Reading Journal #8

This poem made me sad, and prepared me for another story of the Holocaust. The request for meditation struck a cord in me, and it made me stop and consider what I was reading a bit more carefully. The poem says, in a sentence, remember we are still humans despite what has been done to us. The narrator seems to be someone who is looking back on something as someone who now knows better. He mentions things like “I thought this, but now I know better, or I soon learned better.” It is as if he is writing about something that he has separated from the rest of himself and is yet an integral part of who he is. I think that this makes the narrator more real to me, for who can undergo what he has gone through and not be changed? Yet at the same time it makes him inaccessible to me, for he has gone through so much and so many times he mentions moments where he has lost all semblance of civilization and he has become hardened or cynical or has completely lost touch with both the future and the past. These moments set him apart as someone that I would never be able to fully relate to because I have never been pushed to that extreme. The moment that stands out the most to me in this text was when the narrator was talking with Schlome, the boy who has been in the camps for three years. He narrator tells the boy that his mother is in Italy, and the boy is amazed that there is a Jew in Italy. He is so deeply moved by this, and that stuck out in my mind. It seemed to me that the thought that somewhere in the world the narrator’s mother might be safe, even though she is a Jew, brought hope to that boy. The thought that something that simple could have that much of an effect on someone is mind boggling to me.

Writing Journal #7

I chose option d, which was offered in the museum since the Judith was not on display. I chose to write about Caravaggio’s Flagellation of Christ because when we were looking at it I was wondering why the men were beating Jesus with a bundle of sticks instead of proper whips, and from there I had fun creating characters who would embody my irritation with such a historical incongruity. I think that something that is difficult in writing dialogue is capturing the way people really speak and what that implies about your characters. The visual works gave me an easy starting point for my story but made it more challenging to bring the ending to where it needed to be, and since the painting is a moment frozen in time the story seems to just end. I think Naples was just a bit sketchier than Rome was and the motorini were meaner, but I don’t feel that had an effect on my writing. I think it was irrelevant because I was not in Naples long enough for it to seep in and have an effect on something as intrinsic to myself as my writing.

