The Lattice 2021-2022

STUDENT WRITING FROM THE MONTCLAIR KIMBERLEY ACADEMY UPPER SCHOOL 2021-2022

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Student Editors

Faculty Editors

Eniola Adebola, ‘25 Iliana Weisberg, ‘23

Lily Cui Paul Cunningham Patty Forbes Steve Valentine Kerry Verrone

Contributing Writers Brennan Columbia-Walsh, ‘22 Julian Coviello, ‘23 Willow Delp, ‘22 Izy Feraca, ‘22 Hailey Fouche, ‘23 Logan Furlonge, ‘23 Margaret Horn, ‘24 Cindy Hu, ‘22 Dhruv Jetley, ‘22 Willow Killebrew, ‘25 Lily Piede, ‘22 Kira Rasheed, ‘23 Temira Weisberg, ‘23 Kitty Williams, ‘24

Editor-in-chief: Noah Weinberg, ‘22 Junior Editors: Margaret Horn, ‘24 and Carolina Lucas, ‘23 Faculty Advisor: Caroline Toman 2

Artwork: Julia Petrocelli, ‘20 Note from the Editor Unique it its message and extraordinary in its level of prowess, Montclair Kimberley Academy’s humanities programs and its students have never fallen short of the mark of excellency.

Nevertheless, over the past few decades, the students’ work in MKA’s English, History, and even World Language Departments stood alone not only in brilliancy but in their unprecedented incorporation of both meaningful tradition and constantly evolving vibrancy. Coming into the 2021-2022 with in-person school and fewer COVID restrictions, students and teachers alike found themselves in the midst of an entirely new environment, one neither normal nor completely shut down. Even so, students wasted no time in immersing themselves in unfamiliar and constantly changing social and intellectual settings here at MKA, thereby throwing caution to the wind as they continued to craft thought-provoking, creative, and skillfully-articulated pieces surrounding literature and today’s world. With our 2021-2022 issue, The Lattice percussively exhibits the remarkable writing students have submitted to our MKA Humanities classes in what has become year two of a most unprecedented decade. We hope you find in their daring determination and exquisite prose a certain inspiration in an uncertain time.

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Table of Contents Shifting the Gaze: An Examination of Things Fall Apart……..7 Cindy Hu Breaking the Chains of Morality: Power’s Inevitable Path to Corruption in Frankenstein……..17 Margaret Horn Ethan Frome: Critical Passage Analysis……..26 Temira Weisberg Elbow Patches and Baby Flesh: An In-Class Analysis of Dr. Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal……..32 Brennan Columbia-Walsh The Duality and Complexity of Human Nature: On Human Nature by Edward O. Wilson and Its Political Implications……..38 Willow Delp Falling Backwards? Or Forwards? Or Both?: Denzel Washington Speech Analysis........45 Kira Rasheed Broken Brexit: Why Britain’s Departure from the EU Failed from the Start……..50 Lily Piede Orwell as Benjamin: Symbol Analysis in Animal Farm……..55 Willow Killebrew The Help: A Literary Critique……..61 4

Izy Feraca Macbeth Character Analysis: Lady Macbeth’s Self-Deception……..66 Kitty Williams The Myth of Eurydice and Orpheus……..76 Hailey Fouché The God of Small Things Book Bento Box……..83 Dhruv Jetley Nervous Conditions Exhibition……..91 Logan Furlonge A Letter to Coach Lali……..94 Julian Coviello The Barrier Between You and Me……..101 Anonymous

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Shifting the Gaze An Examination of Things Fall Apart Cindy Hu

In this analysis of Things Fall Apart, Cindy Hu examines how the social hierarchies and culture of Igbo Clan result in a cycle of violence that the protagonist of the novel, Okonkwo, finds himself wrestling with. Hu explains how this cycle is not innate; but rather due to generations of forced stereotypes and hierarchies. Hu spends time discussing Chinua Achebe’s representation of the complexities of African culture, comparing the author’s depiction of African tribes to Western narratives. Throughout the piece, Hu is challenging her audience to rethink how they interact with all depictions of African people and culture.

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S tartling discrepancies often arise when comparing history’s retelling from two different points of view. Ultimately, the legacy of any event depends on its writer just as much as the bare facts. This is especially true for non-Africans writing about Africa: traditional European novels often showcase an incomplete story, depicting native Africans as less sophisticated human beings in need of white colonization. Author Chinua Achebe tackles this issue with his book Things Fall Apart, which chronicles the experiences of the Igbo warrior Okonkwo when the arrival of white missionaries threatens the culture of his people. Thus, Achebe’s work is meant to offer a fresh perspective on colonization. Although the book is about a specific African tribe, it is just as relevant for a white audience as it is for those who might see themselves reflected in the tribe members. Throughout Things Fall Apart, Achebe immerses readers in the Igbo clan’s complex communication customs and demonstrates how incidents of violence and toxic masculinity result from the community’s social hierarchy, effectively combating the limiting stereotypes highlighted by the viewpoint shift to the District Commissioner in the final chapter.

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The start of the book introduces the highly developed Igbo culture complete with proverbs and storytelling traditions, drawing a sharp contrast with the white European novels that describe native Africans as incapable of civilized communication. This depiction is first evinced when a man named Okoye visits Unoka, the protagonist’s father, to persuade him to pay his debts. Okoye brings a kola nut, an object of ceremonial significance indicating respect, and invites Unoka to break it. He then talks in proverbs for “half a dozen sentences” (Achebe 7).

Proverbs indicate a level of communication beyond the literal meaning of the words exchanged, meaning that they are the byproduct of a sophisticated culture.

Sophistication is a hallmark of wisdom and depth, suggesting that this description of native Africans does not match the work of other authors. For example, native African tribes are deemed “prehistoric” and likened to a “madhouse” in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (Conrad 139). Prehistoric beings are certainly not expected to use proverbs, and the term “madhouse” implies that they are inherently uncivilized. Here, the difference in perspective is significant: Heart of Darkness is mostly narrated by a white man, whereas Things Fall Apart immerses readers in a non-European point of view from the start. But besides using proverbs, Igbo natives also use storytelling as a form of communication. For example, mothers tell tales of “the tortoise and his wily ways” and “the quarrel between Earth and Sky” to their children (Achebe 53). Storytelling brings families together while forming a hierarchy between men, women, and children. It’s also an indication of leisure: those too occupied with basic survival would never have the time to compose or

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share stories. On the other hand, as author Binyavanga Wainaina notes in his “How to Write About Africa” essay, European authors often depict African characters as “empty inside, with no dialogue” (Wainaina 4). Achebe’s detailed descriptions of Igbo language customs directly challenge these assumptions. As a whole, the natives’ use of proverbs and storytelling is starkly different from how Africans are portrayed in other texts: not only are they able to communicate with one another, but they are also able to do so with metaphors and tact.

Next, Achebe shows how toxic masculinity can be derived from the clan’s social hierarchy rather than some innate violence that natives retain, which keeps his portrayal of Igbo culture as realistic as possible. Okonkwo is a flawed character: he beats his biological son Nwoye so often the boy develops into a “sad-faced youth” and cuts down his foster son Ikemefuna with a machete because he fears “being thought weak” (Achebe 14, 61). These examples serve to counter the Igbo traditions of treating others respectfully, speaking in proverbs, and sharing folk stories.

Okonkwo’s penchant for violence even confirms some of Conrad’s descriptions of the “madhouse” in Heart of Darkness. But Achebe makes it clear that Okonkwo’s actions are due to his upbringing rather than an absence of empathy. Okonkwo’s father Unoka was “a failure” who was constantly in debt and described as agbala, a derogatory term for a man of no status (Achebe 5, 13). As a result, Okonkwo is “dominated by fear [of failure and weakness]…lest he should be found to resemble his father” (Achebe 13). As a child, Okonkwo was greatly affected by his father’s poor social status; consequently, he equates success with anything his father is not.

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Because his father was a gentle and somewhat effeminate music lover, Okonkwo associates violence with success and masculinity. This is why he treats Nwoye, Ikemefuna, and many others with a heavy hand. But he is not a heartless character: after killing Ikemefuna he is unable to “taste any food for two days” (Achebe 63). Since Ikemefuna’s death causes Okonkwo such emotional anguish, his actions must have been driven by fear. Ultimately, Okonkwo’s behavior is a product of Igbo culture’s gender norms. This also ties into the tribe’s penchant for storytelling: Okonkwo often invites Nwoye and Ikemefuna into his hut to tell them violent stories to toughen them. Storytelling doesn’t always have to bring up images of gentleness; it can also serve as a rite of passage or a procedure that turns boys into men. But even this custom feeds into toxic masculinity – boys who are raised on stories of violence can then become more violent themselves. Taken out of context, Okonkwo’s violent actions may make the natives seem like savages. But when considered along with the culture and traditions of the Igbo tribe, Okonkwo’s actions become understandable, prompting the reader to wonder why European authors would describe natives as savages in the first place.

The white District Commissioner’s lack of understanding of both the Igbo tribe’s complex oral traditions and notions of masculinity, made evident by a narrative shift from Okonkwo’s viewpoint to that of the District Commissioner in the final chapter, illustrates the dangerous dismissiveness of many European portrayals of native African tribes. In the last paragraph of Things Fall Apart, the District Commissioner reflects on “the many years in which he had toiled to bring

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civilization to Africa” (Achebe 208). Contrasted with twenty chapters about the complexity of Igbo culture, the image of a white missionary “toiling” to bring “civilization” to African tribes for “many years” is nearly comical. Not only is the District Commissioner implying that native Africans are uncivilized, but he’s also suggesting that they are firmly resistant to civilization and order. The juxtaposition between this new perspective and Okonkwo’s familiar one reminds readers of the danger of only listening to one side of the story. The missionaries are oblivious to the complexity of Igbo culture and are therefore completely dismissive of its customs. For example, Reverend Smith is “filled with wrath” when he hears about the mutilation of ogbanje children, changelings that torment their mothers by repeatedly dying and returning to be reborn (Achebe 185). Smith does not attempt to understand the motivation behind these actions before condemning them, only insisting that the ogbanje’s mother is a violent savage disfiguring a dead body. But the more “civilized” aspects of Igbo culture are also condemned: the District Commissioner finds the natives’ use of “superfluous words” extremely frustrating (Achebe 206). To the white missionaries, Igbo culture is either primitive and uncivilized or superfluous and infuriating. There is no in-between, so it is unsurprising that their written accounts on native Africans would be so limited.

The final paragraph of the book reveals that the District Commissioner has also fallen into this trap, having decided to write his own book titled “The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger” (Achebe 209). As previously mentioned, storytelling plays a significant role in Things Fall Apart, most notably as oral

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histories passed down in the clan. The District Commissioner’s final decision to record his version of the events in a book is especially ironic because his work, just like Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, will act as a legacy of the Igbo clan, while the tribe’s creative oral stories will likely be lost forever. The ending of Things Fall Apart is a warning and a prediction for the future of many uncolonized African regions: both the white missionaries’ treatment of natives and the tone of their expeditionary records reflect their lack of understanding of African culture. This dismissiveness is the reason behind the missionaries’ desire to impose European culture on an African tribe. Achebe therefore allows readers to compare and contrast the perspective of Okonkwo with that of the District Commissioner, noting how the missionaries’ misunderstanding of Igbo customs leads them to destroy a culture they refused to acknowledge.

Throughout Things Fall Apart, Achebe reminds readers of the disparity between different depictions of native African tribes. When the viewpoint shifts from Okonkwo to the District Commissioner in the final chapter, readers have already become well-acquainted with the complexity of Igbo culture. The key is that Achebe’s portrayal of Igbo culture is realistic rather than idealistic. Okonkwo may have a tendency to use violence to hide his insecurities, but this flaw can be attributed to a childhood spent at the bottom of the Igbo social hierarchy. This issue is juxtaposed with descriptions of the clan’s storytelling traditions and penchant for proverbs, creating a balanced and credible image of a complex culture that is tightly knit yet hierarchical. Achebe’s Things Fall Apart is therefore an effective response

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to the many European texts like Heart of Darkness that oversimplify the cultures of African tribes, ultimately depicting native Africans as unintelligent, unsophisticated, and in need of European intervention. History may be written by the victors, but the power is in the untold story, like the one brought to light by Chinua Achebe.

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Works Cited Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart. Penguin Books, 2017.

Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness.

