of writing), the writer never became his own reader, asking himself, as reader, what he would like to know. Most readers would like to know what the pests are: are they mosquitoes? Flies? Wasps? Micro-organisms?
I also question coherence. Clearly the final paragraph is misplaced and should have followed the paragraph immediately above. Moreover, the next paragraph would have made a stronger ending, referring to "the good guys" who "tip the scale."
"In most cases, we reach for a can of pesticide, and we kill not only the 'bad guys,' but the 'good guys,'" said Eric Vinje, owner of the company that supplied the ladybugs. "All we're doing here is putting more of the 'good guys' [in] to tip the scale."
Vinje said a ladybug can eat up to 50 pests a day, plus insect eggs.
Or you don't get no spending cash
If you don't scrub that kitchen floor
You ain't gonna rock and roll no more
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
Just finish cleaning up your room
Let's see that dust fly with that broom
Get all that garbage out of sight
Or you don't go out Friday night
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
You just put on your coat and hat
And walk yourself to the laundromat
And when you finish doing that
Bring in the dog and put out the cat
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
Don't you give me no dirty looks
Your father's hip; he knows what cooks
Just tell your hoodlum friend outside
You ain't got time to take a ride
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
Yakety yak, yakety yak
Yakety yak, yakety yak
Yakety yak, yakety yak
Yakety yak, yakety yak!
Sample Essay
The following is an essay published in an English-language daily. I use it as an example of some writing weaknesses, even in published literature. Also, it's short enough (this is complete) to analyze. Here's the article:Ladybugs, 720,000 of them, have been released in the middle of New York City. They will help protect one of the city's biggest apartment complexes from pests.
Good opening line. Note the reversal of normal word order, which is effective. Instead of writing, "Seven hundred and twenty thousand ladybugs have been released," the writer chose to begin with the main noun instead, for stronger stress. The writer immediately follows with "cause-effect" ("they will help," etc.).
In the next paragraph (below) the writer goes to lower levels of generality (in this case, lower levels of cause-effect: "the ladybugs will crawl into plants"; "they'll search for insects"; "whose smell attracts them"); this is what is called "amplification" (or elaboration) of one's ideas. Note how proper nouns ("Stuyvesant Town" and "Peter Cooper Village complex") add to the quality of the writing. Compare: "Over the next few weeks, the ladybugs will crawl into plants in various towns and cities."
Over the next few weeks, the ladybugs will crawl into plants in the Stuyvesant Town and Peter Cooper Village complex. They'll search for insects whose smell attracts them - including many pests.
The writer continues mostly with cause-effect (there will probably be a dominant commonplace or "topic" in each essay; here cause-effect is dominant, like a dominant key in music). Cause-effect is obvious in the phrase "Because of the bugs," etc. But "more and less" is also here. Because the writer is in effect saying, "Spending money (US$16.50) for the ladybugs is of less concern than avoiding "using chemical pesticides."
The bugs were purchased at US$16.50 (NT$537) for 2,000. Because of the bugs, the complex's owner can avoid using chemical pesticides.
Now the writer gets to a still lower level of generality, using cause-effect again ("we kill not only the 'bad guys'"), but also Testimony (quoting an "expert"). (Note how embedded quotation marks are used, the 'bad guys' getting single quotes because the speaker gets double quotes.) Cause-effect then explains that the ladybugs are the "good guys" used "to tip the scale" (that is, balance out the bad guys).
But here is where the writer fails, despite an otherwise good essay, perhaps a model of economy: it has unity, focus, and direct language. But it doesn't have "completeness." Because the writer never says who the "pests" are, even though the "pests" are a main focus of the article! Put in terms of another model (the dialogue method of writing), the writer never became his own reader, asking himself, as reader, what he would like to know. Most readers would like to know what the pests are: are they mosquitoes? Flies? Wasps? Micro-organisms?
I also question coherence. Clearly the final paragraph is misplaced and should have followed the paragraph immediately above. Moreover, the next paragraph would have made a stronger ending, referring to "the good guys" who "tip the scale."
"In most cases, we reach for a can of pesticide, and we kill not only the 'bad guys,' but the 'good guys,'" said Eric Vinje, owner of the company that supplied the ladybugs. "All we're doing here is putting more of the 'good guys' [in] to tip the scale."
Vinje said a ladybug can eat up to 50 pests a day, plus insect eggs.
Salieri and Mozart
This is Salieri's description of a brief passage from a Mozart Serenade (#10), which can be used as a model for your own version. Note as in all writing, the details are selective (another writer might choose other details with a different focus).You can view the entire scene on youtube (the quote above is spoken about midway through the scene [1:32]; be patient and you'll enjoy the entire scene). Note: Antonio Salieri is pictured in the movie as a composer without talent who, out of jealousy, murdered Mozart. In fact, Salieri was a good, if not great, composer, who taught composers such as Beethoven. His only misfortune was that he didn't have genius like Mozart did.On the page it looked nothing. The beginning is simple, almost comic: just a pulse: bassoons, basset horns, like a rusty squeeze box. And then, suddenly, high above it, an oboe: a single note hanging there unwavering, until a clarinet took it over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight. This was no composition by a performing monkey. This was a music I had never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it seemed to me that I was hearing the voice of God.
SUSPICIOUS MINDS: The Elvis Presley recording and the Gareth Gates recording. I can only present a few obvious points (especially related to our Speech class, if not Composition).
Elvis' vocal quality is more raspy and tense, almost bluesy; Gates' is smooth and thin, more pop than blues. Elvis has more variety of phrasing than does Gates. (Elvis in other words finds more variety of emotions in the lyric: pleading, anquish (the bridge: "Oh let our love survive"); dismay ("We're caught in a trap"); questioning ("Don't you know"); Gates stays on one level most of the song.)
Related to the lyric, Elvis' vocal (vocal quality) suggests emotional turmoil, while Gates' vocal (vocal quality) suggests an indifferent teasing of his partner; as if the relationship did not matter: it was just a fling, after all; a game young people play. Elvis sings like his entire world was crushing down on him.
The bridge ("Oh let our love survive. . . .") is one of Elvis' greatest moments, reaching the emotional level of Gospel music (helped by the Gospel choir); near the end of the bridge his vocal quality changes ("I'd never lie to you"), while the choir supports him with almost religious fervor ("Yeah! Yeah!") to take us out of the bridge and back to the main strain.
The record's famous extended ending ("Don't you know"), with its fade-out and fade-in, has become an iconic moment.
The Elvis Presley hit is one of the great records of the 1970s and possibly of Elvis' entire career. No twentieth century vocalist combined so many musical genres in his career (Country, Rockabilly, Pop, Gospel, Rhythm and Blues, Blues, Ballads, Italian Pop ("It's Now Or Never" and "Surrender") and even a little jazz, which Elvis hated: "Love Letters," whose phrasing suggests Elvis might have succeeded as an easy-listening jazz vocalist); but nowhere I think does Elvis blend so many styles in a single record: Gospel, Blues (though not in Blues form, the song's bridge is pure Blues), Funk, Rhythm 'n' Blues, and the country-styled riff pattern played throughout the record. The Gareth Gates version, on the other hand (to this listener at least) is instantly forgettable pop.
But maybe a student in our class would wish to analyze the Gareth Gates interpretation to show its beauty, at least of the live versions. (So far as I know, only live versions are available on youtube, not the studio recording.)
