Google Autocomplete: Always Proving That People Are Weird

"'Why does she come here at all -- who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her silly old mug at home?'

'It's her fu-fur which is so funny,' giggled the girl. 'It's exactly like a fried whiting'" ("Miss Brill," 13-14).

This post is dedicated to my small group. Think of this as a position blog -- I'm here to prove you wrong. (That sounds like a good, Christian life motto for me!) My position: Miss Brill is a dynamic character.

"Every Sunday," Miss Brill spent her afternoon eavesdropping on the lives of other people, and she never failed to show up to "her part" as "an actress" (9). Additionally, "she usually bought a slice of honeycake at the bakers" afterward (17). As usual, Miss Brill showed up for the "play" on this Sunday; however, she "passed the baker's by" this time (18). Something about what the boy and girl said to Miss Brill caused a change in her character.

That final paragraph goes on to describe how she entered her little "cupboard" of a room, quickly put away her fur, and "thought she heard something crying." What could possibly have been crying in her bedroom? No, Jimmy -- not a cat, not Miss Brill's ghost, and not the ghost of Miss Brill who was actually a cat the whole time (though that would be an excellent plot twist). I think it was Miss Brill who was crying.

Maybe she was still suppressing part of the truth of her depressing lifestyle, but she could no longer suppress it entirely. She has a life with no real communication, and no real friends; during the story, she came to some sort of realization, so she is dynamic. Therefore:

Yes, yes, dynamic, yes, no, yes, that's not a question, yes, and that's also not a question.

"Wait a minute -- the cat!"

"Then the man and his wife burst wildly into the garden and for some reason (the cat, probably) the alarm set up wailing against the screams while the bleeding mass of the little boy was hacked out of the security coil with saws, wire-cutters, choppers, and they carried it -- the man, the wife, the hysterical trusted housemaid [sic] and the weeping gardener -- into the house" ("Once upon a Time," 18).

That sentence is so good that I forgive the lack of Oxford comma (which doesn't happen very often). This is my kind of story. Situational irony arguably tops my list of favorite literary devices, and there's plenty of situational irony here I can talk about. About which . . . I can talk. Here we go!

The more this family and their neighbors upped their houses' security systems, the less safe the family and the neighbors actually were. "Under cover of the electronic harpies' discourse intruders sawed the iron bars and broke into homes, taking away hi-fi equipment, television sets, cassette players [what are those?], cameras and radios, jewelry and clothing, and sometimes were hungry enough to devour everything in the refrigerator or paused audaciously to drink the whiskey in the cabinets or patio bars" (12). What gave the intruders this ability? Why, the burglar alarm systems, of course. People were so accustomed to frequent false alarms that intruders could easily break into homes during a frenzy of shrilling alarms.

Then, the family's little boy was reduced to a bleeding mass, and I'm not going to quote that part again. What was the direct cause of the boy's fate? Why, the family's new security wall, of course. Childlike curiosity led the boy into the trap intended not for him but for intruders. Here's a picture of a concentration camp fence, referenced in the story (16):

One of the more obvious situational ironies was the phrase "happily ever after" (9), which unfortunately no longer applied to the family after the story's conclusion.

Needless to say, it was THE CAT:

"Your bird -- there was nothing I could do -- he just caught fire!"

"'I in the thorny bush,' she said. 'Thorns, you doing your appointed work. Never want to let folks pass, no sir. Old eyes thought you was a pretty little green bush'" ("A Worn Path," 8).

Here is my precise, well-developed sentence that states as fully as possible the theme of the story, avoiding cliches and oversimplification, which is probably inferior to the themes that other people find: "Persistence and courage, more than age and strength, can lead to a humble yet satisfying reward." And now, I will support that.

The first half of my theme: Phoenix exhibits "persistence and courage," even though her "age and strength" are serious obstacles. Throughout the story, Phoenix overcame several obstacles on her journey -- she persevered through a thorny bush (8), mounted a log (13), encountered a ghost-like scarecrow (24), faced a hunter's dog (35), and stared down the barrel of a gun (55). Her response to all of these situations was pure fearlessness. Phoenix is an "old Negro woman" (1), her eyes "blue with age" (2), but her endurance and fearlessness ultimately lead her to her reward. What a nice lead-in to the second half of my theme!

The second half of my theme: Phoenix's reward was "humble yet satisfying." According to the nurse, the old woman makes trips "as regular as clockwork" (78) because her grandson has a throat problem (84). With the two nickels she acquired along her journey, she decided to buy her sick grandson a little windmill (103). At the close of the story, Phoenix shows her appreciation with a "little nod" and amazingly continued on her journey (104). Something about going to Hell and back again for her grandson gives her a sense of satisfaction because she keeps doing it.