Caravaggio's Flagellation of Christ

Maxentius Flavius Vespasian clumped wearily into work. He stared wearily at the low wooden benches and cabinets as they swam blearily in and out of focus.
“Mornin’ Max.” Maxentius blinked surprisedly as his colleague, Lucius Casius Maximus pulled himself out of the dirty background and struggled into focus. Lucius was a wiry man who could not be described, especially by Maxentius’ limited vocabulary, as anything but brown. Maxentius occasionally wondered, when he took the time to wonder anything, how he had managed to accumulate the layers of grime that seemed to be permanently stuck to his skin.
“Mornin’ Lushus.” The room swam even more as Maxentius swung his bag off his shoulder. He stared at his lunch for a moment, wondering why it was sprawled over the floor instead of in his cabinet as it was supposed to be before he collapsed on his bench.
“Bad night las’ night?” Lucius was also staring at the lunch on the floor, wondering how a man who always seemed to be so well fed managed to walk around in such a dazed stupor.
Maxentius strung his words together with care.
“Me wife set into me again.”
Didn’t seem to affect her baking, Lucius considered as he eyed the rolls and sliced cheese that was still sprawled under Maxentius’ bench. “Fer what now?”
“Seems she is havin trouble findin pork. Hell woman, I asks her, since when does we eat pork? But that don’t matter, she wants pork, an’ couldn find pork, an’ so here we are.” Maxentius nodded and instantly regretted it. He squinted as he focused on Lucius. “ ‘ey now, give tha’ here.”
Lucius resignedly handed the roll back to his inebriated colleague.
Maxentius brushed the roll off on his sleeve before letting it roll out of his hands back to the floor. “But so she tells me as she thinks we need pork and this hole’s too backwards to have pork so I needs to do somfin about it. An’ she don’t understand tha’ there aint pork to be found in t’middle of t’night, so she set me out of t’house till I finds her some.”
Lucius nodded in understanding. “It’s a good thing you have an understanding with the keeper of the Kosher Hog then, aint it?”
“Yea’t is. Didn’ even hev much trouble findin’ me way t’work this morning’.” He smiled blearily and pulled open his cupboard. He glared disgustedly at the cloth loincloth that served as their uniform. “When I lived in Rome…”
“People had decent uniforms, I know, jest get changed and stop yer moaning bout it.”
Maxentius gave the cloth another black look before pulling his leather tunic off and wrapping the hated garment around his middle. “N’wonder me wife is fre, frusrt.” He paused, staring at the knot he was tying. “What’s t’word?”
“Frustrated?”
“Frustrated! Yea, frustrated. Shes frustrated. Cause this whole place is backwards. No decent uniforms. No pork. When we lived in Rome I had a decent uniform, an’ she could find pork. In t’middle of t’night too! An’ people respected me. They didn’t spit at me in the streets fer bein’ Roman. Hell, we were all Roman!”
“Get movin’ and stop gripping. We’re gonna get behind. Lots to do today.”
“Lots t’do! I bet. Troublemakers, this whole town. Th’lot o’them. Especially this here week. I don’ know how, but they all invited their troublmaking relitives t’town fer a party, and big troublemakin’ party. Rabble, th’lot o’them.” Maxentius stumbled against a stool that hadn’t been there a moment before. “This is th’armpit of the Empire, le’ me tell you. An’ these pigs aint satisfied t’make trouble jest fer us, no, they make it amon themselves. Like tha’ one, th’other day, ruined their temple, didn’ he? I wonder when he will be payin’ us a visit, aye Lucius?”
“He’s our ferst on our list, lad. Bruno’s already softening ‘im up, so stop philosophizing and move your ass!”
Maxentius heaved himself towards the end of the room. “Our first customer, aye? I bet I’ll get me some respect, once I be through with’im. N’like the rest of these pigs. Ha! Won’ eat pigs th’dirty louts, theys better than the Roman’s aint they? Well we’ll see whose better than who when I’m holding the whip!”
Lucius shook his head. He didn’t mind his job, it kept him housed and fed. But Maxentius actually enjoyed his work. When he took a hold of his whip he was in control of the world, and the screaming criminal who had fallen afoul of Pontius Pilate’s good graces was the perfect vent for his frustrations. Even at the end of days when Lucius longed to wash the blood off his body and fall into a tankard of beer Maxentius was surprised by the setting of the sun, and would probably continue his work by candle light if he were allowed to.
“Jest get your tools, Max, and lets go. Pontius Pilate wants this one out there right away.”
“What in the name of bloody hell is this!? First they move me out of Rome to this armpit of th’world full of dirty I’m holier than thou bloody wont eat pork cause our bleeding god told us it was dirty and you are a slime dwelling pagan and now they give me this! They call this a whip? This aint a whip, it’s a bloody bundle of bleeding twigs!”
Lucius had prudently hidden inside a nearby cabinet when Maxentius started to yell. Anyone who knew Maxentius would hide when he exploded, except perhaps his wife. But at the mention of the whip Lucius stuck his head out to evaluate the situation. Maxentius was towering in front of the cabinet where his beloved whip was usually kept. But instead of holding his beloved contraption of knotted rope, bits of broken stone and pottery stained black with the blood of thousands of men, he was brandishing a bundle of sticks in his angry fist.
“What‘n the name of hell is that thing?”
“A bleeding bundle of twigs, thats what! How am I t’do my job if they don’t e’en give me a whip? Forty lashes used t’kill a man, an’ now t’will barely tickle!”
“I do remember something about budget cuts…”
“I used t’be a soldier of Augustus himself! I was a member of th’emperor’s elite torturers! And now look at me!”
“Well we need to go, e’en if it is only a bundle of sticks, com’on Maxentius, Bruno’ll be waiting…”
Still fuming, Maxentius followed Lucius as he grabbed his own bundle of sticks out of the brown changing room. The desert sun had not yet risen above the palace battlements and the whipping yard was still wrapped in a forgiving gloom which momentarily hid the man Bruno was tying to the post in the middle of the courtyard. Maxentius fumed towards him, raised his arm and caught the man’s eye. It was the most piercing gaze he had ever been caught in. It made him forgot his rage, his bitterness, his pride. Slowly he felt this man tied to the whipping post in front of him look through him, see all of him and all he had ever done and, strangely, love him. He felt an invitation in that moment, an invitation to he didn’t know what. The bundle of sticks slipped from his fingers and landed on the stone as Max stood there, lost in the intensity of the man’s eyes. But then Lucius struck the man in the middle of the chest and blood dripped into his eyes from, are those thorns wrapped around his head? Shaking with emotion, Maxentius leaned over to pick up his bundle of sticks.