Elvis' vocal quality is more raspy and tense, almost bluesy; Gates' is smooth and thin, more pop than blues. Elvis has more variety of phrasing than does Gates. (Elvis in other words finds more variety of emotions in the lyric: pleading, anquish (the bridge: "Oh let our love survive"); dismay ("We're caught in a trap"); questioning ("Don't you know"); Gates stays on one level most of the song.)
Related to the lyric, Elvis' vocal (vocal quality) suggests emotional turmoil, while Gates' vocal (vocal quality) suggests an indifferent teasing of his partner; as if the relationship did not matter: it was just a fling, after all; a game young people play. Elvis sings like his entire world was crushing down on him.
The bridge ("Oh let our love survive. . . .") is one of Elvis' greatest moments, reaching the emotional level of Gospel music (helped by the Gospel choir); near the end of the bridge his vocal quality changes ("I'd never lie to you"), while the choir supports him with almost religious fervor ("Yeah! Yeah!") to take us out of the bridge and back to the main strain.
The record's famous extended ending ("Don't you know"), with its fade-out and fade-in, has become an iconic moment.
The Elvis Presley hit is one of the great records of the 1970s and possibly of Elvis' entire career. No twentieth century vocalist combined so many musical genres in his career (Country, Rockabilly, Pop, Gospel, Rhythm and Blues, Blues, Ballads, Italian Pop ("It's Now Or Never" and "Surrender") and even a little jazz, which Elvis hated: "Love Letters," whose phrasing suggests Elvis might have succeeded as an easy-listening jazz vocalist); but nowhere I think does Elvis blend so many styles in a single record: Gospel, Blues (though not in Blues form, the song's bridge is pure Blues), Funk, Rhythm 'n' Blues, and the country-styled riff pattern played throughout the record. The Gareth Gates version, on the other hand (to this listener at least) is instantly forgettable pop.
But maybe a student in our class would wish to analyze the Gareth Gates interpretation to show its beauty, at least of the live versions. (So far as I know, only live versions are available on youtube, not the studio recording.)
Students,
You are to write a CD review in two weeks. So in the meantime you've got to find a CD you wish to review. Whether you like it or hate it doesn't matter. The point is to review it.
But first you've got to brainstorm for ideas. To help you, you need a model or two models too. You can download these from the Net, with a few searching skills. Remember what I said in class, NO unprofessional comments, even though they look professional to you, from someone's webpage, an online CD sales site, etc. These cannot be relied upon for good grammar. You should choose reliable sources such as English-language newspapers (there must be hundreds of online newspapers).
Then you listen to the CD several times, assuming you haven't listened to it before. After that you brainstorm for ideas, including the 5 W's and H, or the other "topics of invention" we've discussed in class, such as Definition, Comparison, Analogy, Division, More and Less, Testimony (of other critics), or Example. Here's a model I just wrote:
Barbra Streisand once wrote that when she saw a Johnny Mathis album in the discount bin of a department store, she bought it and ran all the way home in excitement. Coming from one of the greatest female vocalists of American music, that's high praise indeed!
Johnny Mathis was one of the most popular male Black singers of the early Rock era. His smooth, velvety voice became almost synonymous with romance. In an era primarily dominated by hard Rockabilly hits, his lounge-style vocals, complete with tinkling cocktail piano accompaniment, offered a refreshing alternative.
His vocal style was based on the use of a soft falsetto, especially effective on romantic ballads. He was often lucky in having a team of songwriters who submitted such great songs as "Chances Are," "It's Not for Me To Say," "The Twelfth of Never," and many others.
Finally, in a business where stars, like today, have to be instantly identifiable, there was no question that one could identify a Mathis vocal and arrangement instantly. So one bought a "Mathis record" like one bought an "Elvis record."
The first volume of Johnny's Greatest Hits set a record by staying on the Billboard albums chart for nearly ten years. It's an indication of how wide an audience Mathis had.
The songs on this album represent the best of Johnny's early hit records, including "Chances Are," "The Twelfth of Never," "When Sunny Gets Blue," and "It's Not for Me To Say."
They're all well-written ballads sung in Johnny's distinctive style, with almost hypnotic phrasing, as Johnny stretches out each syllable for its maximum musical effect. The arrangements make effective use of soft piano arpeggios with romantic strings.
Elvis of course was a great balladeer as well as a Rock singer. But where Elvis sounds aggressive in his ballads, Mathis sounds shy and somewhat vulnerable. His lyrics express this theme as well, as in the famous "Chances Are":
Chances are though I wear a silly grin
The moment you come into view
Chances are you think that I'm in love with you.
Compare that with the more aggressive coaxing or sentiments of an Elvis ballad such as "Don't" or "Are You Lonesome Tonight?"
Even the title of a Mathis song conveys an impression of romantic diffidence, as with, "It's Not For Me To Say"! As if this lover lacked the boldness to find words to speak his love. Fidelity is another theme of Johnny's music, as in "The Twelfth of Never" (based on an old folk song, with changed lyrics), where the lover swears he will love his beloved until the end of time.
For those who never heard Johnny Mathis (though that's hard to imagine), they're in for a pleasant surprise. For those who, in this age of hip hop's mechanical beats, haven't heard Mathis in a long while, this album will be a great trip down memory lane.
It's true that not all the songs here were actually hits in the chart sense of that word (some were just B-sides of hits); but they're hits in the sense of being great records: vocals and arrangements that have stood the test of time and will as likely stand the test of the buyer's CD player too. Highly recommended.
ANALYSIS: I started out with testimony (quoting Barbra Streisand). I followed with definition (defining who Johnny Mathis is/was). I then defined (described) his vocal style. I divided that into singing and accompaniment. I also compared and contrasted Mathis' style with the hard Rock singers of his time, like Elvis. I divided Mathis success into several levels: his vocals; accompaniments; his songs; his message (identifiable style). I then appealed to Statistics (his record stayed on the charts for nearly ten years) and followed that with a before/after argument: in other words, that shows how popular his music was.
Later I compare Mathis and Elvis singing ballads in different ways. I give examples in Mathis' lyrics and the title of a song. I divide Mathis' lyrical message in terms of shy love and fidelity and mention songs as examples.
I follow with antecedent/consequence (before/after); an argument that goes, "If . . . then." "If you buy this record, then you'll enjoy it (or are in for a happy surprise, etc.).
I conclude with definition again (which shows that topics of invention can be used many times in a single text): I define what a hit is; that not all these songs were hits; but they're hits in another meaning of that word. Then I finish up with my recommendation.
REMEMBER: For next week you will simply collect all details about your CD and the class will help you with more ideas and their best order.
I wrote this hastily, with no native experience of Moon Day. Still I think it's fairly successful.
Note the short opening sentence, an eye-catcher. Then there's the comic use of "fattening" to modify "mooncakes," which might otherwise be only a dull sentence: "fattening" adds a comic tone/touch.
Same with "pollution." "Trying to find the moon" is banal; adding "pollution" makes it less so; it gives it a tone and point-of-view.
Then I add an ironic contrast between myself and the "more sophisticated" Cindy. The irony is that she's NOT more sophisticated. So I mean the opposite of what I say and I want the reader to appreciate the irony.
