Happy Holidays 2015

Thanks for the hard work during Finals Week, gentle student. Enjoy your break. Eat some good food. Drink some good coffee.


Curl up with a good (trilogy project) book.


We'll see you next year.

1st Practice AP Exam... now what?

Alright, gentle test-takers, we have survived our first practice AP English Literature multiple choice exam. Thank you for your willingness to give it a good effort. While I personally enjoy matching my literary wits against things from time to time, there is nothing fun about this exam.


With that said, please direct your attention to our AP English Notes tab on the blog. There you will find a link to AP Pass where you can plug and chug some of your test scores (which now includes both the multiple choice exam and some essay scores from first quarter...). Voila! you know where you currently stand on the 1-5 AP Scale. More importantly, you know how much further you need to climb to reach the score you need for college credit.


Use this information wisely. In other words, motivation before frustration.


My suggestion on what to do next? Brush up on your literary devices vocabulary...

Poe's Beak

I love it when Poe's manic "The Raven" speaker proclaims "Take thy beak from out my heart!" Shouting at that dumb bird as it pluckily perches on the pale bust of Pallas, he delivers an all-time great line. The irony here is that it is he, the manic speaker, unknown to himself, that speaks from a position of wisdom and not the bird who symbolically clings to Athena's brain. If only the speaker could hear himself.

Clearly the bird is the antagonist here; surely the speaker is antagonized. And yet, right there, smack dab in the very middle of his stress, he announces his own remedy.

"Take thy beak from out my heart!"

And yet it appears that he is so focused on the bloody bird that he fails to consider his own advice. Or rather, he fails to assign the correct person with the power in this scenario. Clearly he suggests the bird holds the power:

"Hey bird, take your stupid beak out of here!"

But surely it is the speaker--and only the speaker--who truly holds that power:

"Hey bird, I'm hurtin' here. I need to move away from that beak!"

Poe nails despair. True despair, the kind generated by high doses of grief, begets despair if left unchecked. And that dang raven is no friend. His job isn't to antagonize our gentle speaker to peace; he isn't there to help our speaker "work through it." In fact, the raven is there to plunge the speaker ever further down the slope, ironically shouting his own cures at himself on the way down. Too off balance to notice, too self-loathing to care. Every bit a despairing man.

"Take thy beak from out my heart!"

It's like a poetic version of carbon monoxide poisoning: I was always told that you can't save yourself from carbon monoxide (a stern reminder from my Driver's Ed teacher, about safety first). If Poe is right, then he seems to suggest the same thing about real despair and how to truly defeat it.

Buddy system, people.

What is College Worth?

John Cassidy's article from The New Yorker, College Calculus: What's the real value of higher education?

How to Take Down Bruegel

AP writing season is officially open, and our second stab at poetic analysis this year comes with a double helping of Dutch Renaissance painter Pieter Bruegel. Apparently he painted a bunch of masterpieces for the sole purpose of being used years later by poets who needed help expressing their poetry.

Ok, not quite. W. H. Auden and Sylvia Plath can hold their own. In fact, they are giants in the field. Which begs the question, gentle reader: why do Auden or Plath need Bruegel?

Answer: they don't. But wow, he sure comes in handy.

Consider exhibit A:

Auden's Musee des Beaux Arts explores the theme of inevitable, ubiquitous, unnoticed suffering. Auden's first stanza compliments the "old Masters" and their portrayal of suffering's "human position" in the world: as just one more thing. The interaction between things, events, people, and suffering...

...you know what, let's pause right there. Rather than make this a mini-sermon on what is the theme of the poem, let's focus on tactics for tackling our essay prompt:

How does a painting complement a theme?

or

How does x complement y?

or

How does x "complete or make better" y?

The first distinction we should make is that we are talking about the poets' theme, not the poem entire. It is the idea that is sharpened or bettered by the painting. As stated earlier, these two writers do not need help conveying their ideas. What they did was deliberately use a readily available resource that captures their idea and stands on its own.

As a concrete, tangible model. To be put under the microscope and pointed at.

Rather than say "like this" or "like this" a bunch of times (similes get so stale, don't they???) these two poets found a painting to use as the simile and simply referred to its details as support.

Pretty crafty. Well done, you crafty poets.