Reading Journal #7

Juvenal develops wealth as a factor that is leading to the deterioration of the very fabric of society that Juvenal is a part of. He introduces it as a contrast to the honor and glory of the past heroes of Rome. He never goes out and says that the rich are ridiculous or greedy or hypocritical, but he ridicules the way they interact with other people and the fact that they have “degenerated” from their glorious ancestors. This is similar to Twain, because he never goes out to say that the rich are anything in particular, but he ridicules them through their interactions on a societal level. However, he never addresses them as directly as Juvenal does. Juvenal’s attacks are quite obviously addressed at the rich while Twain disguises his more as a story about a traveler, who happens to make certain remarks tat criticize people in an unnoticeable way. In Juvenal’s works hypocrisy does not play nearly as large of a role as it does in Twain’s works. In Twain that seems to be the author’s primary complaint- the Church s wealth and hypocritical about its wealth. This is demonstrated in all of his snide remarks about the ranks of fat friars and priests and the starving masses outside the church doors. Juvenal, on the other hand, seems to attack the rich more for their lack of honor and virtue and their attempts to cover their disgusting habits behind their quickly tarnishing family names. However in his rant about the rich man and the poor man at the table I see him angry, at least in part, at the hypocrisy in the fact that the rich man says he is feeding the poor man but really he is giving him scraps. Yet even in that rant it seemed that the author was more upset by the fact that the poor man puts up with the treatment and that the rich man is so greedy, not hypocritical but merely without and redeeming virtue at all. Twain criticized the Italian’s lack of free speech by comparing it to the American’s use of such, but Juvenal merely states that if the people did have free speech they would dethrone those in power. Twain seems to think that free speech is a beneficial right that will eventually improve the lot of the people, but Juvenal sees it merely as a way to warn the rich. He does not seem concerned at all with the quality of life of the plebs, but he does worry about the moral honor of the rich and only uses the threat of the power of the people as that- a threat. Juvenal portrays artists and poets as occasionally honorable, but more often full of themselves and indebted to and pawns of their patrons. He believes that patrons are really the ones true muse inspired artists must beware of, for they believe that they are wonderful artists in tier own right, and this is hard to compete with. Twain sees them as ancient bores and creators of glorified junk (such as dried out fire screens). He also thinks that tour guides are way too focused on “famous” painters such as Michelangelo, and he gets bored with the obsession with them. Juvenal believes the honor means that someone is upright and honest, that they are active (involved militarily or work their own land), that they are eloquent and well educated. He does not think that they should be as concerned with their aesthetic image (he denounces shaving backs and butts) or with the quality of their food (in terms of their excessive gourmet banquets for themselves), he denounces their greed and their occupation with frivolities (such as different places to eat depending on whether it is raining or sunny out so your horses don’t have to get wet).
I honestly was not very amused by any of Juvenal’s satires. There was one line that was relatively amusing, and that was in the eighth satire, and it was “the chests of his forbearers were hairy; Look at him, though, with his butt all smoothed by Catanian pumice!” I found that line funny because it seemed like such a ridiculous thing to object to. That of all the things that the author could have compared or complained about he chose a smooth butt seems very strange to me. However, for the rest of the satires I was not amused. I believe that for satire to be funny you have to understand the political and social contrivances that are under critique, and I did not understand those which he was critiquing enough to find the humor in them. I did not understand the significance of the little barbs that were probably being thrown, and because we read a translation I also missed any play on words that the author might have originally employed. I don’t know enough to understand why litters and slaves are a joke, or why being fed and eel might be amusing or even insulting. There is too much distance in between me and what he is critiquing for me to understand the humor without much more study of the time period.