After writing about "superstitious things like moon watching," I went back and slightly amplified that phrase, making it more specific, adding the sentence, "Ch'ang-O doesn't exist anyway!" (I could easily have amplified at much greater length, referring to all the details of the myth of Ch'ang-O, but my story would have been too long for my intended purpose.)
Note the well-timed comic pause after using the word "intelligent" and leading to "fortune teller." That's part of style; knowing what one's purpose is and finding sentence structure to achieve that purpose.
There's more irony in saying Cindy reasoned better than I. Then there's a transition device by having a parallel structure: "she reasoned better" and "she drove faster." This insures coherence in changing scenes to the fortune teller's place, which I do economically, in the very next paragraph. (In another kind of story, with another purpose, I could have amplified extensively, describing the road trip to the fortune teller; but here I deliberately omit all that, not even mentioning whether they used a motorbike or a car, though "drive" implies a car ["rode" is more commonly used for motorbikes].)
Regarding diction, one day later, I read my story again and decided that "find out" (one's fortune) was not as well phrased as "learn" (one's fortune) in the phrase, "determined to find out her fortune." Hence I changed it (below).
Then I used description to make this man come alive. I also added humor by making fun of his serious treatment of what most consider superstition.
I was on shaky ground in describing his accent and dialect, because I don't know much about it. A Chinese writer could be more specific and subtle here. I just wanted to set an example of how to do it without necessarily saying it's the best way.
Note how important dialogue is when I first allow the fortune teller to speak. I elaborate with my reaction and Cindy's.
Then I describe the premises (fortune teller's place), always with a purpose or point of view in mind: details in themselves are not that important; they must cohere with a purpose. Here the purpose is to make fun of the typical fortune teller's mysterious surroundings. A dangling light bulb, especially in orange, always adds to an effect of menace.
Then I add comic effect and character as well as plot development by making this menacing man into a pitiful old man who just wants to make a living in a harmless way (nobody forces people to go to fortune tellers).
I then try to wrap things up in an orderly fashion, based on time and place: from home back to home; from the beginning of the Moon Day observance to the end, while referring to ideas already presented in the essay and repeating them at the end, to create a unity of effect; in other words, a focus.
I considered two changes in the final paragraph. I thought "monkish" was a better adjective for a male than a female (the "I' of the narrative is a woman); but I concluded nonetheless that it was a stronger, more colorful, adjective than the female alternative: nunlike). [Note that even in the above sentence I quickly altered diction or word choice: I had already typed "pondered" but thought "considered" was a more suitable, less intimidating, verb, especially for ESL students.] I also added "jealously" before "wondered," to clarify the speaker's mood: an example of when an adverb is more than just filling.
The reader feels that every word and detail all contributed to that single effect, or focus.
As for titles, I considered many, not all of which I liked: "Fortune Like the Moon"; "Cindy's Caper" (chosen for alliteration: C + C); "Very Like the Moon" (alluding to a line in Shakespeare's Hamlet: "very like a whale"); "Man in the Moonlight" (pun on "Man in the Moon" and referring to the fortune teller), and others.
Sometimes titles come easy; sometimes less so. This was a case of "less so."
Sometimes a title can come from one's story; sometimes the writer may purposely put a line in a story to justify the title. Other titles come from famous lines from the Bible or poetry.
In any case, the title should do justice to the text and remain in dialogue with it. I finally hit on a title I'm satisfied with: "Moonshine."
I like the ambiguity of the title; which refers, of course, to the moonshine of Moon Day; but also to the other meaning of "moonshine": nonsense or foolish talk; which of course would refer to the fortune teller in the story. So the title is a story in itself!
"Why waste time on superstitious things like moon watching?" she chastised. "Ch'ang-O doesn't exist anyway! Why not do something intelligent for a change?" She paused for dramatic effect. "Let's go to a fortune teller."
Cindy was one year ahead of me in university so she reasoned better than I did. She also drove faster.
Soon we were facing a tall, slender elderly man, with saucer eyes gazing at us intently who introduced himself simply as Mr. Wang. He then mumbled a few words in Taiwanese we could not exactly make out. Then he greeted us eagerly in Chinese, accented with a regional dialect that marked him as an immigrant from Mainland China. But the pasted smile on his face as he welcomed us quickly vanished as he assumed a more professional style with an abrupt dab of menace in his voice.
"You willing to risk the danger of having your fortune told?"
A shiver went down my spine, but Cindy, the rationalist, only nodded in agreement. Meanwhile I surveyed Mr. Wang's dimly-lit premises, which heightened the ghostly effect of an orange bulb dangling from the ceiling by an extension cord.
The aroma of incense almost stifled me and I noticed a partially-eaten box lunch on an antique mahogany desk, with two roaches nibbling from it. I tugged at Cindy's arm, silently pleading for us to leave. But, rationalist that she was, she was adamant, determined to learn her fortune—for better or worse.
Mr. Wang invited her to sit down in a wobbly folding chair with a tattered tea-stained cushion on it, then he grasped her right forearm and expectantly rotated her hand so the palm faced him. With exaggerated solemnity, he traced lines in her palm, grunting all the while, as if he were reading messages from another world—or a future time.
"Not to worry," he smiled. "These lines affect only ten percent of your life." He paused, as if deep in thought. "You have interesting lines—not all of which I can read fluently. I feel like an ESL student reading your palm—like I was reading a second language."
Mr. Wang continued to explore the geography of Cindy's palm as if he were trekking through darkest Africa.
"I suspect your future pertains to a foreign land—maybe England or America. Who knows for sure?
"Ah, yes. I see a marriage in the not-so-distant future, to a good-looking man. And this line here"—he traced a line in Cindy's palm with a long bony forefinger—"shows that you will bear children with this man."
Abruptly, Mr. Wang dropped Cindy's hand and seemed to totter on his feet.
"But I grow faint. The messages are too strong for me at the moment. I must rest. I'm an old man. I can't read as easily as I used to when I was your age. Please allow me to sit down. Luckily, with the money you pay me, I'll be able to visit the doctor down the block and he can restore my vitality, part of which I lost reading your palm."
He smiled a fatherly smile, not seeming menacing at all anymore—just a common and pitiful poseur. More out of sympathy than satisfaction, Cindy took a couple of NT dollars from her purse and handed them to the now weary reader of palms.
When he saw the money, Mr. Wang's eyes lit up and he reached for my forearm too—as if suddenly revitalized by a blood transfusion. But I had a foresight that Mr. Wang seemed to lack, and I kept both arms firmly buried in the pockets of my light evening jacket.
Realizing his profit margin that evening was not to grow much higher, Mr. Wang shot a glance at the wall clock—an ancient timepiece, with Roman numerals to mark the time.
It was clear he was impatient for us to leave. Taking the hint, we bid our farewells and gladly hastened out into the cool autumnal air.
After that painful experience, I pleaded with Cindy for us to observe the holiday in more traditional fashion, and for the two of us to watch the moon together—perhaps sharing a watermelon drink. But she frowned on such superstitious behavior.
"Besides," she added with a smile, "I've got to run home and figure out who's that handsome man Mr. Wang predicted I would bear children with. I've got several boyfriends at the moment, but none of them seem to fit the bill."
She smiled. I frowned, thinking of Cindy's many boyfriends and my lack of any. Feeling abandoned, I despondently planned to return to my monkish dorm and entertain myself with a box of Ramen noodles and the soundtrack from Titanic, jealously wondering what romance Cindy had in store for her.
Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up," cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack Robinson!"
You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged into the street with the shutters—one, two, three—had 'em up in their places—four, five, six—barred 'em and pinned 'em—seven, eight, nine—and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.
"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer!"
Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on.
It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if
it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was
swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon
the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and
bright a ball-room, as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.
In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in
the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress.
In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them!
When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his
hands to stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the
fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially
provided for that purpose. . . .
There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more
dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there
was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece
of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer.
But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast
and Boiled, when the fiddler . . . struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top
couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them. . . .
A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would have become of them next. And when old
Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig "cut"—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.
When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas.
When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter in the back-shop.
When Sunny gets blue, she breathes a sigh of sadness like the wind that stirs the trees—wind that sets the leaves to swaying like some violins are playing weird and haunting melodies.
{Bridge} People used to love to hear her laugh, see her smile—that's how she got her name. Since that sad affair, she's lost her smile, changed her style—somehow she's not the same.
But memories will fade and pretty dreams will rise up where her other dreams fell through. Hurry new love, hurry here, to kiss away each lonely tear and hold her near when Sunny gets blue. Hurry new love, hurry here, to kiss away each lonely tear and hold her near when Sunny gets blue.
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
—Rudyard Kipling
Note in this little verse by Kipling, he says "they taught me all I knew." This fits my own theory of practice, which is not to multiply theory too much. We're drowning in an ocean of theories and methodologies when the secret of any art can be reduced to simple rules.
In the case of writing, "all" you need to know (apart from grammar and vocabulary) is pretty much summed up in the above verse. Other principles (like I said in class include): lots of reading (all great writers were first great readers); revision (there's no such thing as writing—only rewriting); and redundancy (linking ideas )—as in the following:
"Man/he/Mr. Smith/the firefighter/middle-aged/gentleman" all may refer in an essay to each other. In Kipling's short verse, "men," "they," "what," "why," "when," "how," "where," "who," "their," and "names" all refer, by replacement, to the same main noun ("men").
We'll look at these issues more deeply in our class, but this is just a summary lesson. In the meantime, let's look at a simple (yet profound) poem by Robert Frost that I recited in class:
Other examples are "flake," which refers to "snow," and "lovely dark and deep," which refers to "woods."
Note the diction (choice of words) is simple. Though simple, "downy" and "harness" might cause an ESL student trouble because they are not common.
Simple as it is, the poem conveys deep feeling and meaning. It's a poem about the longing for death and final rest. The woods suggest magical escape from the "village" and its responsibilities.
The woods are "owned." So the woods are linked to society (the "village"). But the speaker sees it from his point of view, not approved by society, from which he escapes (the owner of the woods: "will not see me").
The horse (harnessed, so social) suggests society and reason. He thinks it "queer" (strange, unusual) to go into the woods on the "darkest" night of the year) and warns the speaker: "you're making a 'mistake.'"
Apart from the horse (the voice of society and reason) there's only the absolute quiet that tempts the speaker.
In the end, the horse wins. The speaker knows how tempting death is, but he has obligations ("promises") in the village (society) and his final rest must wait until those obligations are fulfilled.
But the temptation of that final rest is captured in the repetition of the last two lines—sounding like a sweet lullaby:
"And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."
Even with a limited vocabulary, but with a proper organization (and repetition) of one's ideas, one can write well—even memorably.
1. My father's walk.
2. The way he held food. (Maybe put in present tense for a feeling of intimacy.)
(Note: In my final essay, I purposely change tense from past to present to bring the grandfather up close, as if he were living today.)
3. Include some foods.
4. Our hungry wait for my old grandfather to cook the food.
5. My father's attitude toward Grandfather.
6. Grandfather cooking.
7. We pretend his cooking is good.
8. Compare with the way Dad cooks; much more efficient, but something is also lost in his efficiency. Father is the better cook, but he can't replace our fond memories of Granddad.
You are to write a CD review in two weeks. So in the meantime you've got to find a CD you wish to review. Whether you like it or hate it doesn't matter. The point is to review it.
But first you've got to brainstorm for ideas. To help you, you need a model or two models too. You can download these from the Net, with a few searching skills. Remember what I said in class, NO unprofessional comments, even though they look professional to you, from someone's webpage, an online CD sales site, etc. These cannot be relied upon for good grammar. You should choose reliable sources such as English-language newspapers (there must be hundreds of online newspapers).
Then you listen to the CD several times, assuming you haven't listened to it before. After that you brainstorm for ideas, including the 5 W's and H, or the other "topics of invention" we've discussed in class, such as Definition, Comparison, Analogy, Division, More and Less, Testimony (of other critics), or Example. Here's a model I just wrote:
JOHNNY'S GREATEST HITS
Barbra Streisand once wrote that when she saw a Johnny Mathis album in the discount bin of a department store, she bought it and ran all the way home in excitement. Coming from one of the greatest female vocalists of American music, that's high praise indeed!
Johnny Mathis was one of the most popular male Black singers of the early Rock era. His smooth, velvety voice became almost synonymous with romance. In an era primarily dominated by hard Rockabilly hits, his lounge-style vocals, complete with tinkling cocktail piano accompaniment, offered a refreshing alternative.
His vocal style was based on the use of a soft falsetto, especially effective on romantic ballads. He was often lucky in having a team of songwriters who submitted such great songs as "Chances Are," "It's Not for Me To Say," "The Twelfth of Never," and many others.
Finally, in a business where stars, like today, have to be instantly identifiable, there was no question that one could identify a Mathis vocal and arrangement instantly. So one bought a "Mathis record" like one bought an "Elvis record."
The first volume of Johnny's Greatest Hits set a record by staying on the Billboard albums chart for nearly ten years. It's an indication of how wide an audience Mathis had.
The songs on this album represent the best of Johnny's early hit records, including "Chances Are," "The Twelfth of Never," "When Sunny Gets Blue," and "It's Not for Me To Say."
They're all well-written ballads sung in Johnny's distinctive style, with almost hypnotic phrasing, as Johnny stretches out each syllable for its maximum musical effect. The arrangements make effective use of soft piano arpeggios with romantic strings.
Elvis of course was a great balladeer as well as a Rock singer. But where Elvis sounds aggressive in his ballads, Mathis sounds shy and somewhat vulnerable. His lyrics express this theme as well, as in the famous "Chances Are":
Chances are though I wear a silly grin
The moment you come into view
Chances are you think that I'm in love with you.
Compare that with the more aggressive coaxing or sentiments of an Elvis ballad such as "Don't" or "Are You Lonesome Tonight?"
Even the title of a Mathis song conveys an impression of romantic diffidence, as with, "It's Not For Me To Say"! As if this lover lacked the boldness to find words to speak his love. Fidelity is another theme of Johnny's music, as in "The Twelfth of Never" (based on an old folk song, with changed lyrics), where the lover swears he will love his beloved until the end of time.
For those who never heard Johnny Mathis (though that's hard to imagine), they're in for a pleasant surprise. For those who, in this age of hip hop's mechanical beats, haven't heard Mathis in a long while, this album will be a great trip down memory lane.
It's true that not all the songs here were actually hits in the chart sense of that word (some were just B-sides of hits); but they're hits in the sense of being great records: vocals and arrangements that have stood the test of time and will as likely stand the test of the buyer's CD player too. Highly recommended.