Our task is to explain how this simile-painting-model complements--or makes better--the initial idea--or theme--presented by the poet.

Suffering. Inevitable suffering. Ubiquitous suffering. Unnoticed suffering. Huh? I kind of get it, but can't quite put it into... Oh! Icarus drowning (suffering) and no one paying attention? The ploughman also suffering (because plowing fields is really hard work) and no one paying attention? The shepherd suffering (because shepherding sheep is really boring work) and no one paying attention? Yep, that is pretty ubiquitous, pretty inevitable. Very unnoticed. It makes sense in the painting.

Same with Plath's ideas in Two Views of a Cadaver Room. Whatever is happening in section 1 is being handled with the same attitude as whatever is happening with those "Flemish lovers" in section 2. Now, how does x (the Flemish lovers) complete or sharpen the ideas of y (whatever is happening in section 1)?

Whatever it is, please use complete sentences.

Welcome Back

Welcome Back. Our first lesson is in redundancy.

The Real World Admittedly Anxious, Unsure About Readiness to be Entered by This Year's Grads

With annual graduation deadlines looming around the nation, the Real World admitted to sources yesterday that he is just not sure if he's ready.

"I just don't know if I'm there yet," he said in an informal press conference held at his home. "I mean, look at this place. There's just a ton of stuff to do around here, and those graduates are coming, ready or not."

"Actually, I could use a little help," he added, holding out a Swiffer.

Census data shows just how much of the country's economic success rides on these graduates entering, and no one feels this pressure more acutely than the Real World.

"Look, it's a no-brainer," he said as he snapped another yellow latex glove over his knuckles. "I know what's at stake. I know those graduates expect to enter. But look at that oven grease. It's not going to clean itself."

Despite the heavy workload that he is expected to shoulder each late spring, the Real World does concede that things aren't as bad as they seem.

"It used to be worse," he said. "Back in the '70s and '80s, the fashionable thing to do was to 'go hit the Real World.' Well, I can tell you, that was a dark period in my life."

"Do you like being punched?" he asked. "It's a rhetorical question. I still can't lift my left arm fully over my head. Even with the rehab."

But the Real World is optimistic about this year's timetable.

"I got an early start," he said transferring the laundry from the washer to the dryer. "I marathoned all my favorite shows on Netflix this year, so I honestly didn't have anything else to do."

"Don't you worry about me," he stated. "I'll be ready."

Time Stamp #15

Only 3 months until Beowulf.

That's Elmo's World

So. There is a Hamlet reference in an episode of Elmo's World in which the classic character "Kingfish" signs off at the end of the episode by saying "[a]dieu. Remember me."

Just like King Hamlet! The old Ghost-King from Act 1!

That makes it all worth it.

Literature does have a fundamentally essential place in this world.

It will help you in a very tangible and quantifiable way.

In the real world as opposed to the fake one.

Because let's be clear. If you didn't catch that reference (in the biz, we call that an allusion, young gentle reader) then surely you would fail to grasp the intricacies of that final moment in that one episode starring that one furry red puppet-monster.

And we wouldn't want that. That's what we're about here. Saving you. One totally random allusion at a time.

Motif Madness

In the Literary World a motif can be defined as "a conspicuous element which occurs frequently in works of literature." Motifs are sometimes misunderstood or overinflated or confused with other elements like theme; and therefore we, gentle reader, treat them as a bigger difficulty than what they are intended to be.

And what they are intended to be is an easily identifiable trigger. Something we are meant to see, without much digging. To simply announce something else about to happen. No heavy lifting, then.

These conspicuous elements might include a type of incident, like the prince encountering the "loathly lady" who later turns out to be a beautiful princess in folklore.

Or a device, like Old King Hamlet visiting Hamlet to whet his appetite or memory or resolve or whatever. In fact, Elizabethan ghosts of any kind typical stand as a device to inform or advance the plot.

Or a reference. A conspicuous reference. Like anytime the Sandlot kids bring up The Great Bambino to Smalls, who has no clue about baseball. Every time the kids talk about The Babe is a reference to the greatest ballplayer of all time, but it's really a nod to how Smalls has a lot to learn. And he does.