Writing Journal #6

I chose the character I did because on this trip I see all of us sitting in the Rome Center on a regular basis, talking to people or doing homework online instead of spending that time exploring the city, so I thought I could use the situation. In order to satirize this I decided to have a girl who has always wanted to go to Rome but who is also addicted to the computer get to Rome and spend all her time online. The most challenging part of writing this was coming up with the idea. I actually stared at my blank computer screen for several hours before I managed to think it up. My character is quite flat, but I think that this is useful to satirize the idea she is representing better. I did not return to Twain for anything for this assignment.

Satire

Angela had wanted to go to Rome since she was thirteen and had first seen a picture of the Coliseum while she was Googling romantic vacation spots for her future honeymoon. She had known that for her life to be complete she would have to visit this city of wonders. She spent her freshman computer class searching out the highest quality snapshots of St. Peter’s and the Tiber instead of practicing typing, and at night she read traveler’s blogs instead of The Lord of the Flies. She knew that to insure a return to Rome you had to throw a coin into the Trevi Fountain and that the Mouth of Truth bit off the hand of any who answered a question falsely. She enjoyed spending her free time looking this up, and would often call her friends with new information she had recently discovered buried deeply inside an obscure website or travel directory.
Angela’s senior year was spent searching online college websites, looking for the college which ran the most programs to the Eternal City. She ranked her choices based on the quality, length and cost of their different study abroad sessions, and finally made her choice for the University of Washington because they had at least three different programs that traveled to Rome on a yearly basis and several others that ran special tours on occasion. She was sure that she would qualify for at least one of them in her time as an undergraduate.
So she spent her freshman year wandering around the dorms, working hard to get into the different departments that would allow her the chance to go to Rome. She focused most on the Honors Department, as they offered not only one but two programs a year. In her spare time she made facebook friends who were also interested in Rome and looked up the Spanish Steps and the Piazza de Popolo on Google earth, spending hours playing with the 360◦ views that allowed you to see the monuments from all angles. She avidly watched every episode of the HBO series, Rome, and read Ovid, Dante and Virgil off the University of Virginia’s online book reserve. She checked online daily, waiting for her prized programs to offer the chance for her to study in Rome. Finally she received the email she had been waiting for for years, “Winter Study Abroad in Rome Opportunity.” For a moment Angela just stared at the screen, tears of joy and excitement welling up in her bright blue eyes. She flicked a curly brown tendril out of her eye and immediately messaged her best friend, Rose. She and Rose had entertained dreams of studying abroad together since they first sat next to each other in European History in ninth grade.

RomeIsCallingMyName says:
Hi Rose! guess what??? the honors department is accepting applications to study art history in Rome this week!
PrettyAsAFlower says:
Really? When did they post the app?
RomeIsCallingMyName says:
five minutes ago
PrettyAsAFlower says:
Wow, you noticed already? Lol
PrettyAsAFlower says:
You need to get out more.
PrettyAsAFlower says:
have you applied yet?
RomeIsCallingMyName says:
I’m loading the app right now.
RomeIsCallingMyName says:
isn’t this exciting?
PrettyAsAFlower says:
When is it?
RomeIsCallingMyName says:
winter quarter
PrettyAsAFlower says:
Damn it!
RomeIsCallingMyName says:
what?
PrettyAsAFlower says:
I have to continue the o-chem series, I cant go then
RomeIsCallingMyName says:
what?
RomeIsCallingMyName says:
but you have to go!
PrettyAsAFlower says:
I cant, if I get behind I wont be able to major in bio chem, and you know I want to go on to med school. I can go in a couple of years, or in the summer, but not this winter
RomeIsCallingMyName says:
sigh. well fine. be that way
PrettyAsAFlower says:
Sorry
RomeIsCallingMyName says:
its ok. I g2g, the files done loading. Wish me luck!
PrettyAsAFlower says:
good luck. ttyl!