ANALYSIS: I started out with testimony (quoting Barbra Streisand). I followed with definition (defining who Johnny Mathis is/was). I then defined (described) his vocal style. I divided that into singing and accompaniment. I also compared and contrasted Mathis' style with the hard Rock singers of his time, like Elvis. I divided Mathis success into several levels: his vocals; accompaniments; his songs; his message (identifiable style). I then appealed to Statistics (his record stayed on the charts for nearly ten years) and followed that with a before/after argument: in other words, that shows how popular his music was.
Later I compare Mathis and Elvis singing ballads in different ways. I give examples in Mathis' lyrics and the title of a song. I divide Mathis' lyrical message in terms of shy love and fidelity and mention songs as examples.
I follow with antecedent/consequence (before/after); an argument that goes, "If . . . then." "If you buy this record, then you'll enjoy it (or are in for a happy surprise, etc.).
I conclude with definition again (which shows that topics of invention can be used many times in a single text): I define what a hit is; that not all these songs were hits; but they're hits in another meaning of that word. Then I finish up with my recommendation.
REMEMBER: For next week you will simply collect all details about your CD and the class will help you with more ideas and their best order.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Model Moon Day narrative and analysis
Composition students,I wrote this hastily, with no native experience of Moon Day. Still I think it's fairly successful.
Note the short opening sentence, an eye-catcher. Then there's the comic use of "fattening" to modify "mooncakes," which might otherwise be only a dull sentence: "fattening" adds a comic tone/touch.
Same with "pollution." "Trying to find the moon" is banal; adding "pollution" makes it less so; it gives it a tone and point-of-view.
Then I add an ironic contrast between myself and the "more sophisticated" Cindy. The irony is that she's NOT more sophisticated. So I mean the opposite of what I say and I want the reader to appreciate the irony.
After writing about "superstitious things like moon watching," I went back and slightly amplified that phrase, making it more specific, adding the sentence, "Ch'ang-O doesn't exist anyway!" (I could easily have amplified at much greater length, referring to all the details of the myth of Ch'ang-O, but my story would have been too long for my intended purpose.)
Note the well-timed comic pause after using the word "intelligent" and leading to "fortune teller." That's part of style; knowing what one's purpose is and finding sentence structure to achieve that purpose.
There's more irony in saying Cindy reasoned better than I. Then there's a transition device by having a parallel structure: "she reasoned better" and "she drove faster." This insures coherence in changing scenes to the fortune teller's place, which I do economically, in the very next paragraph. (In another kind of story, with another purpose, I could have amplified extensively, describing the road trip to the fortune teller; but here I deliberately omit all that, not even mentioning whether they used a motorbike or a car, though "drive" implies a car ["rode" is more commonly used for motorbikes].)
Regarding diction, one day later, I read my story again and decided that "find out" (one's fortune) was not as well phrased as "learn" (one's fortune) in the phrase, "determined to find out her fortune." Hence I changed it (below).
Then I used description to make this man come alive. I also added humor by making fun of his serious treatment of what most consider superstition.
I was on shaky ground in describing his accent and dialect, because I don't know much about it. A Chinese writer could be more specific and subtle here. I just wanted to set an example of how to do it without necessarily saying it's the best way.
Note how important dialogue is when I first allow the fortune teller to speak. I elaborate with my reaction and Cindy's.
Then I describe the premises (fortune teller's place), always with a purpose or point of view in mind: details in themselves are not that important; they must cohere with a purpose. Here the purpose is to make fun of the typical fortune teller's mysterious surroundings. A dangling light bulb, especially in orange, always adds to an effect of menace.
Then I add comic effect and character as well as plot development by making this menacing man into a pitiful old man who just wants to make a living in a harmless way (nobody forces people to go to fortune tellers).
I then try to wrap things up in an orderly fashion, based on time and place: from home back to home; from the beginning of the Moon Day observance to the end, while referring to ideas already presented in the essay and repeating them at the end, to create a unity of effect; in other words, a focus.
I considered two changes in the final paragraph. I thought "monkish" was a better adjective for a male than a female (the "I' of the narrative is a woman); but I concluded nonetheless that it was a stronger, more colorful, adjective than the female alternative: nunlike). [Note that even in the above sentence I quickly altered diction or word choice: I had already typed "pondered" but thought "considered" was a more suitable, less intimidating, verb, especially for ESL students.] I also added "jealously" before "wondered," to clarify the speaker's mood: an example of when an adverb is more than just filling.
The reader feels that every word and detail all contributed to that single effect, or focus.
As for titles, I considered many, not all of which I liked: "Fortune Like the Moon"; "Cindy's Caper" (chosen for alliteration: C + C); "Very Like the Moon" (alluding to a line in Shakespeare's Hamlet: "very like a whale"); "Man in the Moonlight" (pun on "Man in the Moon" and referring to the fortune teller), and others.
Sometimes titles come easy; sometimes less so. This was a case of "less so."
Sometimes a title can come from one's story; sometimes the writer may purposely put a line in a story to justify the title. Other titles come from famous lines from the Bible or poetry.
In any case, the title should do justice to the text and remain in dialogue with it. I finally hit on a title I'm satisfied with: "Moonshine."
I like the ambiguity of the title; which refers, of course, to the moonshine of Moon Day; but also to the other meaning of "moonshine": nonsense or foolish talk; which of course would refer to the fortune teller in the story. So the title is a story in itself!
MOONSHINE
It was Moon Day. I wanted to celebrate the holiday in traditional fashion: eating fattening mooncakes and trying to locate the moon through all the pollution in Tainan County. But my friend, Cindy, was more sophisticated."Why waste time on superstitious things like moon watching?" she chastised. "Ch'ang-O doesn't exist anyway! Why not do something intelligent for a change?" She paused for dramatic effect. "Let's go to a fortune teller."
Cindy was one year ahead of me in university so she reasoned better than I did. She also drove faster.
Soon we were facing a tall, slender elderly man, with saucer eyes gazing at us intently who introduced himself simply as Mr. Wang. He then mumbled a few words in Taiwanese we could not exactly make out. Then he greeted us eagerly in Chinese, accented with a regional dialect that marked him as an immigrant from Mainland China. But the pasted smile on his face as he welcomed us quickly vanished as he assumed a more professional style with an abrupt dab of menace in his voice.
"You willing to risk the danger of having your fortune told?"
A shiver went down my spine, but Cindy, the rationalist, only nodded in agreement. Meanwhile I surveyed Mr. Wang's dimly-lit premises, which heightened the ghostly effect of an orange bulb dangling from the ceiling by an extension cord.
The aroma of incense almost stifled me and I noticed a partially-eaten box lunch on an antique mahogany desk, with two roaches nibbling from it. I tugged at Cindy's arm, silently pleading for us to leave. But, rationalist that she was, she was adamant, determined to learn her fortune—for better or worse.
Mr. Wang invited her to sit down in a wobbly folding chair with a tattered tea-stained cushion on it, then he grasped her right forearm and expectantly rotated her hand so the palm faced him. With exaggerated solemnity, he traced lines in her palm, grunting all the while, as if he were reading messages from another world—or a future time.
"Not to worry," he smiled. "These lines affect only ten percent of your life." He paused, as if deep in thought. "You have interesting lines—not all of which I can read fluently. I feel like an ESL student reading your palm—like I was reading a second language."