Or a formula. Man/Woman bewitched by sorcerer/bad guy (think Snow White and the Witch or Hawkeye and Loki). We know they are coming back, right? Three strikes and you're done (think 3 pigs or 3 bears or 3 cries wolf or 3 movies against the Empire or 3 swings against the Green Knight). Formulas need solving. The motifs trigger our conclusion. That sounds like foreshadowing, and there's nothing too fancypants about that.

Music is another source of practice. Just pop in Marvel's The Avengers, close your eyes and let the music tell you who just stepped on screen. Each character carries with him/her a unique musical motif. Patriotic horns for Captain America; cool hard rock for Iron Man; other-worldly strings for Thor; you get the picture.

Or how about the Joker's motif from Dark Knight? A single, wavering, dissonant note played on a cello. Subtle and uncomfortable. Good groundwork to lay before the Joker even jumps on screen. Escalating in dissonance and volume as he becomes more agitated on screen.

Back to print. Motifs aren't fancy, and they aren't meant to be difficult. In fact, we sometimes skip over them because we feel that this thing is so obvious. It can't possibly be what we're looking for in English class. But that's the very nature of being conspicuous. So keep those eyes (and ears) wide open.

Because We Should Be Curious

Dear AP Crowd,

We just took a practice multiple choice test. In case you want to plug in some phantom scores: http://appass.com/calculators/englishliterature.

That Old Dystopian Chestnut

So, it's that mandatory time in any dystopian unit when I, the teacher, assign you, gentle student, to go out and find articles.


That's right. You need to find articles. Two of them. On the following topics:


Polity, Education, Religion, Economy, Family


The assignment is simple. Find articles. And then bring them to class tomorrow.


You've done this before. Go forth, you have been told, by every teacher ever who wanted to make a "real world connection" between the assigned text and, you know, the real world. Find articles. And the bring them to class.


Hey what did you do last night for English homework?


I finded articles.


That's it? What was the assignment?


To find articles.


What are you doing with them, now that you've found them?


Don't know. Don't suppose we'll specify much in class tomorrow either. If reading Atwood or Bradbury or Orwell or Huxley doesn't already hint at what we're doing with them, then the answer is, nothing.


To quote the board: Ominous Tendencies.

Observation #41

I've looked into it. Some really were born to sing the blues.

Best $100 Spent in Literature

 

"Celestial Eyes" by Francis Cugat

The (Frightening?) Lower Frequencies

"Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you?"

Awesome line, Invisible Man. Well played. But now for us, gentle reader, the audience, context matters.

"Who knows"

Implying a gray area, an unknown. Possibly rhetorical? We need context.

"Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies"

Just the lower frequencies, down there where the wavelengths exist under the noise, the chaos, the hubbub of the imperfect, justified world. Just like where he resides, in his hole. Underneath. Context?

"Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you?"

Are you okay with him speaking for you? Am I?

Context matters. It's not even the quote that needs deconstructing. It is the sentence that precedes it.

"And it is this which frightens me: Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you?"

I apologize for the party trick. No need to omit the most crucial part except for some cheap drama. (Do you feel shocked?) But let us consider now what is frightening about this final line, this last idea of one man speaking for another. Let us consider why this frightens our introspective, level-headed, universalist, unnamed, narrator. After all, it is he who is frightened by this, not us. So is it because of what it means for him? Or for us? Or for all of us?

So consider it.

Hey, AP crowd:

Schmoop is not your friend.

Rinehart Says: Stop Reading!

Ellison's creation, Rinehart, appears in the latter chapters of Invisible Man as a symbolic ghost of duality. We don't ever "see" Rinehart, only our nameless narrator assuming his persona  and the many titles that come with this persona.

Gambler.
Runner.
Lover.
Pimp.
Reverend.
Cool guy with the cool hat and the cool shades.

Our narrator dons the sunglasses, slightly dimming his view of the world, only to have his eyes opened to the very real notion of being many things to many people, all at once.

Is Ellison suggesting that Rinehart is a contradiction? A paradox? Or just some guy who, like ourselves, is many things to many people, all at once?

Well, gentle reader, I say: who cares? Make no mistake, it's a great topic for discussion---the notion of duality while maintaining personal integrity---but let us jump right over that quagmire into a second, more pressing issue. Because our narrator does a fine job "being" Rinehart, of "being" many things to many people. A talent, to be sure, to assume not just one identity, but several. He can play Rinehart all day long. But at the end of that fun day, he's still merely playing.