Angela closed the conversation and eagerly filled out the application and returned it. A few weeks later she received notification that she had made it through the first round of applicants. She joyously posted a note on the facebook group “Io Amo Roma,” announcing her hopes of being able to travel to their adored city and received fifteen jealous and encouraging posts in the next two days wishing her luck.
Three weeks later she walked out of the conference room in Mary Gates Hall, confident that she had kicked ass in her interview. She had been able to talk for fifteen minutes about the amazing sights to see and things to do in Rome. She had expounded on her excitement at the prospect of shopping during Saldi, which ran throughout January (she had learned this tidbit from shopping online at the United Colors of Bennington last January). She pointed out that studying art history in Rome would be a once in a lifetime opportunity because Rome housed an amazing collection of famous art, from Michelangelo to Bernini to Caravaggio (which she had researched thoroughly last August when she had looked up different Roman art sites after a bad case of sunburn sent her back to her computer for the rest of the week). She felt that the program director, Laura, had been gracious and amazed at her enthusiasm and extensive knowledge, so it was no surprise when she received the email a week later. The subject line was the most exciting one Angela had ever seen: Welcome to Rome!
Fall Quarter seemed to fly by to Angela. Every day she did not spend preparing herself for Rome and gloating to Rose online was a day wasted, in her mind. She didn’t notice which classes she took and she only did her homework as a break from surfing the web. When winter break finally rolled around she could barely contain her excitement. She packed her bags a full five days in advance and nervously rechecked her airline bookings online, faintly worried that something would go wrong and her flight would be canceled. But the first of January came and saw her snoozing lightly against the window of a British Air jet.
Two thrilling days later saw her rolling her stuffed suitcases through the Campo di Fiori to the UW Rome Center, where she got her keys. She hurriedly lugged her suitcase up the six flights of stairs to her apartment and ran back down to sign in and gloat to all of her friends. And that is where you can find her today, moving between the first and third floors of the Rome center, waving her computer about hoping to catch the wavering wireless network. Day and night she chats with Rose and her other friends back home, constantly telling them about all the amazing ruins and paintings she has seen. She sends out mass emails to her family and more distant friends, and she experiments with Skype and Messenger Live to see which allows her the best conversation clarity so she can describe her experiences in person. She also writes daily to her Facebook friends, friends who are hanging jealously on her every word, wishing fervently that they could have been the ones who were experiencing Rome the way Angela is getting to. After all, she is living her dream.

Writing Journal #6

Figures and institutions satirized:

• Italian government- bankrupt, wasting money, unnecessarily grand, uses the Church as a resource
• The Church- domineering, greedy, sells favors, hypocritical
• Relationship between the church and the state- Church owns best of everything, best broken
• Italian state- churches and starving people, illiterate, no modern contrivances, all stone
• Priests- happy and comfortable while others are starving
• Medici- tyrants, blasphemous, ridiculously created self aggrandizing frescos (which the art world applauds), thieves and smugglers
• Art- saving tyrants from the oblivion that they deserve, groveling artists stooping to paint that, clouded beauty, admired junk
• Mary cult
• Beggars- everywhere, persistent
• People’s relationships to beggars- uncaring and very anti Christian, drive them away, esp. the friendless, orphaned and widowed.
• Dominican friars- dress silly, live on alms, “suffer” for their religion, incomprehensible, never wash, beg
• Italian work ethics- non existent- work for a few hours and then go home and do nothing.
• Papal States- paranoid, squalid, dense
• Government officials- dense, suspicious, pointless, don’t get jokes
• Relic worship- “bottled fragments of saints and not even a nail from the true cross”, ridiculous, hard to believe
• Ruins- moldy, decaying old buildings
• Modern Romans- slothful, superstitious, and ignorant
• Rome- unoriginal, discovered
• Insurance agents
• American women and fashions- silly, extravagant, wigs
• Italian men’s clothing-
• Italian’s bathing and washing habits- never wash their clothes and if they do they don’t wear the clean ones
• Italian Property ownership system- people don’t own the land unless they are priests or princes
• Over excess of soldiers and priests
• Treatment of Jews- treat them like dogs, cant work as they want, not given rights, shunned by Christians, live in ghettos, constantly cursed, humiliated
• Lack of free speech
• Reverence for ancestors- lack of change, stagnant, behind the times, plow with sharpened sticks
• Disbelief in that which they haven’t seen
• Strong outwardly enforced morals- my character is ruined! I have been branded a speaker of untruths!
• St Peter’s- huge, ornate, so big it looks small
• The Inquisition- compared to martyring Christians, brutal, hypocritical
• Modern theater/Coliseum- proper, opera glasses, snobbish, superfluous, sensationalist, unfeeling
• Modern Newspapers- hobnobbing, unfeeling, concerned with show, all knowing.
• Martyrs- over emphasized
• Michelangelo- monotonous, over emphasized, revered, monotonous, bore
• Tour guides- uncomprehending, fun to ridicule, Bad English, parroting, eager to please