I feel I should add that the tears of a phoenix have tremendous healing powers, and the claws of a phoenix can gouge out the eyes of a basilisk. Fawkes is pretty humble, persistent, and courageous in Harry Potter. Maybe that's how Eudora Welty decided to name her character "Phoenix."

Pros and Cons

"No! No! No! It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy. Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish!" ("Eveline," 24).

The sixth question for "Eveline" in Perrine's awkwardly shaped textbook asks if Eveline decided not to board the ship. My answer is that she could have made a logical decision based on her feelings about her present circumstances and her potential life with Frank, but Eveline herself never made that conscious decision. First, let's look at the pros and cons of Eveline's life, which Eveline should have done more critically:

Pros: Her home is "familiar" to her, and she "never dreamed of being divided" from the objects within her house -- she shows no desire to part with that familiarity (3). Additionally, while her father can be violent, threatening, frugal, restrictive, and completely incompetent, he can be "very nice" sometimes and made her toast once (13). Who could leave a model father like that? In all seriousness, Eveline has a connection to her father not because he is an apt father but because he is her father. Finally, she promised her dead mother that she would "keep the home together as long as she could" (14). To be clear, she made the promise when her dead mother was alive.

Cons: Eveline works extremely hard "in the Stores" for her family, and her supervisor, Miss Gavan, was demanding of her (5). I already listed the cons of her father within the pros, but I can repeat them: "violent, threatening, frugal, restrictive, and completely incompetent" (9). In addition to the difficult life at home, Eveline has a potential life with promise. In Buenos Aires, Eveline would marry Frank, who is "kind," "manly," and "open-hearted" (10). Spell check thinks I should change "open-hearted" to "open-heated" -- perhaps this is an indication of Frank's loving warmth. This potential life serves as a kind of foil to her present life in Dublin.

How did Eveline finally make the decision not to board the ship? For the same reason that I think she is the one of the most annoying characters we have encountered in this class; Eveline made a last minute decision, and it seems like there was no will in the decision. She "prayed to God to direct her," so there could have been some divine intervention (19). When a metaphorical "bell clanged upon her heart," Eveline had an epiphany that Frank would metaphorically "drown her" (20-22). "No! No! No! It was impossible" (24). Eveline could not decide to leave with Frank, for whatever sudden reason, which probably had something to do with a theme having to do with a spiritual connection to one's home that prevents him from exploring new destinations.

With submission, sir . . .

"So that Turkey's paroxysms only coming on about twelve o'clock, I never had to do with their eccentricities at one time. Their fits relieved each other like guards" ("Bartleby the Scrivener," 13).

Question Thirteen asks about humor, so let's talk about the humor.

I found this story a bit tedious but genuinely funny. The images of certain characters was extremely humorous to me -- it took a while for me to recover after the "guards" simile. What it does is characterizes Turkey and Nippers in a very engaging way; it also creates some sympathy for the narrator, who has to deal with exactly one ill-tempered person at a time. The little repetitive phrases like "with submission, sir" (Turkey, various moments) also served as what I thought were funny characterization methods. There are other instances like this, but let's turn to Bartleby.

There's a strong contrast between the narrator and Bartleby when the narrator asks for something to be done. For example, when the narrator first explained that Bartleby needed to help examine the copies, he did so "hurriedly" with little patience (30). Bartleby, on the other hand, always maintained composure, no matter how weird he was. There are very ironic moments where the narrator will describe how intensely hardworking Bartleby is, and then Bartleby will inconsistently be of no assistance to the narrator.

Then again, I couldn't stop laughing when I was reading the poem "Edward," so I probably have little right to speak on the subject of humor.

I would prefer not to analyze this story.

"The report was this: that Bartleby had been a subordinate clerk in the Dead Letter Office at Washington, from which he had been suddenly removed by a change in the administration. When I think over this rumor, I cannot adequately express the emotions which seize me. Dead letters! does it not sound like dead men?" ("Bartleby the Scrivener," 250).

Question Eight asks about Bartleby's motivation behind his behavior, Melville's motivation behind his withholding this piece of information, and the extent to which this information adequately explains Bartleby. So I'm going to answer about it!

The narrator suggests that if Bartleby were already pallidly hopeless, working in the Dead Letter Office would make him even more hopeless. If this rumor is true, which is all I can assume, then Bartleby spent a great deal of time sorting dead letters for destruction -- letters, bank notes, rings never to be delivered. Bartleby's "I would prefer not to" attitude may not be annoying as much as it is hopeless. If I lacked hope to the extent that Bartleby did, I would have trouble working as a copyist, too -- perhaps not to Bartleby's extent, but characters have to be exaggerated.