When he stops playing Rinehart, what then?

The entire Rinehart sequence happens at the end of the novel, so our narrator has had plenty of time to move his identity token away from innocence/naivety and squarely into experience. But has he come far enough? Does he have his own titles that naturally come with his own persona? Does his persona exist yet?

Which brings us to another critical juncture: what does Rinehart suggest about our very conduct in the English classroom? About reading in general? After all, don't we read to assume a different identity, to poke around in different worlds, to try on someone else's perspective, to labor around in somebody else's issues? And don't the really good books challenge us and placate us and entertain us and secure us in our own understanding of the world?

And doesn't there come the moment when we put the book down? When we stop playing the title character? Well, what then?

The ultimate goal of any quality fiction is to enlighten us. Somehow. Through conflict, through philosophy, through humor, danger, fear, fun. But the "lightening" part cannot occur until (unless?) we put the book down and return to living. Forward momentum. Doing stuff. Whether it's fantastic stuff not, it is our stuff.  Like our narrator and Rinehart's hat. It's fun to play, but then---

So we beat on...

Just kidding.

The Plaid of the 90's

To commemorate this week's Spirit Days, I am officially taking Plaid Day, popping it into the Time Machine, cooking on high for 90 seconds, stirring and voila! we have Flannel Day.

Welcome back, grunge rock!

 Here are a few random tidbits that may or may not help on Trivia Crack:

*Before deciding on Pearl Jam, the band originally called themselves Mookie Blaylock. They had to give the name up because the real Mookie Blaylock, then-NBA All-Star guard for the New Jersey Nets, still existed.
*90's Super Group Temple of the Dog features members from both Soundgarden and Pearl Jam, and the band's only release was an album paying tribute to friend and fallen bandmate Andrew Wood.
*Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain died at the age of 27, the same age as Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Amy Winehouse at the time of their deaths.
*Most of the bands residing in Seattle were friends. Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder was roommates with Soundgarden singer/guitarist Chris Cornell when he first hit town.
*Dave Grohl, currently of Foo Fighters fame, was not the original drummer for Nirvana, but after auditioning, Kurt Cobain was so impressed with "how hard he hit the drums" the band re-recorded several songs that eventually became radio staples, like In Bloom, with Grohl on the drum kit.
*While both were still alive, Cobain and Vedder apparently didn't like each other very much, because of the fame thing. In later interviews, Vedder would state that there was not a direct rivalry and that Cobain was a very "quiet, sweet guy."
*The Seattle Big Four refers to Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Alice in Chains, and Soundgarden. Only two of those bands still exist today. Only one of those bands has existed continuously since its inception to now.

 

*Kurt Cobain only wanted to "write a little pop song" with Smells Like Teen Spirit. Instead, he changed the course of rock music forever.

*To the best of my knowledge, all of these guys read Beowulf in high school. So you see?

I Find it Kind of Funny

I find it kind of sad.

Happy Birthday Nick!

At the end of chapter seven of The Great Gatsby, Nick Carraway remembers that it is his birthday.

"I just remembered, today's my birthday."

As a sidebar. As a by-the-way. As a tweet to nobody. To reinforce the lack of audience, it is only Tom who responds with a mechanical "Happy birthday" while nursing a whisky at the bar.

Well, as coincidence would have it, we are currently studying chapter seven of The Great Gatsby, and today is my birthday.

Huh. "I just remembered. Today's my birthday." Thirty-five for me. That's five years Nick's elder. When I first started teaching Gatsby, I looked up to Nick as a voice of experience. Because he had years on me. But no more.

I am now older than Nick. As well as Biff and Happy Loman. I am now over a decade older than Beowulf must have been when he enters Heorot Hall to defeat Grendel. I am older than Hamlet and all of Lear's daughters. I'm old enough to be Holden's father. To offer marital advice to John Proctor. To grieve with George about Lennie and to scold Bernard Marx about John. To stand shoulder to shoulder with Reverend Dimmesdale and to run away from Anton Chigurh.

I don't know what any of this means. Except to suggest that this is another cool thing about reading: the constancy of books.

No man, no. I get older. They stay the same age. Yes they do.

Or, stated more poetically, "can I handle the seasons of my life?" I believe I can, with characters standing firmly before, alongside, and behind me.