Mr. Wang continued to explore the geography of Cindy's palm as if he were trekking through darkest Africa.
"I suspect your future pertains to a foreign land—maybe England or America. Who knows for sure?
"Ah, yes. I see a marriage in the not-so-distant future, to a good-looking man. And this line here"—he traced a line in Cindy's palm with a long bony forefinger—"shows that you will bear children with this man."
Abruptly, Mr. Wang dropped Cindy's hand and seemed to totter on his feet.
"But I grow faint. The messages are too strong for me at the moment. I must rest. I'm an old man. I can't read as easily as I used to when I was your age. Please allow me to sit down. Luckily, with the money you pay me, I'll be able to visit the doctor down the block and he can restore my vitality, part of which I lost reading your palm."
He smiled a fatherly smile, not seeming menacing at all anymore—just a common and pitiful poseur. More out of sympathy than satisfaction, Cindy took a couple of NT dollars from her purse and handed them to the now weary reader of palms.
When he saw the money, Mr. Wang's eyes lit up and he reached for my forearm too—as if suddenly revitalized by a blood transfusion. But I had a foresight that Mr. Wang seemed to lack, and I kept both arms firmly buried in the pockets of my light evening jacket.
Realizing his profit margin that evening was not to grow much higher, Mr. Wang shot a glance at the wall clock—an ancient timepiece, with Roman numerals to mark the time.
It was clear he was impatient for us to leave. Taking the hint, we bid our farewells and gladly hastened out into the cool autumnal air.
After that painful experience, I pleaded with Cindy for us to observe the holiday in more traditional fashion, and for the two of us to watch the moon together—perhaps sharing a watermelon drink. But she frowned on such superstitious behavior.
"Besides," she added with a smile, "I've got to run home and figure out who's that handsome man Mr. Wang predicted I would bear children with. I've got several boyfriends at the moment, but none of them seem to fit the bill."
She smiled. I frowned, thinking of Cindy's many boyfriends and my lack of any. Feeling abandoned, I despondently planned to return to my monkish dorm and entertain myself with a box of Ramen noodles and the soundtrack from Titanic, jealously wondering what romance Cindy had in store for her.
A Model of Good Descriptive Prose
from A Christmas Carol
by Charles Dickens
"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night.from A Christmas Carol
by Charles Dickens
I have taken this passage from Charles Dickens' famous novella to illustrate the description of a holiday party. All writing comes from what we've read. So let's study the style here.
Dickens begins on dialogue—always a strong choice. Note how Fezziwig's quote sums up the spirit of Christmas: "No more work to-night."
Then we get concrete action: "Let's have the shutters up." Not a general phrase, "We prepared the room." No, a concrete action; as is the "sharp clap of his hands."
We also have idiomatic usage ("before a man can say Jack Robinson"), which helps define a speaker often more than description.
Then too there are proper names—always a strong point in writing ("Dick. Ebenezer.") Instead of writing, "My sister," it's more forceful to write, "Sally, my sister," etc.
Then the prose perfectly captures the energy of the moment; first with a strong verb, "charged" ("They charged into the street"), then by counting out the speed of the action ("four, five, six . . . seven, eight, nine. . . ."). But Dickens is also careful to describe the action involved in putting up the shutters: barred 'em and pinned 'em.
A vivid analogy follows: "panting like race-horses."
Then the dancing begins. But the dance is not described generally: "We decided to dance"!
No. Instead we hear Fezziwig's excitement as he prepares for the dance: "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!" Dickens then repeats that phrase "clear away" several more times for emphasis and a kind of "rhyme."
Then notice the vivid series of actions: "the floor was swept and watered. . . ." Also there's the implied contrast between private life (such as the employees now enjoy) and their otherwise drab "public life": "Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore. . . ." Then Dickens repeats his "ands" to add more movement to his prose: "and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright. . . ."
Dickens follows with two rhetorical tricks: reversing normal sentence order ("In came" instead of ("He) came in") and repeating that phrase several times. The reversed phrase ("In came") adds force to the action of arriving (coming in); the repetitions of that phrase add energy and coherence to the writing (because they all came in for the same purpose).
What follows shows great mastery of language—however simple the language: Note more reverse word order ("In they all came"; "away they all went"), the rhymed endings of the adverbs ("-ly"); repetition by exact word ("some"; "round"; "couple"); by opposite ("pushing/pulling;" anyhow/everyhow"; "old/new"); or by related movement ("up/down").
In the next paragraph note the strong verb ("plunged") and concrete action. Always show don't tell.
The next paragraph shows the use of polysyndeton: many "ands" to link phrases. The purpose is to show energy in the actions being done as a whirl of activity.
Note the linking conjunction "But," in the next paragraph, to create coherence. Then note the description of Fezziwig and his wife dancing—another concrete action.
This action also creates a climax in the scene: that is, the reader feels the writer has ordered his material from least to most important: from regular guests to the host couple; the description is not just random or casual, but necessary, with a point of view. Such climactic order controls the entire piece, since the vignette begins with a command to celebrate the holiday and ends with the end of the dance, depature of all the guests, and, finally, sleep.
Observe that Dickens doesn't mention any dance number but a specific dance number: "Sir Roger de Coverley" (the name of a tune, not a person).
The final three paragraphs are no less models of strong prose. Dickens carefully describes all the steps in the dance Fezziwig does with his wife. In the penultimate (next-to-last) paragraph he neatly shows how Fezziwig and wife stand on either end of the door to bid their guests farewell, establishing formal order and climactic coherence.
Finally, Dickens ends his vignette (short prose study) logically—by sleep ("the cheerful voices died away"). He even describes where the beds are located: if the prose is strong, everything will be specific and concrete. One feels the writer has actually lived the scene: been there and seen it.
Bad writing is a kind of lie. Just like when we lie, we are very vague. But good writing is the Truth. Because when we tell the truth we can be very specific—giving all the necessary details required.
Notice in all this that a large vocabulary is not necessary for vivid prose. But one has to work at it: analyze a moment; break it down; brainstorm for details ("ideas"); organize those details; then find the right (not necessarily the big) words to express one's ideas.
Dickens begins on dialogue—always a strong choice. Note how Fezziwig's quote sums up the spirit of Christmas: "No more work to-night."
Then we get concrete action: "Let's have the shutters up." Not a general phrase, "We prepared the room." No, a concrete action; as is the "sharp clap of his hands."
We also have idiomatic usage ("before a man can say Jack Robinson"), which helps define a speaker often more than description.
Then too there are proper names—always a strong point in writing ("Dick. Ebenezer.") Instead of writing, "My sister," it's more forceful to write, "Sally, my sister," etc.
Then the prose perfectly captures the energy of the moment; first with a strong verb, "charged" ("They charged into the street"), then by counting out the speed of the action ("four, five, six . . . seven, eight, nine. . . ."). But Dickens is also careful to describe the action involved in putting up the shutters: barred 'em and pinned 'em.
A vivid analogy follows: "panting like race-horses."
Then the dancing begins. But the dance is not described generally: "We decided to dance"!
No. Instead we hear Fezziwig's excitement as he prepares for the dance: "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!" Dickens then repeats that phrase "clear away" several more times for emphasis and a kind of "rhyme."