Six Examples of Humor:

• “And now that my temper is up I may as well go on and abuse everybody I can think of”
• “One or two of those people who are so fond of writing their names in prominent places had been there before us- a million or two, I should think.”
• “But when they showed us the print of Peter’s face in the hard stone of the prison wall and said he made it by falling up against it”
• Of a playbill found in the Coliseum “There was a suggestive smell of mint drops about it still, a corner had evidently been chewed, and on the margin, these words were written in a delicate female hand:”
• “The whole to conclude with a chaste and elegant

GENERAL SLAGHTER!”

• “Marcus Marcellus Valerian (stage name- his real name is Smith)”
• “‘’Gyptian mummy!’ ‘Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume?’”

Writing Journal #5

In choosing a character I didn’t really think about my choice, I had to create her before I could choose her. I knew I wanted her to be female because I understand the way women’s minds work better than men’s, so I could write a piece entirely from a girl’s point of view much more believably than I could from a guy’s. I found that to create a complex character I had to place her in a situation that would create mixed feelings and which would allow her to show different sides of herself, and creating that type of situation without using dialogue or a true plot was difficult. As I designed my character I used something that is socially a familiar situation, but added the unsettling addition of being able to see into the uncertain thoughts of one of the participants of that situation. I did this because it was a context in which different sides of a character could be drawn out. I used several mechanisms to do this, such as including the character’s thoughts and mentioning other common social constructs like magazines and movies.