Where we start, where we finish

Two days into my freshman year at college, I had a professor correct me on the phone:

"It's Doctor, not Professor."

Oh, I thought. Huh. Doctor, Professor, whatever. I was just glad I had remembered to say something other than Miss or Missus, which I knew was not correct collegiate etiquette, and I naively thought I would be well received for my supposed manners.

"It's Doctor, not Professor."

I felt like an idiot. I was embarrassed. And totally pissed off at this woman.

Give me a break. After all, I was calling her because she was my faculty advisor for that year, the woman who would sign off on my schedule, recommend me to classes, or wave me off of others. It was a mandatory thing, but I was excited about it because she was an English prof, someone I wanted to know working in the department I wanted to work with. I had stopped by her office earlier that day only to find a note suggesting that she wasn't available (like I had been told she would be) and could I call her at such and such a time to chat. Like she had a life or something.

"It's Doctor, not Professor."

This women was condescending. That was the issue, gentle reader. After all, I'm, well, me. I don't appreciate being corrected. About anything. By anyone. Ever. Especially by a woman I had never met.

Man, am I glad I finally met her.

It didn't happen until almost three years later. We took care of the schedule-counseling thing over the phone, and I was promptly switched to another faculty advisor. Most of us were. Apparently her adopted daughter was severely sick that semester, and she had life or something to deal with.

"It's Doctor, not Professor."

I didn't even know she had children on that particular day. And I am positive that she did not mean to convey anything by her correction other than the baseline, uttermost fundamental idea that I --- a puke-faced freshman she did not know --- had not provided her with the proper title. Hence the term correction. I wish I would have known all these things, because Doctor Professor turned out to be one of the best and one of my favorite instructors at school. And I wasted two years kind of hating her and a third year kind of avoiding her until my senior year rolled around and I finally took her.

She was phenomenal. As a teacher, as a lover of literature, as an expert resource, as a human being. Talk about time wasted.

"It's Doctor, not Professor."

Indeed. I started by hating her for that comment. I finished by making that comment about her on her behalf. Shame on me for taking so long to get there.

By the way, don't let the setting throw you; this isn't a teacher-student-centric story. I hope it's bigger than that. I know I've remembered it as bigger than that.

Let's Use Some Data

I found a nice tool to predict your AP English Literature & Composition exam score at http://appass.com/calculators/englishliterature. This will help you target which portion of the exam needs more of your attention moving forward.

Reading Challenges: Ellison's Invisible Man

A few things to consider as we crack open Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man, a daunting yet rewarding read. Be aware of the following:

LENGTH AND DEPTH

This book requires reading stamina.
This book requires multiple readings of key passages.
This book requires diligence in working with symbolism, allusion, and historical context.
This book requires patience, because we will not absorb everything.

HISTORICAL KNOWLEDGE

Familiarizing ourselves with the historical context of this book is critically important to fully understanding and appreciating Ellison's ideas:
-1940s and '50s America
-Booker T. Washington
-The Harlem Renaissance
-Louis Armstrong and jazz
-Communism and the Red Scare
-More...

And please have a working definition of motif handy as we will encounter several recurring motifs as early as the Prologue. Printed right there on the page. In black and white.

I am pumped for this book!

In case you're keeping score at home:

Luchesi really is an ignoramus.

Poe's "White Canvass"

The Cask of Amontillado is one of Edgar Allan Poe's most popular short stories, and for good reason. It is dark; it is entertaining; it is suspenseful; it is compact. And if we look to connect all of these attributes with on common thread, one way to do it is to consider Poe's lack of excess. If we take a close look, gentle reader, we might notice that Poe excises exposition from this tale like a surgeon wielding a scalpel. There is nothing, nothing included that does not need to be. The opening assumption that we understand his mind (and therefore tacitly support what he's doing); the "thousand injuries" which never become clearer than that (are we talking emotional injuries? physical? did Fortunato cause Montresor to tear a meniscus playing flag football?); the grotesque gesture, a sign of the Mason's, later given by Fortunato that remains obscure and more of a means of ironic insult than a secret-society handshake... it all adds up to what is not on the page that makes this story fun. And suspenseful. And cruel.