Wainaina, Binyavanga. "Binyavanga Wainaina Tells Us 'How To Write About Africa.'" NPR, 22 May 2019, www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2019/05/22/725808622/binyavanga-waina ina-tells-us-how-to-write-about-africa.

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Breaking the Chains of Morality Power’s Inevitable Path to Corruption in Frankenstein Margaret Horn

Margaret Horn’s take on the classic 10th Grade Frankenstein Essay forces the reader to confront the woes of power. In her piece, “Breaking the Chains of Morality” Horn delves into the causes of Victor Frankenstein and his monster’s path to evil, death, and destruction. Utilizing Phillip Zimbardo’s “Psychology of Evil,” Horn describes how Victor’s thirst for power causes him to cast away mortality. In doing so, Horn examines Frankenstien and his monster’s tendencies to dehumanize others and refusal to acknowledge guilt.

The piece demonstrates clearly how Victor and the monster’s actions made their lack of morality by the end of the novel inevitable.

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here is unmistakable irony in the observation that those with the purest

of hearts and the largest capacities for kindness all too often fall first from the ledge of morality. While an individual’s mental and emotional predispositions certainly provide a basis for their thoughts and actions, the disappointing truth is that the shaping and directing of one’s ethical behavior in the world depends on a set of coincidental social circumstances. As Dr. Phillip Zombardo observed and reported in his “The Psychology of Evil” lecture of the late-20th century, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein provides a lens through which readers can thoughtfully observe how the chance acquisition of power initiates such moral decay. Time and time again, the pursuit and preservation of one’s dominion over others dissolves an individual’s moral compass and diminishes—and even eradicates—their humanity altogether.

Succumbing to the temptations of boundless power, Frankenstein and his monster’s dehumanization of others and rejection of personal responsibility towards their fellow man doom the father and son to an intertwined ruin.

In Shelley’s novel, the all-encompassing authority wielded by Victor and his scientific spawn over their fellow humans drives them to stray from the grounds of morality. More than a hundred and fifty years later, Dr. Phillip Zimbardo, the Stanford psychology professor made famous by his Stanford Prison Experiment of 18

1971, comments on this all too common descent to inequity: “If you give people power without oversight, it is a prescription for abuse” (Zimbardo 17:30-38).

Zimbardo explains his claim by referencing the Stanford Prison Experiment and the 2003 Abu Ghraib prison scandal, both of which revealed how typically decent, law-abiding citizens, when placed in positions of total dominion over vulnerable individuals, exercised inhumane torture and abuse. In the same way, Victor Frankenstein discovers a source of unwarranted control that precipitates his exile from virtue. During this pursuit of reanimating the dead, he notes, “Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world . . . No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve their’s” (Shelley 33). Victor’s words expose his determination to seize omnipotent knowledge and influence. However, as the first to cross the boundaries of previously fixed biological limitations, he thereby casts himself forever from Eden and instead toward a life of shame and fear. Victor’s monster, however, holds dominion over humans by way of his unnatural anatomical design. From his responses to Victor’s insults and attacks, the reader glimpses at how the use of physical suppression becomes the monster’s source of emotional alleviation: “Remember, thou hast made me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine, my joints more supple. But . . . I will be even mild and docile . . . if thou wilt also perform thy part . . . ” (68). The monster’s threat to Victor makes clear that, from the beginning of his quest for revenge, the daemon inflicts brutish cruelty over others only to soothe his salted wounds of complete social rejection.

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Thus, although driven by different motivations, both Frankenstein and the monster’s capitulation to the allure of available, absolute power reinforce Zimbardo's observation that the acquisition of such authority inevitably leads to a fall from human decency.

Furthermore, the Genevian scientist’s and the monster’s predilection for dehumanizing others in the face of toil doom them to lifetimes locked in evil’s tenacious grasp. Describing this ‘dehumanization of others’ as one of “The Seven Social Processes That Grease the Slippery Slope of Evil,” Dr. Zimbardo adduces the jarring parallels between the volunteer college students portraying prison guards in his experiment and the jailers at Abu Ghraib. Both groups, intoxicated with unchecked power, bagged the heads of their victims as a part of their degrading maltreatment (Zimbardo 16:32-17:18). Similarly, Victor disregards the inviolability of human graves while collecting materials for his scientific obsession. Victor explains to Walton that “. . . a church-yard was to me merely the receptacle of human bodies deprived of life . . . food for the worm. Now I was . . . forced to spend days and nights in vaults and charnel houses” (31). Both the guards’ and Frankenstein’s behavior suggests that the acquisition of unparalleled authority compels individuals to cast away their moral compass in order to preserve their newfound power. In a different way, Frankenstein’s monster abandons his regard for humanity, not to protect or expand his power, but to avoid emotional vulnerability and suffering. Seeking escape from the villagers’ repugnance toward him, the monster heads to the desolate woods, where he observes a young girl,

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Justine, as “ . . . blooming in the loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought, is one of those whose smiles are bestowed on all but me: she shall not escape . . .”

(101). The daemon justifies framing Justine for manslaughter in the same way that he justifies all his abhorrent actions: through the dehumanizing assumption that, regardless of their personal toils and identities, the sole purpose of all humankind is to reject him. Thus, like the guards in both the Prison Experiment and Abu Ghraib, Frankenstein and his monster objectify their fellow humans in efforts to protect their sense of security in power. In doing so, though, they untether themselves from the bounds of humanity and instead lock themselves within the confines of turpitude.

Finally, Frankenstein and the daemon’s inability to accept their own guilt for past wrongdoings etches their sins against humanity in stone. Zimbardo refers to the 1961 Milgram Experiment to percussively portray this “diffusion of personal responsibility” as another one of his “Seven Social Processes That Grease the Slippery Slope of Evil.” In the Milgram Experiment, more than five-hundred white-collar volunteers were told that, if they administered shock volts to another subject as a mode of teaching, they would not be held accountable for their chosen level of voltage. The experiment’s results revealed that sixty-five percent of the five-hundred “teachers” in Milgram’s study chose to administer extremely high-level voltage, four-hundred-fifty volts, to innocent Americans. (Zimbardo 9:36-12:16, 16:30-35). Just as this “diffusion of responsibility” encouraged these volunteers to so readily inflict harm on innocent strangers, Frankenstein’s immediate dismissal of

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his own responsibility in the gravity of his monster’s birth perpetuates lifetimes of pain, suffering, and irrevocable sin. He writes, “Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room . . . At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before endured; and I threw myself on the bed . . . to seek a few moments of forgetfulness” (36). Indeed, Victor’s initial unwillingness to carry the burden of his own creation foreshadows a future of denying his culpability: he constantly condemns the monster, he attempts to return to his old life, and he ultimately refuses all of the monster’s requests for happiness. Thus, Frankenstein’s own passivity intensifies the monster’s pain, resulting in the development of a violent criminal identity driven by the need for revenge. At the same time, the monster’s response to several of Victor’s denunciations exposes his own self-vindication. He explains to Victor of his misery:“I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all of mankind . . . Why should I pity man more than he pities me?” (102). Although the daemon’s claims to persecution are practically undeniable, his repudiation of any personal blame in his wrongdoings only serves to rationalize and preserve his nefarious pursuits of vengeance, steering both him and Victor toward lives of immense ruin. As Victor and his creation continue to unburden themselves from the weight of their personal wrongdoings, they too gradually sever their connection to humanity itself.

Although neither Victor Frankenstein nor his monster ever desire expulsion from the haven of moral righteousness, their shared embrace of complete authority over those weaker than themselves leads the two down a path of deplorable disgrace

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and torment. In the end, it is their willingness to excuse themselves from the moral and ethical accountability generated by sympathy for others which traps Victor and his offspring into lives of evil and suffering. This is an all too familiar human practice. Oftentimes, in positions of privilege, we find it more comfortable to distance ourselves from personal responsibility for circumstances we are too terrified to confront: the ravages of climate change, nationwide poverty, and international famine and injustices. By this practice of mental compartmentalization, of pretending those in need remain too far from our reach or responsibility, we manage to convince ourselves we have no real obligation or ability to help others. Therefore, just as Frankenstein and his monster dehumanize the identities of others and brush aside their dormant consciousness, we generalize individuals as not only helpless but also remote masses. As a result, we reinforce and perpetuate the delicate bubble of a society insulated by the power of privilege, unwilling to precipitate real change and thus preserving our own passive evil.

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Works Cited Zimbardo, Phillip. "The Psychology of Evil." TED, Feb. 2008, www.ted.com/talks/philip_zimbardo_the_psychology_of_evil. Accessed 10 Jan. 2022. Lecture.

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Ethan Frome Critical Passage Analysis Temira Weisberg

In these two passages, Temira Weisberg examines the themes and rhetorical devices present in Ethan Frome. In her first paragraph, Weisberg explores Ethan’s desire to escape the life he is living. Looking at the entire novel, Weisberg is able to identify this theme throughout the story. In her second paragraph, Weisberg delves into the fantasies that Ethan Frome imagines for himself and Mattie. By imagining a life with Mattie, Ethan is able to make it through each day. However, Weisberg explains how these dreams only make heartbreak and pain inevitable. In both passages, Weisberg provides insightful analysis that causes her audience to view Ethan Frome with a critical eye.

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D uring the second chapter of Edith Wharton’s Ethan Frome, while the title character Ethan and his love interest take a walk through the Frome graveyard, Ethan ponders the gravestones. Wharton’s use of foreshadowing and allusion to future climactic events in the story can be found throughout the scene, as well as figurative language and word choice. The theme of escape from mundanity permeates the novel, and no less in this scene. The gravestones seem to mock Ethan, saying, “‘We never got away—how should you?’ [...] and whenever he went in or out of his gate he thought with a shiver: ‘I shall just go on living here till I join them’” (43). Ethan is shackled by the confines of his marriage and the judgment of his home town Starkfield. Wharton expresses this through the deeper metaphor of Ethan’s ancestors. For centuries, Ethan’s family has lived on the same farm, in the same town, with the same people. No matter what their circumstances were, they remained where they started. Ethan craves to break this chain, to get away, to overcome the dreadful future of all things remaining the same. The one thing that can assuage his troubles is his love interest: Mattie Silver. Ethan has been trapped

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in a loveless marriage for years and is yearning for a better life when the young and single Mattie comes along and takes his life by storm. Her presence makes Ethan’s life in Starkfield finally endurable, and all his other aspirations cede to his desire to be with her. His glorification of Mattie’s presence in his life turns to such an extreme that even death does not seem such a bad fate to Ethan, as long as he may still be with her. Later in the novel, Ethan and Mattie attempt suicide together, foreshadowed by Ethan’s passing thought during the graveyard scene, “‘We’ll always go on living here together, and some day she’ll lie there beside me’” (43).

Regardless of how grim it is, staying with Mattie becomes the only thing that matters to him. No judgment or principle will keep him apart from her, no matter the cost. Living in an insular town such as Starkfield means little privacy for Ethan’s personal life, and any deviation from societal expectations will immediately become the talk of the town. The pressure to conform to the value of marriage holds Ethan down repeatedly throughout the novel. However, Ethan’s desire to pursue Mattie Silver consumes him so wholly that even the possibility of being shunned by all of Starkfield can not stop him from chasing love.

In Ethan Frome, Ethan creates imagined fantasies of him and Mattie, forming an alternate reality where the two of them can be together. This shapes many of Ethan’s actions in the real world throughout the story. The alternate reality Ethan develops is one of the few ways in which he can escape his miserable life trapped in Starkfield. His fantasies become especially impactful towards his decisions at the end of the novel. Ethan’s reminiscence of a picnic he and Mattie

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attended recalls a key aspect of the nature of his relationship with Mattie: “...but all their intercourse had been made up of just such inarticulate flashes, when they seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods” (112). As Ethan looks back upon previous smaller interactions with Mattie, such as the picnic, he finds a hope hidden in himself. While the interactions between the two would not be particularly special to any outsider, Ethan’s active imagination recreates moments like the picnic as meaningful memories of intimacy in his and Mattie’s relationship. Ethan sees the “butterfly” as an unexpected symbol of joy and love. But what he fails to understand is that butterflies cannot survive in the cold of winter, and his love for Mattie is an impossible and hopeless love.

