"The Tell-Tale Heart" Analysis

The two big questions that Edgar Allen Poe leaves the reader with: Did the narrator really kill the old man that he claimed to have loved? Is the narrator actually a madman?

He (assuming the narrator is a man) starts off admitting that he is "nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous" but denies that he is crazy, much too defensively, in my opinion. He is determined to convince the reader of this, especially when he says that his condition "sharpened his senses, not destroyed, not dulled them", and when he explains that it was the old man's eye that drove him to kill the man, it made the murder seem even less reasonable.

The narrator goes into great detail of his meticulous actions that lead up to the murder. He emphasizes his patience and care when he gradually makes his way into the old man's room, watching him sleep for eight nights, each night at the same time. These details, however, are not descriptive in the appearance his surroundings, but more in the manner of how his actions are carried out. The murder itself is very simple and quick. He describes his "wise precautions" afterwards, when he hides the body beneath the floorboards of the old man's room. I believe the narrator mistakens his paranoia for cleverness and intellect. He has a distorted view of his surroundings, having multiple hallucinations in Poe's short story. At the very end it becomes very obvious that the narrator is quite indeed mad when he sits down with the police officers and beings to hear a faint ticking sound that grows louder and louder. He starts becoming agitated; he believes the ticking was coming from underneath them, from the dead-man's heart. Likely it was his own heartbeat he was hearing. He became violent; he wondered why the policemen could not hear what he was hearing. Finally he confesses by saying "'Villains! Dissemble no more! I admit the deed!--tear up the planks!--here, here!--it is the beating of his hideous heart!'"

Of course, the narrator being a madman, this could have possibly been a hallucination in itself. I like to think that Mr. Poe intended it to be that way, so the reader can decide for his/herself. Though the last line does somewhat imply that a man had died that night, the narrator's nervous self keeps truth a mystery, all the while Mr.Poe questioning what exactly IS sanity and what is not.

"Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." — Les Brown

The familiar blue of the night sky was beginning to fall on the city. Warm summer air gently brushed past my bare arms and legs as I stepped onto the sidewalk outside of my grandparents' house. I looked down Poplar Avenue. There was a baseball game going on at the park. All around the field stood cheering clutters of parents here and there, shouting words of encouragement to their children. Wouldn't that just pressure them even more? I thought. The sound of the ball digging into a mitt. "STRIKE!" I heard someone yell.

                                                                                                                                      

The metal gate rang as my mom pulled it shut. We began our daily stroll after dinner in silence, taking in all that summer still had left to offer while it lasted. The sky grew darker, and no one noticed as the tall lamps illuminated the street. It was only when the mosquitoes decided to begin their nocturnal hunt for blood that people saw the tiny frantic specks in the light of the lamps, and realized it was getting late.

My mom broke our silence. "Ah, summer is coming to an end. School is going to start soon," she commented in Chinese. I nodded and muttered a "Mhmm..." hoping that she took the hint. She didn't.

"What have you accomplished this summer?" again in Chinese, this time looking me in the eye. I shrugged. "I worked....um, I hung out with my friends..."

"Have you done any schoolwork?" Her eyes stayed as they were.

What? I knew I probably should have done something educational this summer, but it was summer. I spend about nine months in school. I don't see how that still is not enough.

"I didn't have any."

We were now making our way around the park. Teenagers, parents, grandparents, toddlers, were all there, running around, chatting, enjoying themselves. I wanted to run there to see if I could find someone I knew. The park had many regular visitors. You're bound to run into someone.

The entrance to the Hill, as everyone calls it, was just a short walk across 29th street from park. It lived up to its name: grassy and green, and not at all flat. At the top of the hill there was a little island of concrete where you get the best view of the sunset in the neighborhood. I decided I wanted to go there. Then I realized it would only prolong this conversation.

"Why didn't you look for some practice work? How are you going to catch up with the others?"

I knew by "others" she had specific people in mind.

I thought back to the time when all I did was for the sake of satisfying my mother's high expectations. I was to be the girl that was good at everything, the perfect little Asian, a future doctor or lawyer, something that is well respected and pays well. Whether it was out of a change in my thinking or laziness, or both, I no longer wanted to live that way. I decided that I wanted to find my own path, a focus, and work from there. I did not want to conform to what others wanted me to be. I felt that I would get more out of life if I went about it not aiming for perfection and towards a goal that I didn't have any interest in accomplishing. I had learned to accept being mediocre (or at least a non-perfectionist) and not expect what is completely and obviously out of my limits.