So why does Melville hold off this last piece of information? I think that Melville wants us to detest Bartleby during the story. How annoying is it that he refuses to be of any additional help to the narrator? How creepy is it that he stays in the office for abnormal amounts of time and refuses to leave even when the office is gone? Then, once we have this crucial piece of information, we might (reluctantly) develop a feeling of pity for Bartleby. It's kind of like a guilt trip, I think. We spend the entire three hours we read the story being put off by Bartleby's words and actions when we fail to consider what traumatic past he may have endured. Bartleby may seem flat on the surface but is very round on the inside. I'm not calling him fat.

This is kind of morphing into a bland theme of "don't judge someone because you don't know what his situation is." Melville says it better. Albeit much longer.

I hate Kenny. Haha, just kidding.

"Kenny turned to Tub. 'I hate you.'

Tub shot from the waist" ("Hunters in the Snow," 79-80).

Let's synthesize the last two units! There are several instances in the story where plot and characterization work together, and important plot points are arguably a direct result of characeters' personalities.

Example One: "You Shot Me"

Kenny's character is described very richly in the beginning of the story; a huge part of his character is his inability to know where to stop a practical joke. He nearly ran over Tub on the first page of the story, but Kenny was "just messing around" (7). He provoked Frank about a secret babysitter situation, but Kenny laughed it off (22). Unsurprisingly, this got him into a wee bit of trouble. Kenny pretended to shoot a post, a tree, and a dog out of hatred (71-78). A direct result of this character trait was Tub's shooting Kenny out of personal defense (80). I had no idea it was a joke until Kenny said he was "just kidding around" again (84).

Example Two: We Don't Need Directions

The farmer gave Tub and Frank directions to the nearest hospital, but Tub left them "on the table back there" at a bar where they stopped (209). Tub's character is revealed throughout the story to be, well, not very quick in the mind. Or the body. As an ultimate result, the three characters never arrived at the hospital in time to help Kenny (239). Good work, Tub.

If I could find it, I would embed the clip of "Pirates of the Caribbean" where the guy says, "He shot me!" Just so you know.

An "Aha Moment"

"I did something I never had done before: hugged Maggie to me, then dragged her on into the room, snatched the quilts out of Miss Wangero's hands and dumped them into Maggie's lap. Maggie just sat there on my bed with her mouth open" ("Everyday Use," 76).

Mrs. Johnson's unprecedented words and actions with Dee illustrate a major change in character -- the narrator is a dynamic character. Both Mrs. Johnson's motivation and foreshadowing throughout the story make this a fitting shift in character.

I would describe both the narrator and Maggie as "simple." Mrs. Johnson is a rough, hardworking mother, and Maggie lacks "good looks," "money," and "quickness," much like her mother (13). While Mrs. Johnson and Maggie share this special connection, Dee has developed a different "style," which the narrator passively resented (12). "No" was a word Mrs. Johnson has rarely spoken to her eldest daughter (2). That's the before situation -- there is a conflict between Dee and her mother, and I knew it would be resolved, probably by her mother finally saying that word, "no."

Several plot elements probably drove the mother to refuse to let Dee have her mother's quilts. Dee detached herself from her "oppressive" family by changing her name to "Wangero" (25). Then, she took the family's churn top, a tool both beautiful and useful to Mrs. Johnson (54). Then, when the narrator suddenly refused to allow Dee to take the quilts, Dee accused her of not understanding her heritage (81).

I attribute the narrator's sudden shift to an epiphany, and I believe that this change in character is permanent -- it fits perfectly. The narrator made a promise to Maggie (64) -- or at least said she did -- because she is legitimately closer to Maggie. Additionally, Dee's actions were inconsistent; she abandoned her family name, yet accused Mrs. Johnson of not understanding her heritage. Go, Mrs. Johnson!

Also, Big Dee (in video game form -- 0:33):

Evidence that I need to sleep:

"We did not say she was crazy then. We believed she had to do that" ("A Rose for Emily," 28).

This is not going to be one of my most profound blog posts. I would just like to express my confusion and theories about the conflicts within these three short stories. Specifically, I'm going to try to identify the protagonists and the antagonists of all of the stories, which is mostly speculative and kind of difficult for me. I don't expect these to be completely accurate. Then, I will pose a question about "A Rose for Emily."

How I Met My Husband:

• Protagonist: Edie (the central character -- this one is easy to identify)
• Antagonist: Herself (maybe? Specifically, Edie's past self before she became "wiser")

Interpreter of Maladies:

• Protagonist: Mr. Kapasi (alternatively, Mrs. Das, as a lot of action revolves around her)
• Antagonist: Umm, himself (an internal conflict about Mrs. Das, perhaps; if the protagonist is Mrs. Das, I would say the antagonist is herself, as well, due to her unstable family life)

A Rose for Emily:

• Protagonist: Emily (alternatively, the town as a collective "we," but the action revolves more around Emily, I think)
• Antagonist: The town ("we"), who always seem to be working against her (alternatively, Emily if the town is the protagonist)

Here's my question. Let's say that the protagonist of "A Rose for Emily" is indeed Emily. Recalling that the book defines a "happy ending" as the solving of the protagonist's problems, and observing that Emily solved her problem with Homer by murdering him, doesn't "A Rose for Emily" have a happy ending?