Ethan’s failure to truly internalize this throughout the novel causes him to act rashly when he is under pressure. Fantasies like these which cloud his reality are what eventually lead to his and Mattie’s double-suicide attempt. Another of these fantasties occurs when Ethan passes the Frome graveyard alone, and sees a grave dedicated to an ancestor with his same name. Seeing this grave, he begins to reflect on his life, comparing it to the lives of his ancestors: “He used to think that fifty years sounded like a long time to live together, but now it seemed to him that they might pass in a flash. Then, with a sudden dart of irony, he wondered if, when their turn came, the same epitaph would be written over him and Zeena” (63).

Everywhere Ethan goes, he is reminded of the future of his marriage with his wife, Zeena, which appears as bleak and suffocating. But through the choice of the word “irony” in the last sentence, it becomes clear to the reader that Ethan is thinking

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more about Mattie than Zeena. This is a subtle reference, which is facilitated by Ethan’s comparison of himself to the Ethan Frome before him. The Ethan of a previous generation was buried alongside his loving wife; the current Ethan hopes he will also be buried with the woman he loves, Mattie Silver. Unlike his ancestor, though, the current Ethan’s true love can never be his spouse, and he can only dream of a conjoined burial with her. But Ethan persists in this dreaming, foreshadowing the near-fatal occurrence of his and Mattie’s suicide attempt. The extreme actions Ethan takes at the end of the novel would not have been possible without dreams and fantasies like these, which frame an unhealthy mindset surrounding his love for Mattie. His love becomes an obsession of imagined idyll, and eventually he can no longer bear existing in a world that does not reflect the paradisiacal universe inside his head. In this way, Ethan’s fantasy becomes his own downfall and misery, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

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Elbow Patches and Baby Flesh An In-Class Analysis of Dr. Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal Brennan Columbia-Walsh

In this piece, Brennan Columbia-Walsh discusses the most powerful satirical devices of A Modest Proposal. Columbia-Walsh explains how the author’s impersonation of academics, the exact figures he is attempting to criticize, is the most effective satirical theme of the essay. Columbia-Walsh explains how Dr. Jonathan Swift’s mockery of academia as a whole is integral to his desire to mock their proposals. Throughout his analysis, Columbia-Walsh identifies the keys to effective satire and their role in Swift’s essay.

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I

n the world of elbow patches, pretentious wooden pipes, and professorial

quips, a brand of intellects breed in such indifference and sanctimony that their universal solutions — gifted nobly, of course — for every problem in the world can only naturally peak in a proposal of something representative of the intellects themselves: eating babies. So moral, so easily orchestrated is this proposition that it is quite honestly surprising the entire world has not yet begun their feast on the next generation. If it were not for those loving philosophers who, through impossible verbosity and felicitous equivocation, have enlightened us with their truthful wisdom, we would be, quite simply put, savages. In A Modest Proposal, Dr. Jonathan Swift satirizes the Irish state, bringing light to its poverty and squalor in a disturbingly hilarious suggestion that all poor babies be cooked, boiled, and baked until universal happiness is achieved. In order to convince his audience of this flawless cause, he assumes the persona of an Irish thought leader, handing down gruesomely unrealistic solutions to gruesomely real problems. Moreover, in adopting this persona, he employs an overtly academic tone reminiscent of the indifferent, intellectually aristocratic class of academics who constituted an out-of-touch strata of western thinkers during the eighteenth and nineteen centuries — and, perhaps, all centuries before then and all centuries after. Indeed, amidst the hyperbolic 33

ramblings of his proposal to eat children, Swift's impersonation and ridicule of this echelon of academia through the use of invective constitutes the most effective satirical method of the essay.

In assuming the guise of an academic, Swift not only satirizes the indifference of their proposals, but he also mocks the role and identity of the academic in its entirety. In order to understand the writing and comments of an intellect, one must first navigate an impossibly verbose tone. Swift employs invective and targets the academic's tone by directly implementing it into his writing. Indeed, he wants his proposal to contain the pomp and frill indicative of the bombastic geniuses he targets. For example, in a simple introduction of his ideas, Swift circumvents any possibility of brevity: "Some personas of a desponding spirit are in great concern about that vast number of poor people, who are aged, diseased, or maimed; and I have been desired to employ my thoughts what course may be taken, to ease the nation of so grievous an encumbrance" (Swift 130-133). There exists a palpable intellectual superiority in this sentence. The very notion that Swift must first describe his descendance down to this problem before addressing it exemplifies his sanctimonious role and assumption that he is the only possible solution. Furthermore, his severe downplay of "that vast number of poor people, who are aged diseased or maimed" emphasizes the out-of-touch nature of Swift's solutionist. In adopting such a tone, Swift convinces his reader that he relates and speaks on behalf of the academic elite. Any satirist worth their salt understands that the next logical step would be to make himself as loathsome and repulsive as

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language allows, in turn redirecting any inevitable criticism to the actual academics themselves. Swift utilizes this tactic in his description of the proposal:

I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed, is, at a year old, a most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, basked, or boil; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricasie, or a ragoust. (Swift 58-61) Swift purposefully paints this sinister picture because he wants to ensure his reader that such a daunting and bloodthirsty proposition is characteristic of the compassion that the intellects offer. This tactic — incomplete without his dig at the American elites — exemplifies invective: when they offer to eat your children, it's because they really care. Furthermore, he employs invective in his academic tone, directing his satirical attack at the academics' language. How might this intellect offer any doubt of indifference when they are spending so much time carefully encrypting their words so that even if one wanted to use the proposal, they could not get that far, as they could not read it? Moreover, it merits note that Swift offers this proposal for public consideration, which means he expects his poorly educated, impoverished subjects — whom he adores, of course — to be able to decipher his philosophic ramblings. However, symbolic of all academics trying to climb the intellectual ladder through insufferable sycophancy, Swift ends his essay in an exemption of guilt:

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I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of my country, by advancing our trade, providing for infants, relieving the poor and, giving some pleasure to the rich. (Swift 234-237) Characteristic of academics everywhere who protect themselves with phrases such as "it can be argued" or "one might say," Swift back-peddles away from his soon-to-be-explosive device so as to avoid all of the backlash and enjoy all of the prestige. All at once critiquing everything yet agreeing with everyone, this balance of trailblazing and brownnosing plagues academic writing everywhere. In evading any motive beyond the compassionate few that are acceptable to his audience, he gives a last-ditch effort to pad himself, beckoning parallels to the intellects he satirizes. The proud self-introduction, pretentiously out-of-touch intellectual saviorism, indecipherable tone, and nimble exemption of guilt that Swift employs perfectly criticize the realistic version of his persona.

Unless the reader is a previously established baby flesh connoisseur, it is not out of pocket to suggest that they might reject the proposal that Swift issues forth.

However, in rejecting this proposal and loathing the academic saint who offered it, they likewise criticize the more popularly revered saints who engage in a similar trade. It is, put simply, disapprobation by association. In any satirical proposal, there exist timely aspects and timeless aspects. Timely is the criticism of Irish poverty and politicians in Swift's work. Timeless is his critique of academic elitism.

More than a proposal for baby-eating or a ridicule of those who crave it, A Modest Proposal is a critique of intellectual solutionists who descend with indifferent eyes

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to fix the problems of a life to which they do not and cannot relate. Instead of continuing this trend, the world might take the high horse to the back of the barn and shoot it in the head, and, in its wake, adopt a more understandable tone in writing. It's a hard-fought goal but one that would bridge the gap between the academically superior and educationally unexposed. More importantly, perhaps the writer of this analysis might take note of Swift’s critique and ditch the Sunday words. Or perhaps he shall perpetuate this vicious cycle of needless verbosity, bombastically philosophical quips, stentorian pronunciations and — oh, enough already. Let's eat!

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The Duality and Complexity of Human Nature On Human Nature by Edward O. Wilson and Its Political Implications

Willow Delp

In this piece, Willow Delp analyzes Edward O. Wilson's On Human Nature, and the limits that the opposing views on human nature place on society, specifically in terms of government and politics. Delp argues that in order to understand human nature, one must look not only to biology, but to cultural and societal influences as well. Throughout the essay, Delp addresses varying viewpoints, presenting a well rounded answer to the question all readers are forced to ask themselves. What is human nature?

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O n Human Nature by academic Edward O. Wilson presents two dueling sociobiological ideologies. The social constructionist “tabula rasa” theory, implying that humankind is clay to be molded at will, stands in opposition to behavioral determinism - an absolutist form of genetic predispositionism. Behavioral determinism insists that there is a set path for people created only by their genes, with virtually no room for individual flexibility. In truth, both of these perspectives are reductionist. Each side ignores opposing evidence for the sake of ideological simplicity. Moreover, both of these stances hold immense political relevance in crafting laws, governments, and societies; even though neither position is inherently tied to a particular political party, behavioral determinism and social constructionism have both been thoroughly politicized, used to defend and attack ideologies, especially considering the left-wing criticism Wilson received from the academic left for his rejection of pure social constructionism. Pure social constructionism and pure behavioral determinism both present dangers to political thought, and it is imperative to acknowledge both biological predispositions and sociological factors in understanding the past, present, and future of the human race.

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In harshly criticizing absolute social constructionism, Edward O. Wilson endured significant amounts of criticism from other academics for seeming supportive of determinism. There is undeniably evidence for genetic predispositionism, but to swing to an extreme would be just as incorrect. Firstly, to acknowledge the merits of genetic predispositionism, one can examine the universality of the incest taboo, present in virtually all cultures — regardless of the existence or nonexistence of social pressures (as demonstrated within Israeli kibbutzim, in which incest did not occur despite the fact that it was not actively discouraged). Wilson mentions that “mother-son intercourse is [considered] the most offensive” 1, perhaps explaining the origins of the centuries-old Oedipus tale, a relationship that famously led to the titular character gouging his eyes out.

Whether it’s in Ancient Greece or modern Israel, incest triggers visceral repugnance.

Furthermore, linguist Noam Chomsky’s theory of “deep grammar” seeks to explain the simple fact that the speed of language acquisition defies possibility within a rigidly social constructionist framework.2 There is, unmistakably, a biological component to our nature inexplicable by simple teaching. Phobias, too, have some root in genetic predispositionism — our deepest, most firmly rooted fears are not guns or bombs, but snakes and spiders, oft-deadly a millenium ago, but hardly as rational a fear in a modern society where other threats pose far greater

1 2

Edward O. Wilson, On Human Nature, 25th ed. (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 2004), 36.

Wilson, On Human, 63.

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dangers to our safety.3 Ultimately, one can conclude that primal learning is not insignificant, and affects humanity greatly in the present day.

However, the dangers of purist behavioral determinism should not be disregarded. Such an absolutist perspective has been dangerous. For example, the idea that certain races are biologically different (which Wilson acknowledges as false4) has been used to deny adequate medical treatment to Black patients, due to the false idea that Black people can withstand more pain. Moreover, the culture-pattern model of violence (that a culture of pacifism leads to pacifist patterns) demonstrates that there is truth in sociological theory. When violence is culturally encouraged, it will increase.5 Aggression is not only biological, its prevalence is dependent on societal standards.

Pure behavioral determinism as a philosophy is fundamentally limiting trapping the complexity of humanity to a narrow path, ignoring our collective possibilities for growth and improvement. Wilson acknowledges this in the fourth chapter of On Human Nature - he writes that it cannot be ignored that humans have conscious minds, and are not simply cogs in a machine. We are undeniably complicated organisms, capable of making conscious decisions. As Natalie Angier’s article “Edward O. Wilson’s New Take on Human Nature” states, “We’re not ants, and we can do what ants can’t: pull up to the nearest campfire, toast a marshmallow, sing a song.”6 Here, it is important to acknowledge the difference 3

Wilson, On Human, 68.

Wilson, On Human, 48.

5 Wilson, On Human, 105.

6 Natalie Angier, "Edward O. Wilson's New Take on Human Nature," Smithsonian Magazine, last modified April 2012, 4

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between behavioral determinism and genetic predispositionism - the former states that our genes control our lives, the latter states that our genes influence who we are.

The conclusion to draw from seemingly contradictory pieces of evidence is that human nature is a synthesis — not reflective of either extreme, but a balance.

As Wilson says, in discussing the theory of genetic predispositionism, “[G]enes hold culture on a leash”.7 However, it must be asked - what are the political implications of pure behavioral determinism, pure social constructionism, and the gray area in between? Broadly speaking, behavioral determinism has been thought of as a conservative ideology, and social constructionism a progressive one — the former a grim acknowledgment of the natural state of humanity, the latter a representation of left-wing optimism (if not naïveté). However, these are both overly simplistic and both genetic determinism and social constructionism working in tandem can be used for the benefit of humanity. For example, there is no biological difference between races - racist structures are manmade and unnatural, providing hope for their dismantling. Homosexuality, despite its perception by some as evolutionarily useless, has been beneficial in primal societies, and equality can be advanced without relying solely on social constructionism.8 Biology is not necessarily a limit in social equality - in fact, considering our natural predisposition towards group loyalty, it may be an asset. Accepting our biological tendencies and our inherent

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/edward-o-wilsons-new-take-on-human-nature-160810520 /.