Then notice the vivid series of actions: "the floor was swept and watered. . . ." Also there's the implied contrast between private life (such as the employees now enjoy) and their otherwise drab "public life": "Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore. . . ." Then Dickens repeats his "ands" to add more movement to his prose: "and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright. . . ."
Dickens follows with two rhetorical tricks: reversing normal sentence order ("In came" instead of ("He) came in") and repeating that phrase several times. The reversed phrase ("In came") adds force to the action of arriving (coming in); the repetitions of that phrase add energy and coherence to the writing (because they all came in for the same purpose).
What follows shows great mastery of language—however simple the language: Note more reverse word order ("In they all came"; "away they all went"), the rhymed endings of the adverbs ("-ly"); repetition by exact word ("some"; "round"; "couple"); by opposite ("pushing/pulling;" anyhow/everyhow"; "old/new"); or by related movement ("up/down").
In the next paragraph note the strong verb ("plunged") and concrete action. Always show don't tell.
The next paragraph shows the use of polysyndeton: many "ands" to link phrases. The purpose is to show energy in the actions being done as a whirl of activity.
Note the linking conjunction "But," in the next paragraph, to create coherence. Then note the description of Fezziwig and his wife dancing—another concrete action.
This action also creates a climax in the scene: that is, the reader feels the writer has ordered his material from least to most important: from regular guests to the host couple; the description is not just random or casual, but necessary, with a point of view. Such climactic order controls the entire piece, since the vignette begins with a command to celebrate the holiday and ends with the end of the dance, depature of all the guests, and, finally, sleep.
Observe that Dickens doesn't mention any dance number but a specific dance number: "Sir Roger de Coverley" (the name of a tune, not a person).
The final three paragraphs are no less models of strong prose. Dickens carefully describes all the steps in the dance Fezziwig does with his wife. In the penultimate (next-to-last) paragraph he neatly shows how Fezziwig and wife stand on either end of the door to bid their guests farewell, establishing formal order and climactic coherence.
Finally, Dickens ends his vignette (short prose study) logically—by sleep ("the cheerful voices died away"). He even describes where the beds are located: if the prose is strong, everything will be specific and concrete. One feels the writer has actually lived the scene: been there and seen it.
Bad writing is a kind of lie. Just like when we lie, we are very vague. But good writing is the Truth. Because when we tell the truth we can be very specific—giving all the necessary details required.
Notice in all this that a large vocabulary is not necessary for vivid prose. But one has to work at it: analyze a moment; break it down; brainstorm for details ("ideas"); organize those details; then find the right (not necessarily the big) words to express one's ideas.
Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up," cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack Robinson!"
You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged into the street with the shutters—one, two, three—had 'em up in their places—four, five, six—barred 'em and pinned 'em—seven, eight, nine—and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.
"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer!"
Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on.
It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if
it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was
swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon
the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and
bright a ball-room, as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.
In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in
the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress.
In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them!
When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his
hands to stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the
fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially
provided for that purpose. . . .
There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more
dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there
was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece
of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer.
But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast
and Boiled, when the fiddler . . . struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top
couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them. . . .
A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would have become of them next. And when old
Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig "cut"—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.
When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas.
When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter in the back-shop.
WHEN SUNNY GETS BLUE
When Sunny gets blue, her eyes get gray and cloudy—then the rain begins to fall. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, love is gone so what can matter? No sweet lover comes to call. "When Sunny Gets Blue" can be heard on youtube, as sung by the great balladeer, Johnny Mathis. The song is built on an extended metaphor (crying-rain, sigh-wind). Often, as here and in the next song, a single metaphor can be enough to help discovery of ideas as well as their coherence:
When Sunny gets blue, she breathes a sigh of sadness like the wind that stirs the trees—wind that sets the leaves to swaying like some violins are playing weird and haunting melodies.
{Bridge} People used to love to hear her laugh, see her smile—that's how she got her name. Since that sad affair, she's lost her smile, changed her style—somehow she's not the same.
But memories will fade and pretty dreams will rise up where her other dreams fell through. Hurry new love, hurry here, to kiss away each lonely tear and hold her near when Sunny gets blue. Hurry new love, hurry here, to kiss away each lonely tear and hold her near when Sunny gets blue.
ANGEL
Here's another simple linking metaphor, helping discovery of ideas and their coherence. Note the related words, established by the main metaphor ("angel"): "earth boy," "Paradise," "only human," "Heaven," and "on earth." This song can be heard on youtube.
Angel, with those angel, come and take this earth boy up to Paradise. Angel, may I hold you tight, never kissed an angel, let me kiss one tonight. If I said I love you, would I be speaking out of turn? I'm only human, but I'm willing to learn. Angel, make my wish come true. Let me be in Heaven here on earth with you. Angel, never kissed an angel, let me kiss one tonight. If I said I love you, would I be speaking out of turn? I'm only human, but I'm willing to learn. Angel, make my wish come true, let me be in Heaven here on earth with you. Angel, Angel. Here's another simple linking metaphor, helping discovery of ideas and their coherence. Note the related words, established by the main metaphor ("angel"): "earth boy," "Paradise," "only human," "Heaven," and "on earth." This song can be heard on youtube.
Discovery and Writing
I keep six honest serving men;(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
—Rudyard Kipling
Note in this little verse by Kipling, he says "they taught me all I knew." This fits my own theory of practice, which is not to multiply theory too much. We're drowning in an ocean of theories and methodologies when the secret of any art can be reduced to simple rules.
In the case of writing, "all" you need to know (apart from grammar and vocabulary) is pretty much summed up in the above verse. Other principles (like I said in class include): lots of reading (all great writers were first great readers); revision (there's no such thing as writing—only rewriting); and redundancy (linking ideas )—as in the following:
"Man/he/Mr. Smith/the firefighter/middle-aged/gentleman" all may refer in an essay to each other. In Kipling's short verse, "men," "they," "what," "why," "when," "how," "where," "who," "their," and "names" all refer, by replacement, to the same main noun ("men").
We'll look at these issues more deeply in our class, but this is just a summary lesson. In the meantime, let's look at a simple (yet profound) poem by Robert Frost that I recited in class:
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Note cohesion in the repeated pronouns that refer to the owner of the woods and the speaker (whose/he/his, I/me). Then there's the repeated word, "wood" (often words are repeated by synonyms: forest, trees; but in this case the repeat is exact, creating a haunted or magical mood).
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Other examples are "flake," which refers to "snow," and "lovely dark and deep," which refers to "woods."
Note the diction (choice of words) is simple. Though simple, "downy" and "harness" might cause an ESL student trouble because they are not common.
Simple as it is, the poem conveys deep feeling and meaning. It's a poem about the longing for death and final rest. The woods suggest magical escape from the "village" and its responsibilities.
The woods are "owned." So the woods are linked to society (the "village"). But the speaker sees it from his point of view, not approved by society, from which he escapes (the owner of the woods: "will not see me").
The horse (harnessed, so social) suggests society and reason. He thinks it "queer" (strange, unusual) to go into the woods on the "darkest" night of the year) and warns the speaker: "you're making a 'mistake.'"
Apart from the horse (the voice of society and reason) there's only the absolute quiet that tempts the speaker.
In the end, the horse wins. The speaker knows how tempting death is, but he has obligations ("promises") in the village (society) and his final rest must wait until those obligations are fulfilled.