I didn't reply. After a short silence, my mother pushed on. "What do you plan to study in college?"

I took a deep breathe. It had rained the day before, and there was still a slight hint of the damp, sweet-smelling air lingering around us. It calmed me. "I don't know, Mom."

She'd asked me this question countless times, not that I tried to count; I knew this question would keep coming until I reached college. There was my focus in piano, but it wasn't what I wanted to study and do for a living. I thought back to the people I saw at the park. Why couldn't I just live simple lives like they did?

We went down the hill and exited onto Halsted Street. The whoosh of slowing evening traffic ironically complimented the peaceful summer night. The passing lights flashed by one by one and glittered in the distance, as if to make up for the missing stars in the city sky.

The moon was out though, the observer of the night. I stared at it, taking in the beauty of its bright, flawlessly round form, wondering how something so beautiful can exist from so far away and look no less stunning millions of miles away.

Deciding that it would be better to hurry home before the mosquitoes began to attack, we turned in the middle of the block at an alley right next to the edge of the baseball field

"Maybe"

I decided to do my analysis on the song "Maybe" by Kelly Clarkson. I sang this song (well part of it...) on the last day before spring break at the Night of Noise, which was an open-mic event held to give a voice to those in the LGBT community, for those who don't know about it. I did it mostly out of wanting to sing, however to respect the meaning behind the event, I decided it would be best to choose a song that had some kind of relevance to the whole point of it. So as a last minute decision, I chose this song, but I did it purely based of emotions that I thought could be applied to this specific situation. I thought it would only be appropriate to really look at the song and think about it, perhaps even figure out why I felt it was a good song to sing that night. The lyrics:

I'm strong
But I break
I'm stubborn
And I make plenty of mistakes
Yeah I'm hard
And life with me is never easy
To figure out, to love
I'm jaded but oh so lovely
All you have to do is hold me
And you'll know and you'll see just how sweet it can be
If you'll trust me, love me, let me
Maybe, maybe

Someday
When we're at the same place
When we're on the same road
When it's OK to hold my hand
Without feeling lost
Without all the excuses
When it's just because you love me, you let me, you need me
Then maybe, maybe
All you have to do is hold me
And you'll know and you'll see just how sweet it can be
If you'll trust me, love me, let me
Maybe, maybe

I'm confusing as hell
I'm north and south
And I'll probably never have it all figured out
But what I know is I wasn't meant to walk this world without you
And I promise I'll try
Yeah I'm gonna try to give you every little part of me
Every single detail you missed with your eyes
Then maybe
Maybe, yeah maybe

One day
We'll meet again and you'll need me, you'll see me completely
Every little bit
Oh yeah maybe you'll love me, you'll love me then

I don't want to be tough
And I don't want to be proud
I don't need to be fixed and I certainly don't need to be found
I'm not lost
I need to be loved
I just need to be loved
I just want to be loved by you and I won't stop 'cause I believe
That maybe, yeah maybe
Maybe, yeah maybe

I should know better than to touch the fire twice
But I'm thinking maybe, yeah maybe you might

Maybe, love maybe

The first verse sounds a lot of like a confession, giving in to the inevitability of human imperfection. The speaker admits she (using "she" since the singer is female) is far from perfect, that she can still break, make mistakes and she mentions how difficult she can be, but she still believes that she can be loved despite her flaws if a person chooses to accept them and take her for who she is ("All you have to do is hold me, and you'll know and you'll see just how sweet it can be if you'll trust me, love me, let me, maybe..").

The entire second verse is somewhat like hopeful thinking of the time that she and the person who she is singing to will come to terms with one another ("when we're at the same place, when we're on the same road, when it's ok to hold my hand") Though it may seem like the song is being sung to a lover, I believe when she says "trust me, love me, let me, maybe" she is singing to someone who disapproves of her for some unspecified reason (one of her imperfections), and this is her saying, "Maybe if you gave me a chance, you would understand me and my reasons why, and you would learn to love me [accept me]."