7 Wilson, On Human, 167.

8 Wilson, On Human, 143.

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violent aggression while also maintaining hope for the future and refusing to submit to the uglier aspects of tribalism is vital in the political process. We must acknowledge that we are both instinctual and cultivated beings, and use our natural and created qualities to build a better society.

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Falling Backwards? Or Forwards? Or Both?

Denzel Washington Speech Analysis Kira Rasheed

In Kira Rasheed’s “Falling Backwards? Or Forwards? Or Both?” analysis of Denzel

Washington’s 2011 commencement speech at the University of

Pennsylvania, Rasheed ’23 dives into the multifaceted meaning behind diction itself and its ability to draw in the listener. Rasheed utilizes vivid quotes and illustrations from Washington’s speech to reflect on the power of this “suspension of disbelief.” Even more so, her thoughtful analysis extends to comment on the layers of prestige and obsessions with success keeping individuals in society from understanding themselves and others.

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I t boggles my mind that an actor as proclaimed and established as Denzel Washington ever had a period of time in his career when he was nervous, disregarded, or even more surprising: failing. I am sure that the University of Pennsylvania graduates watching Denzel’s commencement speech in 2011 were just as surprised as I was by this notion. Nevertheless, Denzel’s delivery of the commencement speech provided a compelling argument regarding why failure is truly imperative in the process of one’s success. After listening to the speech, I became convinced that “Falling Forward,” as Denzel titles his speech, is in all actuality, not a negative occurrence but rather the catapult for one’s success. Denzel utilizes a variety of rhetorical devices to imprint the message onto listeners that as ironic as it seems, failure is crucial for a prosperous livelihood.

“I can see every single one of you. And that makes me uncomfortable. So please, don’t pull out your iPhones and your texts. Don’t text your boyfriend until after I’m done.” This example of informal diction is a phrase Washington expresses towards the beginning of his speech to captivate his audience. Denzel strategically contradicts the historically formal and traditional commencement ceremony with informal diction to give his speech a down-to-earth ambiance. If Denzel had kept his speech with a superficial tone, then his primary message would have also remained superficial to the audience. By diverging from the typical formatting of a conventional speech, Denzel reminds the audience that the message he is delivering is just as matter-of-fact as his informal phrasing. After directly telling the graduating class that failure is inescapable, Denzel goes on to say, “I know that’s 46

probably not a traditional message for a graduation ceremony, but hey, I’m telling you to embrace it because it’s inevitable.” Because Washington is aware of the occasion’s prestige, he discreetly humbles the reputation of the esteemed class. He reminds them that however profound and exceptional their achievements are destined to be, they too are destined for moments of failure just as anyone else would be.

Over a fourth of Washington’s speech regards anecdotes from his personal life, which inspire the audience by representing a “started from the bottom” mentality. Denzel divulges the story of a broadway musical audition earlier in his career: “I’m like, “Hey, okay. Maybe I can’t sing, but I know I can act.” Washington recalls the audition as not being a success and combines humor with the anecdote to capture the interest of the listener, using multifaceted diction. Denzel repeatedly pauses while recalling the specific story to allow the audience to laugh. He utilizes the personal anecdote not only as a way of recalling s scenario of failure, but to invite the audience to empathize with it. Directly after telling the story of the failed audition, Denzel continues by stating that the place where he acted in Fences on Broadway “was at the same theater that [he] failed that first audition, 30 years prior.” Denzel’s incorporation of a humorous anecdote addressing an ironic success story delivers a sense of hope and reassurance to the audience. It gives the audience members a sense of hope that there will be a light at the end of the tunnel throughout their feening for success in adulthood.

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Towards the end of his speech, Denzel tells the graduating class, “You will fail at some point in your life. Accept it. You will lose. You will embarrass yourself. You will suck at something. There’s no doubt about it.” Denzel utilizes parallelism by repeating the start of each sentence to teach the reality he knows to be true to the graduates. By explaining a failure to success scenario in a straightforward and repetitive manner, Washington grabs the attention of his audience and makes his argument all the more authentic.

It is simply human nature to be captivated by a speaker and presentation that is multifaceted, knowledgeable, and downright hilarious. Denzel strategically combined many layers of rhetoric to persuade an audience he knew was prestigious and may have shied away from his idea of failure at first. Denzel connects his message to all the audience members by illustrating scenarios that were realistic and useful in understanding how prosperity can derive from the turmoil of failure.

Denzel’s argument was also effective because it not only connected to the graduating class, but to any and all young people yearning for success in their lifetime. After listening to and analyzing Washington’s speech, it is practically expected that one should be excited about the failures and “fall forwards” that are inevitably embedded in a lifetime. These mishappenings are for the best and contribute to the bettering of one’s grit and character, just as Denzel Washington suggests.

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Broken Brexit Why Britain’s Departure from the EU Failed from the Start Lily Piede

In Lily Piede’s analysis of the 2016 Brexit circumstances, Piede ’22 draws on sharp thoughtful historical commentary in order to observe the social, racial, and cultural facets behind Britain’s Brexit and Great Britain’s larger attitudes towards globalization. Examining the ideas of xenophobia, nationalism, and class nostalgia in connection to each other, Piede’s critical analysis falls nothing short of percussive and thought-provoking.

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I n 2016, the citizens of Great Britain voted in a narrow margin to leave the European Union (EU). The decision, while controversial at the time, has proven even more controversial in the court of public opinion over time. In hindsight, Britain’s exit from the EU has made few people happy—least of all the Britons. As an unintended consequence, British businesses have been severed from the shared European economy, subject to new tariffs and regulations not previously seen while a member of the EU. Many factors for the British exit, or “Brexit,” have been blamed—EU immigration, a housing crisis, the 2008 recession, and other issues have plagued Britain’s geopolitical landscape since the turn of the century. However, the true catalyst of Brexit came not from these particular circumstances, but an underlying British identity that sits in direct contradiction to the rapid globalization of Europe as a whole and inevitably led to the country’s severance with the EU. Any other circumstance that may have impacted Brexit is simply a secondary factor and one utilized by politicians to provide further justification for an exit from the EU. The inevitability of Brexit is first proven through Britain’s hesitation to join the EU during its initial formation. The European Union began as the European 51

Coal and Steel Community (ECSC) following the end of WWII, and eventually evolved into the European Economic Community in 1957. However, during the EU’s beginning stages, Britain, an integral part of Europe’s geopolitical landscape and economy, chose to sit on the sidelines. Britain’s initial hesitation to join the EU was based on the same sentiment that caused their exit more than 50 years later—an unwavering sense of pride that the EU threatened. Britain was the beacon of light during Europe’s darkest hour, refusing to surrender even as surrounding countries fell to Germany’s military attacks. In the aftermath of WWII, Britain continued to revel in their glory. They denied an initial invitation to be one of the founding members of the ECSC, something many viewed as a refusal by the British government to give up on their past victories. This was not an unpredictable reaction––Britain has long suffered from “imperial hangover,” and their initial hesitation to join the ECSC was perhaps a last-ditch attempt to reinstate themselves as an independent, colonial power that stood invincible in the face of adversity. No matter the reasoning for Britain’s initial hesitation to join the EU, Britain’s hesitation foreshadowed their eventual exit from the agreement in the 21st century.

The collective disillusionment with globalization among Britain’s white working class is further proof of the inevitability of Brexit. The most vocal supporters of Brexit are mainly white, working-class conservative voters within Britain who view globalization as a hindrance to the advancement of Britain. They are some of the greatest perpetrators of anti-immigration rhetoric and often use

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immigrants as a scapegoat for problems facing Britain. The attitudes of the white working class are not limited to Britain—in fact, a similar attitude towards the liberal elite can be seen in the United States. These attitudes originate from shared experiences; both groups wish to return to a time of socioeconomic greatness that has been lost in the advent of the 21st century. For Brits, this means self-isolation from the rest of Europe in order to preserve the British economy and culture. These ideas are rooted in British exceptionalism, specifically in the idea that the problems currently facing Britain would be nonexistent had Britain continued to be an independent nation. The truth of the matter is that the housing crisis and influx of immigration are not products of the EU, but are simply being used by segments of the British population and the politicians who represent them to justify Britain’s exit from the alliance. Even without such issues, there would have been other flaws within British society that would have been used as fodder in the battle for British separatism.

While there might be multiple factors at play that resulted in Brexit, the underlying theme throughout them all is British exceptionalism and a wish to return to the greatness Britain once had at the end of World War II. There is no “European identity” among the British people. Their identity is that of being British, and of being able to stand in the face of one of the biggest threats to ever face the world and refuse to surrender. This identity is a direct contradiction to Britain’s status within the EU and is the root cause of Brexit.

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Orwell as Benjamin Symbol Analysis in Animal Farm Willow Killebrew

In Willow Killebrew’s analysis of the allegorical message of Animal Farm, readers instantly become immersed within Killebrew’s thoughtful and complex reflections on George Orwell’s personal relationship to injustice, imperialism, shame, and fear in his short story, “Shooting an Elephant,” as well as the ways in which he highlights these themes through the character of Benjamin, a donkey in Orwell’s Animal Farm. Together, Killebrew uses these two Orwell pieces and their interconnected themes to eloquently reflect on the deep social, political, and even economic factors that lie behind one’s response, or lack thereof, to cruelty in society.

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I n Orwell’s controversial political allegory Animal Farm, each animal symbolizes something different but equally important to the novel’s thematic significance. One donkey notable for his pessimistic presence and odd phrases on the farm, Benjamin, symbolizes George Orwell himself. Similarly to Animal Farm, Orwell’s autobiographical essay “Shooting an Elephant” and his bleakly terrifying portrayal of a totalitarian society in Nineteen Eighty-Four explore the possible effects of imperialism on modern and future generations. Orwell’s personal experience of almost dying in the Spanish Civil War and his work as a police official in India for the British Empire provide him insightful wisdom and knowledge about the impact of imperialism. In India, Orwell felt the sad vulnerability of being a slave to imperialism. He had to be an officer to make money, but as he expresses in “Shooting an Elephant'', he disagreed with the ways of the British empire because he saw all that was wrong with the system they enforced. He expresses his own all-knowing yet hopeless vulnerability from this time in his life through Benjamin, who is aware of the conflicts on the farm but also understands that he can do nothing to change the system and must instead play his part to stay alive. A particularly good example of Benjamin’s silent omniscience presents itself when the animals find Squealer sprawled on the ground next to a broken ladder and white paint bucket by the side of the barn where the Seven Commandments are written.

It is said that, “None of the animals could form any idea as to what this meant, except old Benjamin, who nodded his muzzle with a knowing air, and seemed to understand, but would say nothing.” (109). Whether or not Orwell intended to write 56

himself into his own work is unclear, but it is apparent by his characterization that Benjamin represents a very frustrated part of his psyche. Benjamin witnesses everything and can say nothing, mirroring a similar trap Orwell felt in his own life serving as a police official for a system that he despised, empathizing with the subjected people but relying on the money he achieved from the job. While Benjamin never comes into contact with tangible money, he seems to be aware that if he does lead a rebellion, Napoleon will likely cut his rations until he is starving.

He understands with a dark, grave certainty that he can do nothing to help the farm, just as Orwell knew that he was only a small and insignificant pawn of an empire, and rebelling in any way would be to ask for death as a traitorous martyr.

Aside from the tie between Benjamin and Orwell, Benjamin does have his own symbolic significance in the story. To begin, his behavior matches that of a stereotypical donkey in a beast fable; he appears negative and depressed, but also possesses great wisdom. He shows this prudence and pessimism in the few moments he speaks throughout the story, including the uttering of a small but notably cynical line here and there, such as: “‘Donkeys live a long time. None of you has ever seen a dead donkey’” (30). This implies that Benjamin has lived a while and seen a lot, and he will continue to live on longer and see more. He says this frequently in response to animals asking him if he prefers the new way of life on the “Animal Farm” more than he liked the life on the previous “Manor Farm” run by Jones. Benjamin understands that there is not much of a difference between the two, only a difference in how the two ways of life are perceived by the other animals.

