Just finished reading Life of Pi by Yann Martel (2001) this morning. I recommend it. Essentially, it's the story of a teenage Indian boy who survives the Pacific Ocean in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger. It focuses on religious themes, survival, human and animal behavior, and maturity. I was repeatedly impressed with the protagonist's wit and intelligence--he's completely believable and incredibly clever. Several favorite parts: the scene where the pandit, imam, and priest all confront the protagonist about being a Hindu, Muslim, and Christian all at the same time; the carnivorous island chapter; the written transcript of the dialogue between the protagonist and the sunken ship's company representatives; and the breaking up of the book into 100 chapters (this significance is realized about 3/4 of the way through the book).
I'm not usually fond of author's notes preceding a novel, but Martel's proved to be particularly insightful, especially for those who struggle with creating a valid piece of fiction. My favorite part of his revelation is that he took one of his floundering novels and mailed it to a false address with an equally false return address, essentially sending it to post office heaven. Even for the pros, if one element is missing from the story--even if the plot, theme, descriptions, everything else is good--it won't work. Somehow there's comfort in knowing that you're not the only one who struggles with a good final product. Now, if I could just complete a story to even be able to evaluate it along such lines...
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
Christmas Reflections
What do you make of Christmas when it no longer feels like Christmas? As I grow older, I'm more frustrated by the fact that anything--the season, the birthday, etc.--is what we make of it. When you're little, Christmas seems to come riding in with a magic all its own extending from the moment Thanksgiving dinner ends until the last present is unwrapped and even a little later until the last Christmas cookie has disappeared, albeit in someone's stomach or the trashcan. However, I'm not finding that joy comes automatically with the season. I'm no scrooge, though, so I'll recount what has made the season joyful through 20/20 hindsight:
1. Christmas Caroling. No, the old-time tradition has not yet died, at least in the Davis household. Mom decided that, since we weren't having Christmas Eve service at church this year, we should carol to our neighbors, Christina and Clint's neighbors, and close relatives, much to my brothers' chagrin. It turned out to be an enjoyable night, with our repertoire of "Joy to the World," "Silent Night," "O Come All Ye Faithful," and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." We had people cry, give us a donation for the church, join us in caroling to their family, shush us because the baby was sleeping, and photograph us for all posterity to remember.
2. Gift Unwrapping. The tradition in my family is to open gifts one at a time while everyone watches and oohs and aahs. We love it because, depending on the year and how many times we interrupt with a snack, gift unwrapping can last between three and six hours, and we always know what everyone received. Another tradition is that each kid receives one "big" gift. As a youngin', it would have been treacherous to have someone else open your big gift, let alone any little gift. I guess I can count it joy that I have reached the age where this faux pas, so horrid and unforgivable in the sight of the giftgiver, did not phase me. When Eric unwrapped my digital camera and then had to hand it over, I must say I handled it with much maturity, yet another sign that I'm getting too old (this mishap was due to the fact that my dad created a secret coding system to inform him of the intended recipient for the package and the contents within, but he unfortunately had major glitches in cracking the code most of the afternoon).
3. Gift Giving. I realized once again that much of the fun at Christmas is in giving the gifts, not receiving them. Seeing the surprise or the excitement of the person opening a gift from you is worth more than gold. I was a little disappointed that I only had gifts for two people this year; my dad's gift still has yet to arrive in the mail, and my siblings and I have taken up the tradition of exchanging names so we only have to buy one gift. It's all in all a better system--less money spent, better quality gift, but I sometimes wish I made six digits simple so I could buy quality gifts for everyone.
Alas, it's good to be reminded of God's gift at Christmas, and that should be the primary focus of the season; however, I miss the old time excitement over the decorations, the packages, the food. We need to start having little kids around again. Though they often carry chaos with them, there's nothing like a child to bring back the simple, unsearched-for joys of the season. No pressure on the married (or soon to be married) siblings. :-)
1. Christmas Caroling. No, the old-time tradition has not yet died, at least in the Davis household. Mom decided that, since we weren't having Christmas Eve service at church this year, we should carol to our neighbors, Christina and Clint's neighbors, and close relatives, much to my brothers' chagrin. It turned out to be an enjoyable night, with our repertoire of "Joy to the World," "Silent Night," "O Come All Ye Faithful," and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." We had people cry, give us a donation for the church, join us in caroling to their family, shush us because the baby was sleeping, and photograph us for all posterity to remember.
