Naive Regret?

As Okonkwo’s exile draws to a close, several preparations occur. First, money is sent back to Okonkwo’s home village so that huts can be built in anticipation for his family’s return. Next Okonkwo and his wives prepare a grand feast with proportions similar to that of the wedding earlier in the story. During the final days in his mother’s land, Okonkwo reflects on the past seven years, expressing regret for the whole ordeal. He somewhat naively believes that had he still been in his own tribe, not only would time and resources not have been wasted, but his status in Umuofia would have greatly increased.

Though Okonkwo’s manly nature tells him to regret his experiences, does some aspect of him realize that he is grateful for what he has learned and accomplished during the seven years away from Umuofia? And, In what ways has Okonkwo benefited from being away from is fatherland?

That Ordinary Life

Up to this point, Achebe has established some of the greater social rankings of the Igbo culture. Men seem to be at the pinnacle of leadership. The narrator begins the story by commenting on the struggles and successes of men in Okonkwo’s life, establishing what seems to be a predetermined order. It is this status that I am choosing to question. Ekwefi is established as a “weak” character in Igbo terms, though her sadness, due to the loss of children, makes her no different from many other Igbo women. “Cheilo too, in fact, was a widow with two children in her ordinary life” (49). However, it is only outside of that life that we see the powerful woman among the Igbo tribe members. As the Priestess of Agbala her words come second to none, even those of men in highest power. But, conversing with Ekwefi, we just as easily see their vulnerability.

Had the oracle been the Priest of Agbala, how would attitudes towards the character change? Would he lead no separate “ordinary life”?

Two Hundred and Twelve Steps

I awaken to the penetrating light that can no longer blind me. As I slowly become aware of my surroundings, I call for Ralph, my companion through it all. He sidles over to me with the scent of coffee lingering on his coat. I can tell from the way that he greets me that he has been up for at least an hour before I have. I reach to the small table beside me, fumbling elegantly for the remote to the iPod speakers I purchased months ago. The melody begins and suddenly I am awake.

Dressing, eating, commuting, it’s never been a problem. The city is so crazy that I find that even on the days when my eyes aren’t fully open, the noise always tells me where I am. 76, 77, 78. That’s how many steps it takes to get from my level, level 3, to the ground. 57 paces and I push through the revolving door. As I step onto the street, Ralph at my side, we turn right heading off to work. You might wonder why I own an iPod and choose not to take it with me daily. The truth is, I like to hear the sounds, I need to hear the sounds. They are what carry me from corner to corner in this concrete jungle I call home.

15 steps from the corner to that building, the one in which I spend my days. A most unusual yet perfect job. I suppose you could say that I just listen to music all day but, it’s not only the music that I’m listening to. Welcome to 16 Records.

Six days I come there to work but seven days I come here to listen. I created this company around my 16^th birthday, hence the 16. Not formally of course, but that was when it began. By that age I had lost friends and desire but I gained support. I think, after running this company for so long, it really is a part of who I am.

Today is like every other day. 22 steps to the elevator and 40 to my studio. I’m greeted by notices and today’s events, two meetings and a trial session. Not bad, at least today’s lunch will be around noon. Meetings one marked the financial turn of another company hoping to join with 16, I’ll have to think about that. Meeting two, cancelled. The trial session is my favorite part of my day, of my job. I sit closing my eyes allowing the music to fill my ears. Its sweet, this melody, but it’s too similar to what was produced last month. What’s next has to have reminiscent qualities with a unique twist. It’s difficult to find these days. Everyone just copies one another.

I can feel the evening creeping on. The sun on the back of my neck feels hot as I continue to listen to the last of today’s fresh feed. I stifle a yawn and Ralph, sitting across the room takes notice, standing up suggesting it’s time to go home.

Today, not unlike most, finds me back outside my building with Ralph at my side. 78 steps back to my apartment. I fumble in my purse for that heavy key to the door. I step inside to the familiar sent of wild currant and pumpkin spice that tells me that I am definitely back at home, back in my home.

Dinner’s no great affair. I’m thankful for the invention of microwaves, the cooking apparatus of the future. I think you’ll agree that my life leads somewhere but it's not moving there fast.

I answer to the name of Rylance, I brush down brown hair, I see through hazel eyes. Or rather, I can no longer see through these hazel eyes.