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Increasingly throughout the story, we ourselves begin to notice that the way the pigs rule over the animals mirrors Jones’ previous cruel methods of controlling them. Sadly, the constant of what Benjamin has seen and what he believes he will continue to see in the world is nothing but the same misery and despair repeated in different forms throughout generations. He tells the other animals that, “Windmill or no windmill…life would go on as it had always gone on–that is, badly.” (51). In his own right, Benjamin represents the rare presence of neutrality and objectivity on the farm, never doing too much or too little work and watching silently but never intervening in the other animals’ antics unless he is required to or propelled by a strong moral urge. In these moments, we catch a glimpse of Benjamin’s few positive emotions and motivations in life, seen in his compassion for his friend, Boxer, who has a split hoof from a battle against humans: “Boxer refused to take even a day off work…Benjamin urged Boxer to work less hard.” (111). His hidden compassion is also shown later, when Boxer has become injured from working too much: “...Benjamin, who lay down at Boxer’s side, and, without speaking, kept the flies off him with his long tail.” (120). With those few exceptions, Benjamin consistently demonstrates a withdrawn attitude towards life, a stark contrast to the other animals’ attitudes. Since being manipulated by the pigs to believe falsehoods as reality instead of forcing themselves to face much harsher truths about their society, the animals show an excess of spirit on the farm and in their dictator Napoleon.

They even partake in marches and parades and perform work at extremely high levels with little reward to serve their dictator. Their actions are indicative of their

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blindness, and it is Benjamin’s infrequent but powerful and watchful presence that draws us back into reality from the enthusiastic celebrations that Napoleon hosts in honor of himself. Benjamin has no political or social presence on the farm beyond representing an animal version of the archetype of an old wise man who has grown too old and seen too much, occasionally expressing himself with small remarks that no animal ends up understanding anyway. It is clear that he has both political and social beliefs, but he finds it futile to share these opinions, as the animals will choose to believe what they want, and he will be punished. He is aware that he is just one donkey; he cannot erase the pigs’ brainwashing and deception that controls the animals for months. He cannot educate the animals past the capacity of their minds to see what is wrong with society, and he cannot convince the pigs to ever act selflessly towards the others. One can imagine that Orwell felt a similar frustration as a police officer in India who believed more in the Burmese people than in the government he served, knowing that he alone could do nothing to stop the empire’s abuse. Orwell used writing as his way to rebel; Benjamin uses his small remarks, both despite the difficulty of having to admit the disturbing realities of extreme inequality to themselves. Because, unlike other animals in “Animal Farm”, Benjamin and Orwell could not forget the horrors of oppression they witnessed, and had to find some way to rebel if only to get these tragedies out of their heads.

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The Help A Literary Critique Izy Feraca

Izy Feraca’s critique on the 2011 film The Help uncovers the manifold ways in which even the media’s most laudable efforts to promote equality and anti-racism lack real depth and instead reinforce the subtleties of system racism in both our history and today. Feraca ’22 utilizes sharp observational commentary to uncover the “white-savior” image and surface-level portrayals of the African American working-class women’s struggles. In doing so, Izzy Feraca’s analysis thoughtfully and eloquently exposes the ways in which today’s society, despite all our best surface-level efforts, fails to propel real change.

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F rom Hattie McDaniel’s infamous role as “Mammy” in Gone With the Wind to Estelle Evans’ “Calpurnia” in To Kill a Mockingbird, countless movies, television shows and books have depicted the typical southern African American housekeeper.

Yet, not many have attempted to actually highlight their stories. The 2011 film, The Help, however, strives to humanize these sort of caricatures we have come to know in American media, and spotlight their real experiences and human complexities through the characters of Aibileen and Minny. It is an entertaining film, with a well written storyline and talented actors, but as far as its social impact goes, it is lacking in merits. The general idea of uplifting the voices of working class black women during this tumultuous time in our country is a good one, considering we often only hear the voices of a few select powerful male leaders. However, the execution of this idea was less than impressive. Although The Help exposes us to the important and often obscured voices of black maids like Aibileen and Minny during the Civil Rights Era, its social impact is lessened by the film’s merely superficial exploration of racism in America, as well as its focus on white characters and the white savior narrative that stems from it.

Although the film has good intentions, it presents its exploration of racism in America in a superficial way that is comfortable for white people as it paints clear heroes and villains and pretends that racism ended in the 1960s. For example, the clear villains in this movie are Hilly and her friends, who are archetypes of racist, southern socialites. The film’s exploration of racism is through the use of such characters, who are so overtly racist that it is easy for most white people to distance 62

themselves from them. It paints this picture that racism in America is merely on an individual level as opposed to a systemic level, and because few people today act in the gross manner that these characters do, such problems don’t exist anymore. It allows the viewer to comfortably watch the film in a feel-good manner while ignoring the real, ongoing and systematic issues in the country.

Alongside the film’s surface-level depiction of racism in America, it also places too much focus on its white characters and their experiences, and builds a harmful white-savior narrative as a result. One of these white characters is the protagonist of the film, Skeeter, a young aspiring author from an upper-class Mississippi household. She is determined to defy the sexist stereotypes of society and write a novelistic account of hardships and injustices endured by African-American housekeepers. Much of the movie’s focus is on Skeeter’s morality and its contrast from those of the stereotypical racist southerners around her, which sends the message that not being like them is something “heroic.” The film wants the viewer to be in utter awe over the fact that Skeeter treats people like Aibileen and Minny with respect. It shouldn’t be something that is groundbreaking, but the film makes it feel that way. Because of this, it gives credit for social progress to white people like Skeeter and allows them to pat themselves on the back, when really the film should be centering these ideas on the actual lives and work of these black women. Instead, the film distracts the audience with entertainment-value-drama from the lives of the white protagonists, such as Skeeter’s love life, or the isolation of Celia, a wealthy housewife ostracized by the

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elite for her poor background. These diversions take away from the film’s more meaningful attempt to portray the plight of “the help.” The movie should have prioritized the experiences of the black maids, and allowed them to literally and figuratively step out of the corner of the room in an empowering way.

Although there is much to be improved upon regarding this film, there are some positives to it as well. For starters, as stated earlier, it is a good and important idea to depict the stories of working class black women during the civil rights era, as they are a group that is not often given a platform. It is also certainly a step forward from past portrayals we have seen of black maids in the Jim Crow era, like in Gone With the Wind. Moreover, the film was made in 2011, and there has been some change since then in regards to our understanding and reckoning with these social and historical issues. Because of this, the film does deserve some credit for introducing the world to a new lens within this topic. Perhaps in the years to come we can learn from The Help and build off of the foundation that it left in a way that is more culturally impactful.

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Macbeth Character Analysis Lady Macbeth’s Self-Deception Kitty Williams

In Kitty Williams’ essay on Shakespeare’s classic Macbeth, Williams portrays the parallels of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth’s deception to the effects of modern-day social media in order to reveal the the large-scale, detrimental impacts of relying on lying to one’s self and others for a sense of control and power. Drawing on themes of gender-discrepancy and manipulation dominant throughout the entire play, Williams ’24 uses critical analysis and connections to today’s society to forewarn readers of the dangers of over-ambition and succumbing to temptations of one’s insecurities, before the aftermath becomes irrevocable.

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I n Macbeth, the false portrayal of the characters’ identities plays a key role in their development and destruction. Lady Macbeth is a prime example of concealing one’s identity to obtain what she wants: queen. She deceives and manipulates her husband, Macbeth, to lie to himself and those around him. Lady Macbeth not only manipulates Macbeth but also manipulates herself. She hides “weaker” aspects of her character and manifests masculine and numb, aggressive attributes that cause her to, ultimately, commit suicide. Lady Macbeth’s deception is the fundamental cause of her mental deterioration and Macbeth’s demise; the false portrayal of oneself creates a rippling effect of negative impacts on the individual and society.

Lady Macbeth’s manipulation of characters manifests itself in deception, a driving factor in the fates of Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, and the entirety of Scotland.

Lady Macbeth decides that the one way she will become queen is by manipulating herself and Macbeth’s characters. Lady Macbeth convinces her husband to commit murders on her beahlf, and then orders Macbeth to put on a false facade by acting innocent and unsuspecting upon Duncan’s murder. Lady Macbeth instills deprecating confidence in Macbeth and then orders him to carry himself in the following manner: “To beguile the time,/Look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye,/ Your hand, your tongue. Look like th’ innocent/ flower,/ But be the serpent under’t” (1:5:74-78). Lady Macbeth says that Macbeth must look like an innocent flower, implying that the Thane must show womanly, innocent, and unsuspecting

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mannerisms from the outside. Shakespeare plays with stereotypes using humor, including gender stereotypes that the Macbeths often challenge. Shakespeare writes deprecating, sexist remarks for Lady Macbeth’s lines to exploit Macbeth’s soft character. Macbeth must display his soft, feminine attributes while keeping his masculine “serpent-like” traits behind his facade to commit Duncan’s murder. Lady Macbeth strongly encourages Macbeth, and even convinces him that he has the guts of a baby to instill confidence. Readers do not know for certain if Macbeth will murder Duncan out of his own free will because Lady Macbeth is the brains of the operation. She manipulates her husband into doing the grunge work and making him lie on her behalf. The Queen’s manipulation creates Macbeth’s false facade, which leads to his demise. In modern times, a person’s ambition often causes them to create a false image of themselves on social media. Teenagers deceive each other through screens because they crave attention and validation, causing them to lie about and alter their authentic lives. Similarly, Lady Macbeth’s dream to become queen drives her to manipulate Macbeth’s characteristics and her own to achieve this goal. When asked about self-deception and manipulation of oneself and others on social media, Dr. Austin says the following: Social media can exacerbate the problem of self-deception. Many people have noted that we often use social media to put forth an ideal version of ourselves and our lives, emphasizing the positives and ignoring or minimizing the negatives. This not only involves deceiving others, but if we believe our own social media PR, we deceive ourselves. (Austin, 2013) In the case of teenagers, ambition and faulty standards intensify the problem of self-deception. Teenagers lie about their identities on social media and showcase

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only the best aspects of their lives, creating a facade for others to admire and validate. However, as Dr. Austin affirmed, teenagers deceive not only others, but themselves too. Preaching ideal and sometimes false parts of themselves, teenagers on social media tend to believe these false facades, which leads to issues concerning one’s self-worth, body image, and mentality. In Macbeth, the Queen manipulates her and Macbeth’s facades to be more “innocent-looking” while harnessing their dark sides before their appearances. The Macbeths’ false facades are much like that of many teenagers who use social media to deceive themselves and others. Teenagers and the Macbeths manipulate themselves and others through self-deception, which fosters self-destruction of the teenagers, Macbeths, and Scottish people.

Furthermore, Lady Macbeth hides and attempts to change her identity by convincing herself and Macbeth that the two must lie to themselves to succeed in life, fostering their self-destruction. Lady Macbeth attempts to alter her identity by changing characteristics about herself to carry out horrific deeds. Lady Macbeth must convince herself that she is evil because she is not a genuinely evil person with the guts to execute such destructive plans; Lady Macbeth purely has strong ambitions and a resulting need for secrecy. Upon hearing that King Duncan will be staying the night at Dunsinane Castle, Lady Macbeth formulates her infamous plan to manipulate Macbeth into killing Duncan. In order to follow through with this plot, Lady Macbeth must instill more daring characteristics in herself. Lady Macbeth calls to the spirits saying, “Come, you spirit/And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full/Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood. Stop up th’ access and

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passage to remorse,/That no compunctious visitings of nature/Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between/Th’ effect and it” (1:5:47-54). Lady Macbeth calls to the spirits, asking them to change her sex to portray a more masculine figure who has the grit to execute Lady Macbeth’s plan. By saying “make thick my blood,” Lady Macbeth wants to hide her female identity by stopping her menstrual cycle. Lady Macbeth’s internalized misogyny shines through, conveying that only women have menstrual cycles and that having one is seen as a weakness, implying that women are innately inferior. The Queen is concerned that her natural, weaker, and more emotionally attached figure might come in the way of following through with her self-destructive plan. Lady Macbeth believes that she must drastically alter her body and identity to meet the masculine standard needed to deceive and manipulate others into committing horrific actions. This nearsighted outlook is because she has no one to check her actions and relies on manipulating others and herself to fulfill her unethical ambitions. Dr. Austin says the following about undermining self-deception on social media: Third, it is good to cultivate deep friendships for many reasons, but one of these reasons is that such connections can undermine self-deception.