2. Gift Unwrapping. The tradition in my family is to open gifts one at a time while everyone watches and oohs and aahs. We love it because, depending on the year and how many times we interrupt with a snack, gift unwrapping can last between three and six hours, and we always know what everyone received. Another tradition is that each kid receives one "big" gift. As a youngin', it would have been treacherous to have someone else open your big gift, let alone any little gift. I guess I can count it joy that I have reached the age where this faux pas, so horrid and unforgivable in the sight of the giftgiver, did not phase me. When Eric unwrapped my digital camera and then had to hand it over, I must say I handled it with much maturity, yet another sign that I'm getting too old (this mishap was due to the fact that my dad created a secret coding system to inform him of the intended recipient for the package and the contents within, but he unfortunately had major glitches in cracking the code most of the afternoon).
3. Gift Giving. I realized once again that much of the fun at Christmas is in giving the gifts, not receiving them. Seeing the surprise or the excitement of the person opening a gift from you is worth more than gold. I was a little disappointed that I only had gifts for two people this year; my dad's gift still has yet to arrive in the mail, and my siblings and I have taken up the tradition of exchanging names so we only have to buy one gift. It's all in all a better system--less money spent, better quality gift, but I sometimes wish I made six digits simple so I could buy quality gifts for everyone.
Alas, it's good to be reminded of God's gift at Christmas, and that should be the primary focus of the season; however, I miss the old time excitement over the decorations, the packages, the food. We need to start having little kids around again. Though they often carry chaos with them, there's nothing like a child to bring back the simple, unsearched-for joys of the season. No pressure on the married (or soon to be married) siblings. :-)
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
I'm a Star in my Imagination
Ever have those moments where you realize how embarrassed you'd be if somebody saw what you were doing? I'm talking about one of those heart dropping, blushing red all the way to the tips of your toes kind of moments.
I was in the copy room today, making my copies (last minute, of course) for the next block. When another teacher came in, I realized that there was actually a third person in the room, who, I'm sure, had been there the entire time I was there. I did a double take and then braced myself against the copier, racking my brain. Had I been dancing? twirling? picking a wedgie? Nope. I think I'm safe--this time, at least.
I suppose this fear comes from my habit of imaginatively expressing myself after hours. I wonder, sometimes, if they ever review the security cameras that I'm sure they have in the hall, for whether it's me simply staring at them with a perplexed look (is there really a camera in that black little bubble?), sliding down the empty hallways in my hose, trying to tap dance in my clickety shoes, or simply running (well, jogging would be more like it) from one room to the next, I'm sure that whoever views those tapes has to wonder what's wrong with me.
I think spending ten to twelve hours out of a cinder cell is explanation enough.
I was in the copy room today, making my copies (last minute, of course) for the next block. When another teacher came in, I realized that there was actually a third person in the room, who, I'm sure, had been there the entire time I was there. I did a double take and then braced myself against the copier, racking my brain. Had I been dancing? twirling? picking a wedgie? Nope. I think I'm safe--this time, at least.
I suppose this fear comes from my habit of imaginatively expressing myself after hours. I wonder, sometimes, if they ever review the security cameras that I'm sure they have in the hall, for whether it's me simply staring at them with a perplexed look (is there really a camera in that black little bubble?), sliding down the empty hallways in my hose, trying to tap dance in my clickety shoes, or simply running (well, jogging would be more like it) from one room to the next, I'm sure that whoever views those tapes has to wonder what's wrong with me.
I think spending ten to twelve hours out of a cinder cell is explanation enough.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Howdy, Y'all
It's official: I can speak like Kentucky folk, or so one of my students informs me.
We are having a grand discussion about the religion of the World State in Brave New World, and as I finish reading a passage, one of my students cries out, "Miss Davis, you sounded like a Kentucky person when you read that sentence!" She proceeded to reread the specific line where my intonation had reflected the Bluegrass dialect.
Not quite as proud of my achievement as she was, I replied, "Oh, I'm so glad that after all this time I finally fit in." Chuckle, chortle, guffaw, snigger.
Let's hope it doesn't happen again. ;-)
We are having a grand discussion about the religion of the World State in Brave New World, and as I finish reading a passage, one of my students cries out, "Miss Davis, you sounded like a Kentucky person when you read that sentence!" She proceeded to reread the specific line where my intonation had reflected the Bluegrass dialect.
Not quite as proud of my achievement as she was, I replied, "Oh, I'm so glad that after all this time I finally fit in." Chuckle, chortle, guffaw, snigger.
Let's hope it doesn't happen again. ;-)
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