Poe's lack of excess moves things along, with a poet's rhythm. It establishes a dark casualness about the action, culminating in a casual, semi-aware burial of the motley Fortunato. It allows for the un-commented on word-play of the name Fortunato, substituted instead for family crests and mottos, given in un-transcribed Latin (thank you, textbook footnotes!).

Poe's lack of excess exists in the negative space of the story. It is a detail not there. It resides in the white space of the canvass. And as fun as it is to enjoy a story like this, and to be put under its spell, it is harder work to analyze this component because we need to discuss the omission of details. We are required to talk in the lack. Harder, yes, but more rewarding. Discovering what Poe leaves off his page, and then understanding why these details precisely compose this sinister story will create in us an even keener ability to recognize the selection of details that make great stories great.

We are again talking about the challenging task of explaining how language impacts meaning. How style emphasizes theme. Why details, or the lack of them, matter. And not only in our reading them, but how we as communicators choose to give, or withhold, as needed.

Important Reminder:

Daisy Buchanan is the worst.

2nd Semester = Official AP Exam Prep

It is fair to say that with the start of second semester comes a sincere look at AP test preparation. This is accompanied by a whole host of emotions ranging from slight anxiety to vomitous panic to megalomaniacal arrogance. (That last one doesn't really exist; just wanted to use the word.)

I have learned of a website called Learnerator that has some good stuff. I encourage you to check it out and start the madness.

Happy clicking.

In other news, Steinbeck is awesome. Any rumblings to the contrary are simply untrue. Remember, gentle reader, sometimes different means wrong.

"I like the third Hunger Games book this much."

Driving in a Winter Wonderland

There are three kinds of Winter Weather drivers. Now I'm talking about snow on the ground, icy patches, there are probably cars in the ditch somewhere Winter Weather conditions:

1. The Deer In Headlights: scared beyond all recognition, camped out in the left lane of the expressway, driving 18 miles per hour, unmovable. This person is still wearing the hat, scarf, mittens combo first put on to scrape off the windshield. It is now 88 degrees inside the vehicle, evidenced by the fogged out windows, but Deer does not mind. Nay, Deer does not even notice. Deer bothers Professional Non-Doer because Deer refuses to move over to the right-hand lane, even though it is perfectly plowed.

2. The Honey Badger with AWD: mad as all get out that your vehicle is in his (her) way because in front of you is the vacant space of about 5 meters before hitting the next car. And the next car. And the next car. And Honey Badger is mad at them as well. You see, HB has to prove that his (her) car is awesome in the snow, so to prove this awesomeness, HB does things in the snow that he (she) wouldn't do on a sunny summer day. Because we haven't seen the ads on TV illustrating the non-skid capabilities of a Nissan Maxima or Chevy Malibu. And we aren't familiar with the traction of a Jeep Cherokee or Land Rover. And so Honey Badger shows us all of these things in real life. This bugs Professional Non-Doer because no matter how many times HB veers into the right lane and pulls up alongside and then falls back behind into the left lane to tailgate, Professional Non-Doer cannot transmute space, time, or the wall of car bumpers stacked up in front of him out of the way. Sorry Honey Badger.

3. Everybody else: just trying to get to work (or wherever) in one piece. If that means traveling at or below the speed limit, so be it. If that means driving in the only plowed lane of a two-lane highway for big stretches of the trip, even behind someone traveling slower than we might, so be it. If that means leaving earlier and not at the same time or (just to tempt the Fates) later than usual, so be it. If that ultimately means arriving late because sometimes it has to happen to ensure safety rather than beating on the steering wheel and pointing maliciously at fellow drivers through the fogged out windows of a car that is still entirely covered in snow except for a 4X5 portal wiped off the windshield and tearing by someone only to cut them off to prove some ideal of galactic importance and deciding to turn onto heavily trafficked streets not because there is space to do so but because you decided that you have waited long enough, so be it.

Assignment: Place Daisy Buchanan in the appropriate category and explain why.

Ready, Steady, Go: Short Stories

Our short stories list, with some links to full text:


The Story of an Hour by Kate Chopin
A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O'Connor
The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
Babylon Revisited by F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe
A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner
Happy Endings by Margaret Atwood


We have a small journal activity to push us through, but let's keep it simple: our task here is to kick that literary space heater part of our brains back into action. So let us haggle with the language, let us sort out plot from theme, and let us write, write, write about it.