Our deep and closest friends know us. In such relationships we should be able to help each other see past the blind spots we have about ourselves. Social media may help in this, but face-to-face interactions are irreplaceable. (Austin, 2013) Avoiding self-deception on social media is aided by having a close circle of friends or others who truly know the given individual. Seeing past blind spots is essential. The Queen should have a close circle around her and enough security not to put on a facade that convinces herself that her manifested masculine extremities are

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legitimate and will help her commit treason. Lady Macbeth uses this manifested masculinity as an accomplice in killing Duncan because she does not naturally have the stomach for it.

Lady Macbeth loses her false facade at her breaking point, and her deception catches up with her, resulting in her mental deterioration. Act 5 Scene 1 is the end of Lady Macbeth’s false facade. Lady Macbeth recounts her past sinful actions, such as washing Duncan’s blood off her hands. Her self-destruction has finally caught up with her, and just like with social media, the impacts result in the Queen’s demise.

Shakespeare writes Lady Macbeth’s downfall as the following: LADY MACBETH. Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. O, O, O! (5:1:53-55) DOCTOR. How came she by that light?

GENTLEWOMAN. Why, it stood by her. She has light by/her continually. ‘Tis her command. (5:1:23-25) Lady Macbeth reenacts her actions the night of Duncan’s murder, showcasing her mental instability for the first time. In this scene, Lady Macbeth comments on how the blood lingers on her hands; her actions will not go away, and the Queen cannot run away from her problems. When the Doctor checking up on Lady Macbeth asks the Queen’s gentlewoman how Lady Macbeth got her candle, the gentlewoman replies that the Queen lit it and has not let it go. The candle signifies life and the end of Lady Macbeth’s deception. Lady Macbeth’s candle is the one shred of life she must hold onto; when the light is blown out, Lady Macbeth is dead – her facade will get the best of her. Lady Macbeth calls for light after begging the spirits for darkness and masculine attributes. Now, her deceptive nature is gone, and she is

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becoming mentally unstable. Lady Macbeth is the mastermind behind the significant murders Macbeth commits and is the sole reason for their demises, which are fueled by her deceptive and self-destructive actions. In modern times, Lady Macbeth represents social media’s self-destructive and deceptive nature.

There are increasing concerns with the rising cases of mental illnesses reported by teenagers resulting from the harmful effects of social media. Researchers tested the correlation between social media and mental illnesses in teenagers in a recent study. The report is as follows: “A 2019 study suggested that teenagers who use social media for more than 3 hours daily are more likely to experience mental health problems, such as depression, anxiety, aggression, and antisocial behavior” (Sherrell, 2021). This case, and many others like it, shows the relationship between the uptick of mental illnesses coinciding with social media’s prime epoch. These mental illnesses can lead to suicide, which has seen a recent uptick. Like in Macbeth, deception by teenagers on social media causes death on multiple ends.

Social media creates unrealistic standards for teenagers, making teenagers try to change or lie to themselves in order for others to perceive them in a particular way.

Over time, this self-deception leads to mental illnesses in teenagers and mental deterioration, just like the demise of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth.

Deception is the leading cause of Lady Macbeth and Macbeths' demise. Lady Macbeth's deception results in multiple deaths because she is seldom true to herself. She only admits her faults when trying to get the spirits to remove her weaknesses. Ultimately, staying true to oneself is all that anyone can ever ask for.

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Ambition, peer pressure, and faulty standards should not define one's identity; people should not pretend to be someone they are not. False portrayal of one's identity is harmful, as displayed in Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, and teenagers who use social media.

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Works Cited “Self-Deception and Social Media - Psychology Today.” Psychology Today, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/ethics-everyone/201305/self-decept ion -and-social-media.

“Social Media and Mental Health: Depression and Psychological Effects.”

Medical News Today, MediLexicon International, https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/social-media-and-mental-health #statistics.

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The Myth of Eurydice and Orpheus Hailey Fouché

Dr. John Jacobs offers his Latin 2 Honors students the opportunity to compose their own retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, that both Vergil and Ovid published versions of in Georgics and Metamorphosis, respectively. Dr. Jacobs says he likes to use this myth as “an opportunity for students to learn about how ancient myths rarely come in a single version; instead, Greek and Latin authors riff on each other's interpretations in order to sustain an ongoing literary and cultural dialogue about myth as a concept and its role in the Greek and Roman worlds.” The assignment asks students to reimagine the myth in a way that rewrites and reinterprets the original, with the freedom to keep or change any aspect of the plot, character, and theme. Hailey Fouché’s retelling of the myth celebrates the transcendent love between Orpheus and Eurydice with her own unique approach.

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T his is the story of love that transcends all earthly things. In a small village in Calcata Vecchia, Italy whispers of the grandest weddings could be heard in every house and street. Eurydice, the daughter of Venus, was blessed with a beautiful voice, wonderful features, and a body so graceful that it mesmerized people. She was going to be married to Orpheus, a man who started out as a small-time painter but quickly rose to fame as a painter prodigy. The two of them met at night in a forest. Orpheus was grappling with what to paint until he heard a beautiful melody from a woman he could not see. Inspired by her music he painted a picture of the sky. When the painting was done he wanted to find the mystery women. He searched and searched but could not find her, but he didn’t give up. He would leave his paintings in the woods in hopes of her finding them. One day he heard a woman, who was soaking clothes in a river, humming a familiar song. Ecstatic, he finally found his woman. He asked her out on a date and she said yes. From there it was history, and now they were going to marry each other.

As the days drew closer, the anticipation of the wedding grew higher and higher until the gods heard about it, and it became a popular topic in the heavens.

Word of the wedding spanned across the globe and even reached down to the cracks of the underworld, where Hades stirred in his lonely sorrow. Captivated by the 77

stories of Eurydice, he grew envious of Orpheus and sought to make her his companion.

As each day edged closer to the day of the wedding, Hades' envy worsened and the gods grew concerned with Hades’ rising agitation. The people of Calcata Vecchia, however, were blissfully unaware of the gods and prepared for the wedding day.

Finally, the day everyone had been waiting for arrived. Red rose petals covered the town and beautiful ribbons were attached to homes and temples. In a clearing in the woods where Orpheus first heard Eurydice’s song, Orpheus smiled with immense pride at his bride to be. Both mortals and immortals watched, some closer than others.

After hours of beautification, Eurydice arrived at the clearing, followed by many bridesmaids. Her hair was braided in a meticulous way, complemented by a headset that looked like it was on fire as she walked. She wore a beautiful wine-colored dress accented with scarlett and gold notes. Once she reached the altar, Orpheus and Eurydice shared heartfelt words and promises. The crowd cheered with joy and the gods celebrated fondly.

Eurydice looked at Orpheus with happiness and adoration, when suddenly she was interrupted by people shouting. The world spun and her vision began to dim, as if she was slowly being lulled to sleep. Unbeknownst to her, a black serpent had bitten her on her ankle following Hades' command. She dropped to the ground, the happy day turned to one of chaos and despair. Orpheus' soulmate had died.

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Everyone in the city mourned the death of Eurydice but no one more than Orpheus. With a loss of appetite and inability to sleep, Orpheus retreated to his home, bedridden with grief. One day getting out of his bed, he tripped on a paintbrush. Memories of his lover flooded his mind, and he decided that he must journey to the Underworld to get her back.

Orpheus painted the story of his lover and him before he made the trip. When he arrived at the gate to the Underworld he then convinced the guards to let him through by showing them all the painting. When he finally reached Hades’ palace, he was led to a room where Hades sat on his throne. Eurydice stood next to him pouring him wine with eyes glazed over with despar. Orpheus, horrified and heartbroken by what he saw, ran over to help his lover but was grabbed and forced to the floor by gaurds. Eurydice, noticing the commotion, turned to face it.

Orpheaus, who was thrashing in the guards’ arms, stopped when he heard a bottle break. Quickly looking up he saw a shocked Eurydice. “My Love” said Orpheus. Eurydice's eyes cleared and she attempted to speak but nothing came out.

Hades explained that when she came to the Underworld she could talk about nothing but her lover, which greatly aggravated him. He had removed her ability to speak.

Orpheus wasn’t satisfied with just seeing her and longed to bring her back.

He spoke with courage in his heart, and after a day of non-stop debate Hades finally came to a conclusion. “You may return to the earth realm, but on your journey back you can not look at her. If you turn around to talk or look at her, then both of you

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shall remain here. You will lose your eyes and your hearing. Her voice will be gone forever...” Desperate to save his lover, he agreed. Hades was thrilled at the prospect of both of them being trapped and quickly sent Orpheus on his way.

Orpheus began the long journey back with Eurydics undisturbed by guards.

As he got close to the exit of the Underworld he became worried. He never heard her voice or presence behind him. He wondered if she was ever there at all. Was it possible for Hades to lie? How was she going to leave? Will everything be okay? All these thoughts running through his head troubled him. Finally five steps before the entrance he turned around to confirm that Eurydice was there and that everything would be okay. A chain formed around his neck immediately and dragged him back to the throne room, where Hades gleefully sentenced him to eternal damnation, without the ability to see or hear. Hades also sentenced Eurydice to an eternity of servitude to him.

The couple carried out their sentences in separate parts of the Underworld.

Every night when Orpheus thought of his lover and how she was suffering, he remembered all the happy times together and what the stars looked like each night.

And every time he remembered he sobbed. His wails were so loud that the earth shook and they reached to the heavens.

Venus pitied Eurydice and sent her brother to retrieve the couple and return to earth. They were both very grateful, but when they returned they could not see or hear each other. And for Orpheus, an artist who was not able to see and hear his muse while knowing she was next to him, was almost as painful as their physical

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separation. Eurydice was forced to watch her lover go through all this pain. There were no words she could say to make him feel better because there were no ears to listen. The gods, upset by the sadness of the beautiful couple, wished to help them but were forbidden from interfering. They had already pushed the limits of their power by putting the lovers under their protection, keeping Hades from dragging them back. But the couple did the best they could and eventually found happiness knowing they had each other's company and touch.

Hades, however, saw how happy they were together, in spite of their obstacles, and was infuriated by their happiness. Hades appeared before Orpheus one day and offered him an ultimatum, “either you kill yourself or I will kill your wife.” Orpheus was troubled by the choice he was given, but he knew in an instant he would do anything for his wife. Later that evening he flung himself from a cliff.

Nearby, Eurydice watched him with horror and followed him, deciding that no life was better than one without him.

Touched by their story, the gods reconnected both souls in Heaven, where they restored Orpheus’s sight and Eurydice’s hearing and voice. They spent eternity together in love, where she sang for him and he listened and created beautiful paintings for the gods. Some people say the stars and planets are some of Orpheus’s fallen paintings.

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The God of Small Things Book Bento Box Dhruv Jetley

The following piece, written by Dhruv Jetley, follows the format of a book bento box, an image composed of artifacts and colors that symbolize important aspects of the novels they depict. In Jetley’s presentation, he masterfully weaves together the defining themes present in Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things: light and darkness, preservation of the past, and the impact of imperialism. He picks apart the intricacies of Estha and Rahel’s upbringing, searching for the legacy of colonialism and the sometimes nefarious ways in which history haunts characters’ every move. By touching on complex political ideologies and drawing upon a plethora of textual references, Jetley gives his argument immense validity without becoming too dry or impersonal.

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R oy introduces the juxtaposition of light and dark in the opening pages, contrasting “black crows [gorging]” and “dissolute bluebottles… [dying]” with “bright mangoes” and “glittering sunshine” (3). Similar images of darkness recur throughout the novel. The death of Sophie Mol occurs in the darkness of night, which had been quietly lurking in the background: the children “couldn’t see that they were in the wrong lane of a silent highway full of muffled traffic” (276).

The History House, the site of Ammu and Velutha’s forbidden love and Velutha’s brutal death, is referred to as the Heart of Darkness, highlighting the ever-present nature of darkness in the tragedies that the Ipe family endures. Despite the injustice and marginalization that the protagonists face, Roy ends with a message of hope: anyone can find happiness and fulfillment in the small things in their everyday existence, for life ultimately comes down to a handful of critical moments and decisions. Thus, where there is darkness, there is also light–one cannot exist without the other.