This Feeling Calls For Everything That I Am Not

Thank God the suit is flame resistant. Just think what would have happened if it weren’t? It’d probably have been singed by now. Singed by their stares. Strange how fire retardant works. Good that it does, I would do anything for that suit, the suit that makes up me, my suit. My suit is special. Do I ever wish to change it? Well, maybe, I did. But now, it’s a part of exactly what I am, who I am. It has become a transparent barrier with which light can be seen but intensity is always underrepresented. Every color and texture sewn between its threads, every fiber that makes up that fabric, I’ve unstitched to let some in and restitched to shut them out, but I always end up back at the beginning, with this same suit.

As strange as it may be, my suit is my appearance, perhaps a vice in the society we live in today. I’m not talking about weight, or size, but color. Not the color of the physical, but the color of the emotional. I wish my colors were unique. I wish I could alter those colors to reflect my every desire, mood, thought. However, wishes, I’ve been told, only get you so far. Is that true? Do wishes come true? And would I really wish for people to recognize every aspect of me?

I’m indecisive by nature, precisely the reason why I’m glad the thing is flame resistant. For every change of heart there could have been one small hole, one that grows with pull, and stays the same with resistance, but can’t fix itself. Strange it is that I want to share the old person with the world, she who remains with my old life, in my old state, with my old friends. I wish you could see that I’m not all you make me out to be. I’m not, my any means, what you think I am. Erase the picture you have drawn and allow me to reintroduce myself. I am the girl who wants nothing more than for you to see my every color.

You couldn’t count the number of threads that make up my suit. Maybe a million or so but, how many colors do you see? A couple. I wish I could reveal, even the smallest portion of who I could be, who I would want to be. Don’t they always say that to express oneself is the greatest liberation of the soul and spirit? Well, then why am I always trapped? Trapped by the way that I feel with my suit on and with it off. My personality has become as muted as the colors of my suit, sun bleached with the stare of one thousand eyes.

If only you could only see.

And They Lived Happily Ever After… Or Did They?

Aside from all other aspects that make a story or character tragic, the largest indicator is the culmination, the ending. More often than not, “Antigone” is classified as a tragedy with tragic characters who begin their stories unaware of mistakes that they are to make and the realization, catharsis, and wisdom that later emanates from the original situation, often leading to the resolution. Perhaps most interesting about this story is not the strong will of the characters or their dynamics but the indecisive ending that Sophocles seemed to give it. With the personal strength of Antigone, Haemon, Ismene, and Creon, the ending seems to be weak. It seems to have an air of happiness.

First, it’s important that to note that modern society often sees happy endings as giveaways, cop-outs, and ultimately something that is expected. It has become negative in many ways to add a happy ending to a story with such a mentality. What readers now look for is a resolution of sorts that solves mysteries and rights relationships but leaves a little guesswork. Arguably, the story of Antigone ends with a happy ending. Not, however, a traditional comedic one with marriage or a definitive solution but instead one with moral development in which the character and audience find the understanding a source of happiness. And, for the most part, that is perfectly achieved at the end of “Antigone.” Creon has discovered that the death of his future daughter-in-law, Antigone, his son, Haemon, and his wife, Eurydice is his fault. This realization brings about a wisdom that allows him to grow emotionally and mentally. But, despite all the “happiness” of Creon’s understanding, his and others’ “ever after” lingers mystifyingly.

What happened to Creon, the Crown, Thebes, Ismene? Perhaps these were kept secret to keep readers thinking even after the story was finished. Or, perhaps it was because Sophocles wished to portray the perfect ending, even as the events continued spiraling out of control. Sparing the life of Creon was an interesting twist, considering all of the pain he had caused his family members and fellow citizens of Thebes. Then again, this must have been done purposefully to further accentuate the “happiness,” in the form of enlightenment, to which he achieves through the original ending. And as for the crown, it would appear that Creon retained the crown, however, it may have been passed on after his spectacular downfall and exploitation of insecurities. Thebes must have maintained itself and built up against future troubles leaving its people stronger and more tolerant than ever. Ismene’s future must have retained little purpose after all the deaths. All close family members had passed away leaving her to fend for herself in the city of Thebes. The initial ending of Sophocles’ story is bare leaving so many lingering questions. Whether or not it maintains a happy ending is debatable. With a perspective of growth and development we see happiness as success for Creon and Thebes. However with the unreasonable amount of deaths at the end, the traditional happily ever after is a happily never after.

The Greatest Impressions

An ever-growing list of books that impact the way I think.

Lord of the Flies

William Golding

The self-discovery. The youth figures in this novel drew me in. There was something scary yet thrilling to live on an island with the young boys. But ultimately their childhoods fade without the presence of adults and after the first struggle for food, all the purities of juvenescence become lost.