At the bridge, the speaker says, "But what I know is I wasn't meant to walk this world without you" hints that the person this song is directed to is important to her in some way. Also, when she says, "Yeah I'm gonna try to give you every little part of me, every single detail you missed with your eyes, then maybe, maybe, yeah maybe" she is saying that there's more to her than the flaws that the person she is addressing can't seem to embrace. Finally towards the end the lines, "I don't need to be fixed and I certainly don't need to be found, I'm not lost, I need to be loved" mean that these flaws aren't necessarily wrong and they just make the speaker who she is, and she just wants to be loved for being herself.

The entire song in general is about asking to be accepted and loved. It's probably for that reason that I decided to sing this at the Night of Noise.

On the reservation.....

....the sky is the best we've got. The land is red, may it be from our history of bloody suffering that still haunts us now, or just the weather as they say, I don't know. It is red where there should be green from the money we get from the government. It's so barren and dull I'm amazed I'm still here. The shoddy little "houses" dot the scarlet landscape, each having its own arbitrary and unique shape; they're the only things ornamenting the land.

There's no room for a chance at life, even with the all open space we have that seems to only end only with the sky. Many already have given up and made their way to the heavens against God's will because they can't seem to find a way around this struggle. The poverty and lack of opportunity deprived people of their spirit and desire to live on. The hate from the outside world. So much conflict....

I want to be one of the red mountains because they are so close to the large expanse of blue above. Maybe I will find my way to the sky too.

Propaganda 2011

prop·a·gan·da

1. information, ideas, or rumors deliberately spread widely to help or harm a person, group, movement, institution, nation, etc.

 

2.  the deliberate spreading of such information, rumors, etc.

 

3. the particular doctrines or principles propagated by an organization or movement.

 

"Propaganda" is usually applied to political matters. But with this definition, wouldn't most of what we encounter be considered propaganda?

 

All the advertisements on TV, on billboards, on the bus, on the train; the magazines with their "miracle weight loss" guides and the fads of the season. The internet that has EVERYTHING you're looking for. They all have some sort of direction, or message they want to get to people who see them. 

I would have to say that even the things we are taught to be "good" or "bad", that is also a form of propaganda. There's the common logic (?) we're all expected to know and understand, but I feel that these basic ideas we are taught shape the way we see other more complex, and perhaps more controversial topics of the world, which is the more direct and obvious form of propaganda. 

So pretty much, everything is propaganda in its own way. 

Just want to put it out there: I despise politics.

 

"Black Boy" Response

Best book of the year, hands down. The plot is honest, frank, understandable and flows, and there are certain points made in the book that readers can easily relate to.

I really like Wright's style of writing. In general, it uses simple words and sentence structures to convey some very complex ideas, and a significant amount of it is delivered through dialogue. I also feel that he is trying to speak out about his opinions through his experiences. I think that he does a great job at it, because these experiences he goes through in his life time are put together nicely and timed well. Nothing ever drags on for too long, but I am still able to get a clear picture and idea of what is going on.

Reading about his origins and life as a child, and then comparing that to how he turned out is really impressive and admirable. He grew up in an abusive household under extremely religious and strict authority. His education was broken and it was quite a while before he became literate, yet he ended up writing a book as great as this one. This was probably what stuck out to me the most. I am a fairly realistic person, but this book has me thinking that maybe passion and perseverance can get you places in life.

Hungry For Attention: Is young Richard alone in his cravings?

In the first chapter of Black Boy by Richard Wright, he reminisces a few memorable experiences, many of which, if not all, expressing a certain hunger for something. There was the literal hunger, when he asks his mother for food, but there was also the hunger for attention at the beginning of the book when he sets the house on fire, as well as a hunger to entertain himself. There was a hunger to learn, a hunger to rebel. 

Everyone wants something. It's why there's so much greed and suffering in the world. They may be entirely different from Richard's; they may be as complex as his desire for attention or as simplistic as his hunger for food. But there is no one in the world that is completely satisfied with what they have. It's just human nature. The cravings of the other characters of the book, such as his mother's and his brother's, are hinted at to prove this, although they are not as obvious as Richard's.

So no, Richard isn't alone in his cravings.