Depicting a series of animal-shaped stains on the road, Roy highlights the omnipresent and rigid hierarchical nature of the Indian caste system. Passing by a Communist protest in their skyblue Plymouth, the twins notice a “dead frog squashed on the road… squashed so flat that it looked more like a frog-shaped stain on the road than a frog” (78). Against the backdrop of India’s Communist 84

movement, a failed attempt to topple the existing hierarchy of Indian society, the twins continue their reflection of the stains on the road: “Squashed frog-shaped stains in the Universe. Squashed crows that had tried to eat the squashed-frog-shaped stains in the Universe. Squashed dogs that ate the squashed crow-shaped stains in the Universe” (79). Roy illustrates a clear hierarchy of animal-shaped stains: similar to an ecological food chain, the dogs eat the crows, the crows eat the frogs, and the frogs are the lowest of species. Mirroring the Indian caste system, the chain remains fixed. Each caste, just like each species, has a predetermined role to play in preserving the social order. In the context of the Communist march, the frogs represent Velutha and the Untouchables, trapped in a self-perpetuating state of poverty and marginalization, squashed by those above them. Foreshadowing the Ipe family’s betrayal of Velutha to protect its reputation, the upper class (dog) is the highest predator, responsible for keeping the “inferior” classes in order through discrimination and coercion. Moreover, the fact that the animals do not exist in themselves, but rather as shaped stains on the road, suggests that there is a larger force holding the caste system together. This larger force is the self-enforcing mechanism of internalized oppression; that is, if society classifies people as members of a certain class, they effectively “squash” themselves because their identity entirely revolves around being members of that class. The internalization of caste divisions explains why Vellya Paapen volunteers to kill his own son, as well as why Baby Kochamma fabricates her police report to preserve her sense of superiority as a dog atop the food chain.

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Additionally, Roy’s use of the words “stain” and “Universe” suggests a permanent and everlasting quality. A stain lingers in its place, destroying the purity of its victim. The universe encompasses all of existence, from the smallest of atoms to the largest of galaxies. Applying this language to the caste system, Roy observes the fact that the caste system is so deeply entrenched in Indian society, defining even the smallest everyday interactions, that it cannot ever be escaped.

However, the legacy of rigid hierarchical social divisions is dangerous and destructive, leaving a permanent stain on Indian families and institutions.

Using pickles as a symbol of the preservation of the past, Roy suggests that certain traditions can be dangerous and regressive if they do not evolve with the times; that is, we should not preserve tradition at the expense of doing what is “right,” especially when those traditions are considered “wrong” by contemporary standards. Located between the house and the river, the Ipe family business Paradise Pickles & Preserve is literally in the business of preserving: pickling is the process of extending the shelf life of perishable foods using fermentation. The factory also produces banana jam before the Food Products Organization prohibited it because it could not be unambiguously classified as either jam or jelly. Embodying the pickling process, the Ipe family seeks to extend the shelf life of caste divisions, rigid gender roles, and ancient love laws, and anyone that blurs the lines of tradition like banana jam must be thrown away. For example, Velutha, an Untouchable, is a diligent worker at the pickle factory–a walking antithesis of the tradition that pickles preserve. Ultimately, when he blurs the lines of caste divisions

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and violates the love laws, he is murdered by “history’s henchmen” (292), who were “merely inoculating a community against an outbreak” (293). In other words, Indian tradition requires that the caste order be pickled, preserved against a dangerous outbreak of change and progress.

However, reflecting back on her first batch of professional pickles years ago, Mammachi recalls a night when the jar leaked: “The pickle bottles stood in a pool of oil… The pickled mangoes had absorbed oil and expanded, making the bottles leak… on long journeys their labels became oily and transparent” (159). The fact that the jars leak suggests that certain traditions cannot be preserved because, the same way pickled mangoes absorb oil and expand, human society has a natural tendency to evolve, on average moving in a more moral direction. On long journeys, such as the course of history, attempts to preserve tradition can be dangerous and regressive – “oily and transparent.” Thus, through pickles, Roy suggests that Indian society would progress significantly by abandoning traditional caste divisions. If it fails to evolve, it will inevitably end up in a pool of oil, drowning under the frustration of its own people.

By depicting the small things that highlight the inescapable legacy of British colonialism in an independent India, Roy highlights how foreign imperialism destroys the dreams of its victims, strips them of their identity, and leads to self-destruction. Talking to Chacko, a Rhodes scholar, about Pappachi’s anglophilia, Estha and Rahel look up the word “dispose” in the Reader’s Digest Great Encyclopedic Dictionary. The first definition is to “place suitably in particular order”

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(51), and the third is to “do what one will with, get off one’s hands, stow away, demolish, finish, settle, consume, kill, sell” (51). Drawing subtle allusions to British imperialism, these definitions indicate the two stages of colonialism: placing the victim “in order,” then going in for the kill by establishing a permanent presence.

The lingering effects of England putting India “in order” are evidenced through the small things in the novel. In 1969, riding in the skyblue Plymouth to see The Sound of Music, Estha is wearing his hair in an “Elvis puff” (37), an example of Western popular culture manifested in the young generation, which is responsible for carrying on Indian culture. With its depiction of perfect, well-behaved “clean white children” (101), The Sound of Music, an American film, highlights how colonial influence reinforces itself through subtle cultural standards and images, making “[the victims of colonization] adore [their] conquerors and despise [themselves]” (52). In 1993, nearly a half century after India gained independence, the legacy of colonialism manifests itself in different forms. For example, when tourists arrive for evening performances at the Heritage hotel, they are greeted with “truncated, “collapsed,” “amputated,” and “slashed” (121) Kathakali performances – classical Indian traditions corrupted and misappropriated to appease the commercial flavor of foreign tourists. The performers, agents of India’s cultural uniqueness, have no alternative but to “turn to tourism” (219) because the reorganization of Indian society around colonial standards has left them “[sailing] unanchored on troubled seas… never [to] be allowed ashore” (52).

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After step one of disposal is complete, the colonizers can skip to step three: demolishing, settling, and killing anything that is left of native society. In this stage, the natives lose their identity, “locked out” (52) of their own history and stripped of their dreams and human qualities. When the family meets Sophie Mol and Margaret Kochamma at the airport, Baby Kochamma’s attempts to impress them reflect an internalized sense of native inferiority: she instinctively places herself below the English side of the family, as if this hierarchy is natural and ought to be preserved. In the end, Roy writes that if history were a house, we have to “go inside and listen to what [people are] saying. And look at the books and the pictures on the wall. And smell the smells” (51). In other words, to truly understand the history of a nation repressed by colonialism, we must step inside the shoes of its victims and make sense of the world through their perspective.

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Nervous Conditions Exhibition Logan Furlonge

Logan Furlonge’s passion and natural voice shine through in her three-part analysis of Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga, giving her writing an unusual sense of authenticity. She intertwines a wide variety of sources seamlessly, bringing together the harsh reality of historical images and the pure emotion of jarring videos. Furlonge’s writing flows beautifully, leading the reader down an unmistakable path without becoming too intentional or forced. As any skilled author does, she leaves the right amount of room for interpretation while allowing her objectives and thematic direction to be ingrained into her audience.

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T he themes in Nervous Conditions can be summed up by Nyasha, Tambu’s cousin. Nyasha has intimate knowledge of colonization and assimilation because she is a physical part of England, having lived there for her formative years, taken from her homeland and asserted into the heart of colonization. Nyasha’s awareness separates her from Tambu in terms of education, social status, and privilege, and Tambu recognizes this. Having Babamukuru as a father gives Nyasha advantages that Tambu sees, but it also puts pressure on Nyasha that she hides until she’s literally falling apart. This is a pressure that is a direct product of colonisation, and Nyasha’s consciousness of the effects of colonisations on a country that she once felt a part of. She feels a separation from her country because of the time she spent in England. Reflecting to Tambu about the difficulties of coming back after being away for so long, she tells her cousin her parents are stuck with “hybrids for children” (79). Nyasha is now multicultural while losing her birth culture; there are two countries shoved inside 92

her body battling for control of her mind, and the eating disorder is a result of society’s norms forcing her into a space decided by the colonisers. The deterioration of Nyasha’s body is the cost of assimilation. It’s a physical withering away as she grapples with an eating disorder to fit herself into the “honorary space” (182) made by assimilation. It’s a dilapidation of a country’s child, its daughter, the one who will carry the nation into its coming years. Assimilation is the silent half of the war of colonisation, but it’s only silent when no one is looking for it. When Tambu sees the condition her cousin is in, she questions, “Did he not know? Did he not see?” (203) when it appears Babamukuru isn’t aware of what his daughter is struggling through. The severity of Nyasha’s illness puts a mental toll on Tambu, because her cousin is one of the people who makes up her home. The homestead is the building Tambu grew up in, where she grew her own crops so she could keep going to school, but her home is made up of her family. “If I forgot them,” Tambu acknowledged, “my cousin, my mother, my friends, I might as well forget myself” (191). This is the core aspect of colonization, which Nyasha knows. Protestant school teaches them to forget their culture, their religion, and their language, effectively teaching children to forget who they are. Assimilation separates children from their parents, and their homes. “‘It’s bad enough,’” Nyasha says, “‘when a country gets colonised, but when the people do as well! That’s the end, really, that’s the end’” (150). In Warsan Shire’s poem The House, she describes a woman’s body as a house, and the impact of men on the house itself. Tambu and Nyasha are homes for their culture, and their family,

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but colonisation has “come with hammers” and “‘bloody lies’” (205). A house, a country, a child, can only endure so much. “no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark” Warsan Shire’s Home is a bloody love letter to a country racked by war. The poem is about the reasons people are forced from their homes, because leaving by choice is a privilege “go home blacks/refugees/dirty immigrants/ asylum seekers” do not have. Shire’s language is heartbreaking matter-of-fact; this is the reality of children, and children’s children, forced from their homes because “home is the barrel of a gun” and they have no other choice. The poem is the distinction between immigrant and refugee. The poem is children with lost childhoods struggling to stay young. The poem is salt oceans and salt tears and sharks less dangerous than the shark left behind. Shire shows the pointedness of childhood in the other children the narrator sees as they flee their country, writing “the boy you went to school with/who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory/is holding a gun bigger than his body.” The use of poetry to portray why refugees flee their country allows for unfiltered honesty about the terrifying realities of war and country occupation from the perspective of what appears to be a child. Poetry as an art form is a brilliant way to discuss real world problems while invoking the same images as a video or film might.

“The poem can start with him walking backwards into a room.”

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Backwards is a postmodernist poem that explores the desire to reverse traumatic situations. While Home is about the loss of one’s country and colonial/historical despair, Backwards is a kind of personal despair. Shire writes, “I’ll rewrite this whole life and this time there’ll be so much love,/you won’t be able to see beyond it.” The child in the poem wants to rewrite a tragedy she witnessed, and the two halves of the poem reflect that. The first line of the first stanza, “The poem can start with him walking backwards into a room,” is the last line of the second stanza. The lines, Mum’s body rolls back up the stairs, the bone pops back into place,/maybe she keeps the baby./ Maybe we’re okay kid?” become “Maybe we’re okay kid,/maybe she keeps the baby./Mum’s body rolls back up the stairs, the bone pops back into place.” This poem allows for personal despair and an examination of personal despair by literally looking at the event from back to front, front to back, inside and out.

“At parties I point to my body and say This is where love comes to die. Welcome, come in, make yourself at home. They laugh, they think I’m joking.”

The House is a poem about the dangerous consequences of viewing children as houses for their countries, families, and culture. It tackles how past relationships

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stay with you, rape, and the effect of men on women. The first stanza reads, “Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust,/ bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy./ Sometimes the men - they come with keys,/ and sometimes, the men - they come with hammers.” Home, Backwards, and The House all encompass themes presented in Nervous Conditions, such as the effect of colonisation on a country’s people, family relations, and reactions to trauma, but out of the three The House is the most about gender roles within society. It depicts how women’s bodies, like houses, are raided, stolen, and torn down. The mother is given the role of the first stanza, and is the first one to tell her daughter that her body is like a house. She warns her daughter about what men will do. Later, the daughter corrects the social workers when they ask “Show us on the doll where you were touched” and she responds with “I don’t look like a doll, I look like a house.” The other figures in the poem are the father, depicted as a stuffed pig on the dining room table, and the men who have entered the house, or tried to force their way past the front door. Like the daughter in the poem, colonisation has forced its way into Nyasha’s body, her home. In the way that “Yusef called God’s name through the keyhole and no one answered,” assimilation fit its way around her bones and forced her into a small space.