To Kill A Mockingbird

Harper Lee

The one I read to young. It is the perfect mix of innocence and complex social forums completely under appreciated at the age of 12 but, analyzed, grasped, and respected at 15.

One For The Money

Janet Evanovich

The fun one. Every once and a while a little boost, in the form of a super sexy badass, crime fighting, bounty hunter, is needed to brighten our day. All the power and all the femininity cleverly wrapped into a high-speed chase novel.

Life of Pi

Yann Martel

The unbelievable fantasy. This is the first novel I have read that tells its story twice within its pages. As I struggled to pick the true story, I found that, in fact, there is something to be said about both sides. We often encounter reality too grisly to digest but with several situational twists the same story can become something so mundane. Its up to you to choose which you believe in but as for me, it’s both.

The Prestige

Christopher Priest

The mind bender. This is some of the most astonishing magic and obscure science that has ever been penned in the same source. The dark clashes with the black as the struggle towards success is tested with no limitations to the acts to expose the truth.

Beloved

Toni Morrison

The one I’ll never forget. It is by far the strangest book I have ever read. And probably the only book that took days after I finished reading it to even begin to understand it. Certainly the most misrepresented novel from the beginning. Reading it heightened my ability to think outside the box and forced me to find my own interpretation.

Déja Dead

Kathy Reichs

The scientific one. This is one of the most realistic murder mysteries in my forensic repertoire. It is the only to detail the process, what we really want to hear, instead of just the final conclusion. We learn that, in fact, there is no such thing as a perfect crime.

The Kite Runner

Khaled Hossini

The moving one. So much about this novel makes it a mystifying read. I encountered moments where my mind would cringe at the image in my head and the only thing I could do was set aside the book to let the image fade. This book functions as a history lesson as well as a guide for morality. For more impressions see my Illusive Decency blog

Interred With Their Bones

Jennifer Lee Carrell

The hybrid. It functions as a history, geography, and literature lesson while misdirecting me the whole way. It was an interesting paradigm of Shakespeare the man, the idea, and the works. Leaving only one question unanswered. Are you a Stratfordian theorist?

Illusive Decency

The remaining houses of the once vibrant Wazir Akbar Khan neighborhood now stooped to the powers that ruled from within them. Young boys were forced into becoming men and the dignified men into followers. Yet, through it all, there were some who saw every ounce of the strife for what it was and not what it was made out to be. Those who understood would have agreed, “War doesn’t negate decency. It demands it, even more than in times of peace.” (Hosseini 115)

I don’t think I could have prepared myself for the mental turbulence that The Kite Runner generated. I began reading this novel with the ignorant idea that I knew what had happened and what was happening with the turmoil in Afghanistan. It wasn’t until after I had made quite a bit of progress that I realized that what was being discussed bore no resemblance to what I had previously heard or understood. In some ways it was an enlightening process. The more I read the more I was able to piece together Afghanistan’s past. The history lesson in this story is remarkable. Author Khaled Hosseini does a great service to his country to bring attention to its situation. But more importantly is the manner in which he chooses to do so. By far the most jarring character is Baba, the knowledgeable, strong, and individualistic father of Amir, and later Hassan.

The words of Baba force me to rethink every thought and prior action made throughout the book. They were moving, they were striking, but above all they are correct. I found his views on war, peace, and decency to be just that. When I reconsider, war, in fact, does not “negate decency.” Some might argue that the act of killing would automatically invalidate such a claim; however, when I think deeper about the purpose of war, I better understand this quote. The war in Afghanistan may seek to redistribute power, however, it also seeks to improve lives. To one group, an idea of opposition may seem unjustly forced but to the other side such idea must hold valued significance in the benefit of one or both groups. In such a light, war becomes less a battle to the death but more a struggle for development, requiring the cooperation and decency of both parties. Baba uses his prickling words as a response to a Russian soldier demanding a price for passage into Pakistan. Although his risk may have seemed unwise at the time, his decency to explain his reasoning again proves his argument.

Torn by the decency of men, Afghanistan and its people have found themselves smothered by some of the strongest radical forces including the Taliban, Mujahideen, and Soviets. Plagued by such uncontrollable authority, Baba’s words quell the fears of Amir, Hassan, and their society. In times of peace, the demand of civility is strong; however, in times of war that demand increases ten fold. “War doesn’t negate decency.” War should be viewed as a struggle for the future, a future that finds peace at the heart of all conflict. Where “hope is merely currency” and “death is not the last unknown.” (Teng)