Character Description

Stop it!
The words resounded inside Kat’s head and she shivered. What is wrong with me? She wondered. She wanted to walk away, to leave the entire situation behind. She barely knew this boy next to her, and she wasn’t sure she liked the way his hand had wandered around her waist. I should just tell him I need to go home. She thought. He will understand. But something held her back. She wanted to tell him to let her go, to pick up her book and walk out the door, but at the same time she didn’t want to move. Part of her was enjoying the feeling of being wanted and the way his hand was resting on her slender waist. She wiggled slightly, and he tightened his grip around her waist. Her heart pounded faster. This was not what she had been expecting at all.
It had seemed so innocent last week, as they had talked in between classes in the crowded halls of Adams High School. He was a couple of years older than she was, so she was surprised when he had sat next to her in the back of chemistry class. Later he had found her at lunch, picking her out of the midst of her twittering friends. Her heart had fluttered every time he had glanced at her, and she had liked the feeling. She was a bit unsettled by him though, after all, no one had ever looked at her like that before. She was intrigued by the sound of his voice and at the way his fingers seemed to keep accidentally brushing hers. She thought that the way he made her heart jump must mean that she liked him, so she had been excited when he asked her to come over and study for their chemistry test tonight. So here she was, her chemistry book discarded in the corner and his arm around her.
Slowly he pulled her towards him, one arm tight around her waist, the other resting gently on her stomach. She leaned into his shoulder, because that is what girls are supposed to do. One part of her told her that this is what she wanted, that no one else felt the hesitation that made her want to slow down.
Don’t be silly, she whispered to herself. Why are you so uncomfortable? This is what I want. This is what every girl wants, isn’t it? Everybody wants to have a boy like you, and the way you let a boy like you is to let the boy touch you. After all, it feels good to be held like this, doesn’t it?
Kat forbade herself from ruining the moment and ordered herself to enjoy the flutters in her stomach. After all, this is what everything is about. Hasn’t she watched all the movies and seen the TV shows and commercials? This is what every girl wants, a voice whispered in her mind. It is! Give in, relax, turn off your worry and let the moment sweep you away. Enjoy yourself, give in; don’t worry about the wandering hand or the soft breath against your neck.
Give in. Enjoy it.
No, no! This isn’t what I want!
The hand around her waist tightened a bit more and her neck tingled slightly as his lips barely brushed her skin.
Don’t cry, don’t cry.
Give in, give in.
No, no, stop touching me, please stop.
The words warred in her throat. “Stop, let go,” almost reached her mouth, they were on the tip of her tongue, but then the uncertainties pushed them back into her chest, where they beat futilely against her ribs, begging to be freed from the cage of his arms. His hand wandered further, slipping gently over her back, pulling her closer to him. Once again she fought the urge to scream. This is normal, she tried to convince her panicking heart. This is what everyone wants, what everyone talks about. It’s harmless, harmless! No! It’s not right! Not now, not here, not like this! But the words still stuck in her throat. His mouth moved next to her ear and whispered to her, telling her how special she was to him, and her heart melted. But then his hand slipped under her clothes and the panic set in again. His words fueled her worries even more. Did he really mean what he said? Or was he just saying that so she would let him touch her, so she wouldn’t object to his wandering hand? That thought horrified her, and she turned to him, wanting him to stop, wanting an assurance that he wasn’t just using her. She opened her mouth to tell him to stop; but before the words could leap from her lips he kissed her. Her words were swallowed, and her determination crumbled. She stopped protesting to the hand lingering on her thigh and running over her back. Her fluttering stomach was forgotten as he pressed her close to him, enveloping her in his strong embrace.
Later that night Kat locked herself inside her room and cried. She didn’t know why she cried, but she couldn’t hold back the tears of confusion, of hurt and of shame. She unconsciously lamented what had been lost; lamented the fact that she hadn’t been strong enough to say “Stop!” She sat curled in a corner and wondered why she felt contaminated. She felt used, but she didn’t understand why. She liked him, didn’t she? She had enjoyed herself, hadn’t she? Why didn’t she feel happy and special, like all the girls on TV and in the magazines strewn across her floor said she should? So she sat through the night, staring at the wall through her bloodshot eyes as the questions ran through her brain.
The next day in school she smiled at her friends and at him, hiding her confusion as she nodded in time with her beating heart as he invited her over again later that night. She smiled and said she would be there. After all, how could she say no?

Reading Journal #5

Dorothea
Young, caring, naïve, helpful, obedient
“To make her open face look more youthful and appealing than usual”
Dorothea is charming, young and simple girl.
Mr. Casaubon
Stuffy, polite, suspicious, intellectual, inapplicable
“This dried up pedant, this elaborator of small explanations about as important about as important as the surplus stock of false antiquities kept in a vendor’s back chamber”
Mr. Casaubon lives for meaningless minutiae.
Will Ladislaw
Moody, passionate, artistic, charming, honorable
“the smile was irresistible… it was a gush of inward light illuminating the transparent skin as well as the eyes.”
Will is a charming man with a contagious smile.

The author believes that the most important, and indeed most difficult duty of a writer of fiction is to portray things as they truly are. He uses the analogy of paintings, he believes that the paintings of mystical sibyls and prophets are not nearly as moving as paintings of old women going about their daily business. He also believes that capturing the truth of everyday life is difficult and a venerable thing to strive for.