"Then we noticed that in the second pillow was the indentation of a head. One of use lifted something from it, and leaning forward, that faint and invisible dust dry and acrid in the nostrils, we saw a long strand of iron-gray hair" ("A Rose for Emily," 60).

How many people used that quote, do you think? Also, I had to read this story a few times to understand; the chronology is all mixed up, which is nice and rhetorical and everything, but it's not easy to read.

The evidence seems to be there that Emily murdered Homer -- the poison she bought, the iron-gray hair, and the presence of his body in her house. I'm going to talk about motivation; why would Emily murder Homer? Let's take a look at some possibilities!

• The town pressed her for taxes (4).
• Her father died (15).
• Potentially, she was crazy (28).
• Homer was not a good fit for her -- a Yankee, a foreman (30).
• Homer himself liked men (43).

There are clues all over the story that foreshadow Emily's murdering Homer. She handles situations without leaving her house, as she did with the people collecting taxes, and she clings to people after they die, as she did with her dead father. It's likely that because Homer was not a good fit for Emily and he liked men, Emily could not leave him the way a normal person would. She left him Emily-style -- she didn't leave her house, and she clung to his dead body.

This is all kind of gross.

Pain or guilt? Or am I the only person who cares about this scrap of paper?

"The paper curled as Mr. Kapasi wrote his address in clear, careful letters. She would write to him, asking about his days interpreting at the doctor's office, and he would respond eloquently, choosing only the most entertaining anecdotes, ones that would make her laugh out loud as she read them in her house in New Jersey" ("Interpreter of Maladies," 89).

The central conflict in this story is emotional, inside Mr. Kapasi, and in response to Mrs. Question Four (that question is a girl), I would argue that the conflict is resolved. During the story, Mr. Kapasi develops of "feeling of intoxication" for Mrs. Das, who his unhappily married like himself (79). The "scrap of paper" (88) on which he wrote his address serves as a metaphor for Mr. Kapasi's fantasy-relationship with Mrs. Das, which changes throughout the plot.

Mr. Kapasi first develops his feelings for Mrs. Das just before he writes his information on the scrap of paper, and once he does, the fantasy begins. "The promise that he would hear from Mrs. Das" (89) makes everything in the world seem right. Later, he develops a desire to be "alone with her" (100) and an obsession with when he will hear back from her (109). The feeling begins to fade when Mrs. Das assumed that Mr. Kapasi had children (147 -- my favorite integer). By the time the paper "fluttered away in the wind" (179), Mr. Kapasi preserves an image of the Das family from the monkey attack, which is not a particularly flattering image.

When the scrap of paper was in Mrs. Das's purse, Mr. Kapasi fantasized about their potential relationship. When the paper was absent from the purse, Mr. Kapasi had no intimate feelings toward Mrs. Das. Thus, the presence of the scrap of paper is a metaphor for that fantasy-relationship.

If I define the major conflict in the story as Mr. Kapasi's internal relationship development with Mrs. Das, then the conflict is resolved. When the scrap of paper flies away, Mr. Kapasi has come to the conclusion that he has different family values than Mrs. Das, and she does not have any feelings for him.

No Post on Sundays

"I was always smiling when the mailman got there, and continued smiling even after he gave me the mail and I saw today wasn't the day" ("How I Met My Husband," 196).

That, Mr. Question One, is where my expectations as a reader were overturned definitively. That's not to say that there weren't elements throughout the plot that suggested the turn of events at the end of the story.

The plot structure was mostly chronological with two exceptions -- a flashback (the story of how Edie got her job) and a few subtle references to the future. For the most part, the flashback characterized Edie as common and humble (making her a sympathetic character) as she dropped out of school and started simple work (23-24). The future references, on the other hand, foreshadowed the end of the story. Phrases like "I see that now, but didn't then" (157) and "I didn't figure out till years later" (195) suggested an impending shift in Edie's life in which she would become wiser.

Another element within the plot was the slow revelation that Chris Waters was arguably very unsuitable for Edie. He was engaged to Alice (93), was not very close with her (117), and cheated on her -- without intimacy, of course (143). The simple girl, Edie, needed someone who was ready to settle down, a prerequisite Chris clearly did not meet (I originally typed "meat").

Although I did not completely expect Edie to settle down with someone other than Chris until the second-to-last page of the story, I recognize that the arrangement of the plot gave me, the reader, clues about Edie's future with not Chris but Carmichael.