Kara Walker’s monument Fons Americanus is an allegory of the transatlantic slave trade. At the top of the statue is a woman used to represent Venus. The Birth of Venus painted by Sandro Botticelli is a well-recognized work of art. Walker reclaims the image of Venus, and subsequently womanhood, in Fons Americanus, placing her

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at the crown of the monument as a Black woman. The use of water throughout the piece represents the water of the Atlantic, and how water connects life. Water is a source of power in Fons Americanus, speaking to the way that the continents were connected through the oceans and through slavery. In the basin of a statue is a man in a leaking boat, sharks swarming. The sharks represent danger surrounding the boat, in the water itself, but the leaking boat represents danger in the slave boats, since a capsized ship is a dangerous one. “No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark,” Warsan Shire writes, and in Still The Most Shocking Second a Day the ocean separates the child from her mother. Nervous Conditions and The House introduce the idea of women and children as houses (for cultures, families, and countries) but maybe children are more like boats in danger of capsizing while sharks swarm. Maybe the children are the water themselves, connected nations across vast distances, aware of the dangers within but fighting to bring people to safety.

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The following two pieces, written by Julian Coviello and an undisclosed author, are in response to a task all AP English Language and Composition students are assigned. Students are instructed to compose letters, addressed to any recipient of choice, with the goal of sparking personal reflection and interpersonal growth.

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A Letter to Coach Lali Julian Coviello

In Julian Coviello’s impassioned address to his longtime soccer coach, he lists experiences

from his childhood, moments in which he felt deeply

uncomfortable and trapped. He relives a trauma of sorts, all with the lens towards leading his mentor down a road of learning and discovery. As any good teammate would, Coviello stands up for his fellow players who remain voiceless, unequipped by the magic of the letter as a literary and relational device. While his words will rip at every reader’s heart, the rawness of his writing is certainly a display of strength rather than a cry for help.

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D ear Coach Lali, I will never forget the first time I heard you scream “Blackie” from the sidelines of the football pitch in Singapore. It was during a particularly hard training session and I stopped dead in my tracks, heart-pounding, thinking you were calling to me.

As I was trying to figure out what I had done wrong, I turned around and saw Jai standing beside me. Jai had just lost the ball to a defender and his Indian skin was far darker than mine. You were calling to Jai. When I realized that, my physical shaking started to subside, but I could not shake the feeling of sadness your words caused me. I still have not shaken it to this day. This approach of using degrading insults to motivate was not effective and did not unify the team. Let me explain to you what I should have done many years ago so that you can understand why your tactics did not work, You called Jai “Blackie” throughout the three years you coached him and me. And you did it without regard for the impact of your words on him or how it made us all feel. Most kids and parents just tried to ignore you screaming “Blackie” and other racially insensitive names (such as calling all the Japanese players “Hiroshima” and

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“Nagasaki”), but no one wanted to confront you because they were scared of how you would react. Parents tried to justify your conduct through “cultural differences” because you were from Serbia and part of an older generation. You nicknamed me “Bimbo,” which means baby in Italian because I was the smallest and the youngest on the team when I played for you. That made me feel small, and I never had the courage to speak up.

I always regretted not saying anything to you because I always thought you deserved to know, to be given a chance. So that is the reason for my letter today. To give you the chance to be better.

I have been trying to think of ways to explain to you how your racial insensitivity towards all your nonwhite players was in direct contrast to everything you tried to teach us as athletes and teammates. I want you to be able to hear and understand my message, so I have decided to explain it to you using your own words.

These are the three lessons you taught us that I remember as being most important to you: 1. Stay United: You would spend hours debriefing us on games, all the players sitting on the bench and just listening to you. You had a captive audience.

And you would tell us over and over again to stay united. I can vividly hear you say “stay unit” in your Serbian accent to convey that message. But how could we be united when you treated the nonwhite players differently from the white players? Your words caused division, which is the opposite of unity.

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If you were genuinely trying to create camaraderie amongst your team, racist comments certainly prevented you from reaching that goal. Degrading your players in any form, especially with racially charged language, did not bring us closer together but instead broke us apart. I had countless encounters and disagreements with teammates who thought what you were saying was acceptable or just funny and that made me feel even more “other” and not part of the unit. Staying united is not only for the players to achieve, rather, it starts from the top down. You can only truly unite your team when you see all the players through the same lens and treat them all with sensitivity and awareness of their cultures and history.

2. Be Honest: You would always talk about the importance of honesty, and you would fall back on its importance to justify harshly criticizing a player for his performance in a training session or a game. Whenever we played poorly, you were the first one to get on our backs and we accepted that from you. But the nonwhite players could not be honest back to you about how your comments made us feel. I remember the look on Yuga’s face the first time you screamed “Hiroshima” at him. Honesty is a two-way street. For your nonwhite players to accept your version of honesty, you must also create a space where we could be honest too. Had you allowed us to tell you how we felt about your nicknames, or given us even the slightest opportunity to gently share our feelings, we would have been motivated to play even better for you.

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3. Be on Time: Another lesson I learned from you was to be on time. For you, if we were not 15 minutes early, we were late. I always understood that your obsession with being on time was about respect. But how can you teach respect if you don’t give it yourself? You wanted us to respect you and each other, but your exclusionary comments made many of us feel like you did not respect us. The feeling of disrespect led to less motivated performances. What made it even worse was that half the team felt respected and the other half did not. My idea of respect is to treat people with sensitivity about who they are, their whole person. You never once asked Jai or Yuga if they were okay with their nicknames and how they made them feel. Maybe if you had respected them enough to ask, you would have realized how impactful that respect was on their performance on the field.

Coach, I do not want anything to hold you back from reaching your potential. That will enable you to create a more distinct and personable connection with the world around you. Admitting you’re being insensitive isn’t an easy process, but as Martin Luther King once said: “We must see the need of having nonviolent gadflies to create the kind of tension in society that will help men to rise from the dark depths of prejudice and racism to the majestic heights of understanding and brotherhood.”(King Jr. 2). To create an inclusive environment, you need to set the tone and start creating a sense of brotherhood. Use Dr. King as an example. In his quest to create a sense of unity and brotherhood, it was his selflessness, not

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selfishness, that made him one of the most influential leaders of this generation. He fought against racism with nuance instead of brute force, which in turn made the impossible seem more reasonable. If you dedicate yourself to overcoming this mental barrier of always having to be the most powerful person in the room, the team will start to be more motivated to perform on the field for you.

This process of self-reflection will push you and you will have to look in the mirror and ask yourself some fairly deep questions. However, you will see the benefits.

While you and Ta-Nehisi Coates have nothing in common, his words are revealing: “I felt, but did not yet understand, the relation between that other world and me” (Coates 21). Once Coates was able to understand this relation, he was able to see the world in a whole new light, and I believe you can do the same. I am not asking you to become a racial activist and post on Instagram promoting racial equality, but to become aware of the perspectives of others, especially since the others are players you lead. I struggled with the way you conducted yourself, and I feel like Coates put my thoughts into words: “What was required was a new story, a new history told through the lens of our struggle” (Coates 44). You need to reframe your thinking and consider the opportunity you have to be inclusive, to broaden your thinking, to demonstrate sensitivity to your players, and see beyond your “whiteness”. Your worldview needs to expand to understand this new era we live in that values inclusivity and rejects racial prejudice and colorism.

Coach, I began training with you at Turf City as a boy. I left a man. But now I ask you to be a man and think of how your words influence the young players that come

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to you for guidance, who look up to you, who want to impress you. Be a man and change. I want to leave you with a quote from the famous black writer James Baldwin: “To act is to be committed and to be committed is to be in danger” (Baldwin 3). So challenge yourself to look beyond who you have been to become someone I want to follow—not just because I’m a young boy, but because you have demonstrated the moral integrity to lead.

Good luck. I’m here for you anytime.

Sincerely, Julian Coviello

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The Barrier Between You and Me Anonymous

The next and final submission for this year’s edition of The Lattice is a poignant representation of the times we are living in. Written by an author whose name is kept confidential, this letter represents the struggles countless American families are enduring as younger generations push back against old viewpoints and outdated stereotypes. This writer exposes the hypocrisy of their own family members, imploring their father to remember where he comes from in light of recent political and social dilemmas plaguing our country. Combining the sheer beauty of noteworthy literature with the reality of our time in history, there was no doubt that this must be the piece with which our publication is concluded for 2021-22.

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D ear Father,

In my early years of adolescence, I felt so close to you. “Daddy’s little girl,” I was called by family members, friends of yours and my mothers, and even school teachers who watched as I clung to you at daycare, refusing to be released from your clutches and into the hands of supervisors at preschool. Yet, as I age into adulthood, I grow increasingly aware of that which separates us- further our generations- and the areas in which our values diverge.

I often wonder when I began to feel this invisible barrier, and upon my self-reflection, I recall when I shared with you the news of the murder of George Floyd. I recall how my entire body was covered by goosebumps. I recall how I felt sick to my stomach, and I recall running into your room with a sense of urgency that no event in my existence had ever sparked within me. I remember how I showed you the video of Derek Chauvin, and I remember the question you asked me, the question that so bluntly divided us, reinforced the invisible generational barrier between us. “Was he trying to steal?” you asked me. I was stunned. “Why would it even matter?” I wondered as a sense of rage sparked within me.

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I did not care for the events that had transpired prior, but rather the unjust way in which a Black man's body was disregarded at the hands of a white police officer. You regarded my concern as premature, as I was not yet aware of the “full story” or “the events that had caused such a scene to transpire.” You felt my disregard for these facts to be ignorant. But maybe, it was easier for you to focus on justifying the situation rather than acknowledging the residual effects of the actions of your ancestors- rather our ancestors- and their plunder of the Black body. The residual effects on the society which my generation must clean up.

It is often said that we as humans are products of our environment, unconsciously absorbing the behaviors and beliefs that surround us. I believe this to be true, and I believe your intentions to be sincere. You always raised me to be strong, act with integrity, and most importantly, treat those around me with kindness. Each day I wonder if I have fulfilled these expectations, and exemplified the values that you tried so hard to instill in me from a young age.

I questioned where your values came from. As an immigrant from Morocco, I know that as a child you were taunted for your deeper skin tones, your accent, and your “smelly lunches.” Perhaps it was easier for you to become the plunderer than to be plundered. Or maybe, all the years of bullying had destroyed your identity, forcing you to assimilate into a society that did not truly accept you. Or maybe, whiteness washed over you like a tidal wave, stripping you of your appreciation for your culture, leaving your Djellaba and mint tea washed ashore.

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It is for these reasons that I do not believe you are ignorant. I believe you are a product of your environment. I feel a desire to educate you, the way you have so devoutly educated me for 16 years. This is why the words of Ta-Nehisi Coates have infiltrated dinner conversations, and spurred conversations that otherwise would have been left unspoken-left to reinforce the barrier that separates us.

I remember many of these conversations, particularly the one in which I expressed my concern for the rising cases of police brutality towards Black Americans. You interjected, “In about 80-90% of the cases, the Black victim was killed by another Black.” It was almost as if you had this fact on hand, ready to be weaponized at any moment in which you felt threatened. In response, I recited the words of Coates, “To yell ‘Black on Black crime’ is to shoot a man and then shame him for bleeding.” You went silent. I still wonder what you were thinking. Had my comments made you feel uncomfortable? What about them was so hard to hear? These were questions I wanted to ask you, but you had already gotten up from the dinner table and begun your walk up the stairs.

A part of me believes it was too difficult for you to admit that I was right. Doing so would mean that you were raising me in a world where fathers just like you were losing their children in the streets. A world where children the same age as me were being unjustly murdered at the very hands of those who swore by oath to protect them. As my father, it is within your nature to desire to shelter me from these horrors.

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But you must understand that your choice to ignore and deflect these conversations is a privilege. A privilege built upon years of exploitation, torture, and enslavement, of the Black community. Each time you walk away, you are complicit. Do not be fooled, I too share in this privilege. But I choose to use mine differently. I choose to amplify my voice and use it to educate those around me. I cannot claim to embody the values of integrity and strength you instilled in me while choosing to be silent.

It has come time for me to be released from your clutches. You must allow me to encounter the savagery of this world, expose myself to the ugly truths. These are truths that you and I both must come to terms with. I hope that we can do so together, and I await the day I feel this barrier dissolve.

Always with love, ~Your daughter

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