But the temptation of that final rest is captured in the repetition of the last two lines—sounding like a sweet lullaby:
"And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."
Even with a limited vocabulary, but with a proper organization (and repetition) of one's ideas, one can write well—even memorably.
A Moon Day Memory
A student asked about outlines; so using my own essay, I created a possible outline I might have done before writing the essay. In time, one does outlines in one's head or as quickly jotted down reminders, like before one goes shopping. I don't want to interfere with others' teaching, but I dislike formal outlines; especially among young students; because students may spend more time on outlining than on writing. I think it's sufficient to keep an orderly reminder of what to include, always revising of course as one writes. I doubt if this outline would have been complete on first inspiration. Rather as I wrote and read what I wrote I would have quickly jotted down new ideas to remind myself to include them in the next version.1. My father's walk.
2. The way he held food. (Maybe put in present tense for a feeling of intimacy.)
(Note: In my final essay, I purposely change tense from past to present to bring the grandfather up close, as if he were living today.)
3. Include some foods.
4. Our hungry wait for my old grandfather to cook the food.
5. My father's attitude toward Grandfather.
6. Grandfather cooking.
7. We pretend his cooking is good.
8. Compare with the way Dad cooks; much more efficient, but something is also lost in his efficiency. Father is the better cook, but he can't replace our fond memories of Granddad.
Style analysis of my short essay (using the revised version):
I used strong verbs: "studied," "shuffle" (second version as noun, first version as strong verb); pacing; cradled; crouches; retrieve; slid; grill; mimick; whirls; "owns" instead of "has" grilling chores.
I used details (specificity) selectively, according to my focus. My focus was on "Grandfather." I included specifics and concrete nouns, but only subordinated to my focus.
Note that I did not mention other food items, because they would hae marred my focus: Grandfather and Moon Day. The point is, nothing is an end in itself, but is always subordinated to good writing, which includes: focus, subordination, unity, coherence, completeness.
Note that the essay, though short, seems complete. In other words, the reader does not feel (or should not feel) that anything of substance has been left out; because whatever is important to my focus (and my length) has been left in.
Obviously if my length were longer, say ten pages, I would then brainstorm for more details and subordination: descriptions of the family, the backyard, my grandfather, etc. But in terms of my self-imposed limits (several short paragraphs), the reader feels that nothing of importance is missing.
The test is the writer becomes the ideal reader. I ask myself, "Is there anything missing?" My answer is No. The writer, if not skilled enough, may be wrong in his or her answer. Only readers can judge. But this seems to be complete to me.
As for revision, one change I made was to shorten the second version. As I "saw again" my first version, I saw places that were, short as it was, still redundant (repetitious, saying the same thing unnecessarily twice). I shorted the opening. I took out the part about eating cold cuts, because I implied that anyway in my revision.
Other changes were in vocabulary: I replaced "emaciated" with "venous" (vein-lined). Some choices are based on subjective judgment, itself based on wide reading. "Emaciated" sounded too long and cumbersome; "venous" got the job done faster. I added another strong verb, "studied" (compared to just "see"). At the end, I replaced "senile" with "senescent."
Actually, I thought of "senescent" (old) the first time but thought it might be too long a word for a simple essay and typed "senile" instead (like "venous," it was shorter). But "senile" had a too negative connotation (not strong in the head) and changed back to "senescent" (a more neutral word meaning simply "old" or "aging"). Also, the extra "s" sound created a nice sibilance in the final sentence (a final sentence should always be strong): "Grandfather'S Slow SeneScent shuffle beneath an autumn moon on a Still September night."
Note also that I replaced "underneath" with "beneath": again, I prefer shorter words if possible, even if only one syllable shorter.
It's a slow odyssey for us as well as him. Our mouths water in gustatory frustration. But this is Grandpa's pride and Father patiently smiles.
With trembling, gnarled fingers, Granddad is scarcely able to grill a sausage through. Fearful for our health, still we mimic pleasure in eating what is served with grandfatherly glee.
Grandfather died two years ago. Dad now owns grilling chores on Moon Day. He whirls from kitchen to garden; his strong fingers insure a safely cooked feast. But hygiene and efficiency can't replace Grandfather's slow senescent shuffle beneath an autumn moon on a still September night.
I used strong verbs: "studied," "shuffle" (second version as noun, first version as strong verb); pacing; cradled; crouches; retrieve; slid; grill; mimick; whirls; "owns" instead of "has" grilling chores.
I used details (specificity) selectively, according to my focus. My focus was on "Grandfather." I included specifics and concrete nouns, but only subordinated to my focus.
Note that I did not mention other food items, because they would hae marred my focus: Grandfather and Moon Day. The point is, nothing is an end in itself, but is always subordinated to good writing, which includes: focus, subordination, unity, coherence, completeness.
Note that the essay, though short, seems complete. In other words, the reader does not feel (or should not feel) that anything of substance has been left out; because whatever is important to my focus (and my length) has been left in.
Obviously if my length were longer, say ten pages, I would then brainstorm for more details and subordination: descriptions of the family, the backyard, my grandfather, etc. But in terms of my self-imposed limits (several short paragraphs), the reader feels that nothing of importance is missing.
The test is the writer becomes the ideal reader. I ask myself, "Is there anything missing?" My answer is No. The writer, if not skilled enough, may be wrong in his or her answer. Only readers can judge. But this seems to be complete to me.
As for revision, one change I made was to shorten the second version. As I "saw again" my first version, I saw places that were, short as it was, still redundant (repetitious, saying the same thing unnecessarily twice). I shorted the opening. I took out the part about eating cold cuts, because I implied that anyway in my revision.
Other changes were in vocabulary: I replaced "emaciated" with "venous" (vein-lined). Some choices are based on subjective judgment, itself based on wide reading. "Emaciated" sounded too long and cumbersome; "venous" got the job done faster. I added another strong verb, "studied" (compared to just "see"). At the end, I replaced "senile" with "senescent."
Actually, I thought of "senescent" (old) the first time but thought it might be too long a word for a simple essay and typed "senile" instead (like "venous," it was shorter). But "senile" had a too negative connotation (not strong in the head) and changed back to "senescent" (a more neutral word meaning simply "old" or "aging"). Also, the extra "s" sound created a nice sibilance in the final sentence (a final sentence should always be strong): "Grandfather'S Slow SeneScent shuffle beneath an autumn moon on a Still September night."
Note also that I replaced "underneath" with "beneath": again, I prefer shorter words if possible, even if only one syllable shorter.
A Moon Day Memory
On Moon Days I studied my grandfather's unsteady shuffle to the backyard barbecue grill. Pacing slowly, with frozen sausages cradled in his venous arms, he achingly crouches to retrieve a link that slid onto the rough grass. It's a slow odyssey for us as well as him. Our mouths water in gustatory frustration. But this is Grandpa's pride and Father patiently smiles.
With trembling, gnarled fingers, Granddad is scarcely able to grill a sausage through. Fearful for our health, still we mimic pleasure in eating what is served with grandfatherly glee.
Grandfather died two years ago. Dad now owns grilling chores on Moon Day. He whirls from kitchen to garden; his strong fingers insure a safely cooked feast. But hygiene and efficiency can't replace Grandfather's slow senescent shuffle beneath an autumn moon on a still September night.
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