THE ONE UNIVERSAL STORY?

It has been argued that Camus, Kafka, Murakami, Diaz, Oates, Williams, Wilson, and Miller are all telling the same story.
What is that one story?
It has been said that there is only
one universal story in the world.
We humans just keep retelling that universal story in different specific ways.

After you consider and compare all the texts we have read this year,
explain:
what is the one universal story
that our authors keep exploring?

(Remember to focus on the universal here --
a universal story is one that embodies universal themes or even actions, not specific ones.)

For extra credit, please make at least 1 comment, and in it please reference at least three of the authors we have read this year --
and at least one of those should ADD, AMEND, or ARGUE with someone else's comment.
Please edit your work. There must be no more than one grammar error in order for you to receive your extra credit for these entries.

deadline: May 28. midnight

THE MODERN TRAGIC HERO -- WHO?

Who's the most tragic of the modern tragic heros?
Troy Maxson? Willy Loman? Tom Wingfield?
For this blog entry, decide which character most precisely fulfills the definition for a tragic hero as it's laid out below.
It may be that no character fulfills every single part of Aristotle's definition of a tragic hero -- but which character best meets the criteria?


You MUST REFER to PARTS of the DEFINITION BELOW when you are DEFENDING YOUR RESPONSE.
Extra credit for the strongest argument.

Definition of a tragic hero (from Aristotle, Greek philosopher and literary critic who lived in the 3rd century BC):

1. The tragic hero is a character of noble stature and has greatness. The character must occupy a "high" status position but must ALSO embody nobility and virtue as part of his/her innate character.

2. Though the tragic hero is pre-eminently great, he/she is not perfect. Otherwise, the rest of us--mere mortals--would be unable to identify with the tragic hero. We should see in him or her someone who is essentially like us, although perhaps elevated to a higher position in society.

3. The hero's downfall, therefore, is partially her/his own fault, the result of free choice, not of accident or villainy or some overriding, malignant fate. In fact, the tragedy is usually triggered by some error of judgment or some character flaw that contributes to the hero's lack of perfection noted above. This error of judgment or character flaw is known as hamartia and is usually translated as "tragic flaw" (although some scholars argue that this is a mistranslation). Often the character's hamartia involves hubris (which is defined as a sort of arrogant pride or over-confidence).

4. The hero's misfortunate is not wholly deserved. The punishment exceeds the crime.

5. The fall is not pure loss. There is some increase in awareness, some gain in self-knowledge, some discovery on the part of the tragic hero.

6. Though it arouses solemn emotion, tragedy does not leave its audience in a state of depression. Aristotle argues that one function of tragedy is to arouse the "unhealthy" emotions of pity and fear and through a catharsis (which comes from watching the tragic hero's terrible fate) cleanse us of those emotions.

(It might be worth noting here that Greek drama was not considered "entertainment," pure and simple; it had a communal function--to contribute to the good health of the community. This is why dramatic performances were a part of religious festivals and community celebrations).

EXTRA CREDIT: READ THIS, and THEN...

Brevity: a good thing in writing. Exploited by texters, gossip columnists, haikuists. Not associated with the biography genre. But then—why shouldn’t it be? Life expectancies rise; attention spans shrink. Six words can tell a story. That’s a new book’s premise, anyway. “Not Quite What I Was Planning.” A compilation of teeny tiny memoirs. The forebear, it’s assumed, is Hemingway. (Legend: he wrote a miniature masterpiece. “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” Slightly sappy, but a decent sixer.)

The book’s originator: SMITH online magazine. It started as a reader contest: Your life story in six words. The magazine was flooded with entries. Five hundred-plus submissions per day. That’s two, three words a minute. “We almost crashed,” an editor said. Memoirs from plumbers and a dominatrix (“Fix a toilet, get paid crap”; “Woman Seeks Men—High Pain Threshold”). The editors have culled the best. And, happily, spliced in celebrity autobiographies: “Canada freezing. Gotham beckons. Hello, Si!” “Well, I thought it was funny.” “Couldn’t cope so I wrote songs.” (Graydon Carter, Stephen Colbert, Aimee Mann.) Mario Batali makes a memorable appearance: “Brought it to a boil, often.” So does Jimmy Wales, of Wikipedia: “Yes, you can edit this biography.” Still, there are not nearly enough. Where’s Eli Manning, and Katie Couric? (“Little brother; big game; last laugh”? “Morning girl goes serious at night”?) And what of the Presidential candidates? (“From Ill.; met Bill; iron will.”) Something from Obama would be nice: “Hope is stronger than dope, kids!” A Canadian minister has done Jesus’: “God called; Mother listened; I responded.” Quieter lives can be condensed, too. The editors offer a few guidelines. “Try not to think too hard.” That’s from SMITH’s editor, Larry Smith. It’s impossible, of course, to follow. There’s the temptation to be ironic: “Born in California. Then nothing happened.” Or to blurt out something angry: “Everyone who loved me is dead.” “Try to use specifics,” Smith added. (“After Harvard, had baby with crackhead.”) That doesn’t rule out dazzling nonsense. “Eat mutate aura amateur auteur true” (Jonathan Lethem’s nesting-doll-like memoir). Wistful recollections work; so does repetition: “Canoe guide, only got lost once.” “Birth, childhood, adolescence, adolescence, adolescence, adolescence . . .” You could spend a lifetime brainstorming.

The book party: Housing Works, downtown. Cookies and beer on a table. Sticky notes and markers up front: “Write your memoir on your nametag!” In back, Alex Cummings, twenty-six (“Arab hillbilly goes to New York”). He’s Egyptian, born in West Virginia. He’d come with his wife, Saira. She did not wear a nametag: “It’s hard to summarize your life.” Nearby was the author Maryrose Wood (“Divorced! Thank God for Internet personals”). She reminisced about a Sondheim show. She had been a chorus girl. She sang a lyric about divorces. “My career has come full circle.” Next, Justin Taylor—reddish hair, beard (“Former child star seeks love, employment”). A onetime child model in Miami. He’d posed for German fashion magazines. “You wouldn’t know, looking at me.” The writer David Rakoff was there. He wasn’t wearing a nametag, either. “I’m not really a nametag guy.” He said he liked his memoir: “Love New York; Hate Self (Equally).” It was similar to his books. “The same sort of glib persona.”

Julie Goss had driven from D.C. (“Inside suburban mom beats urban heart”). She was talking to Anthony Ramirez—a Metro reporter at the Times. He had submitted a memoir, too. The SMITH editors hadn’t used it. Ramirez said his feelings were hurt: “I desperately wanted to get in.” There was Summer Grimes, twenty-five. She’s a hairdresser in St. Paul. She had written the book’s title. It took “two minutes,” she explained. She had forgotten all about it. Then SMITH sent her an e-mail: “Your contest entry has been chosen.” She thought it was a scam. Then she saw the book—Amazon. She answered the next SMITH e-mail. They told her about the party. They sent a free book, too. Grimes opened it to her memoir: “Not quite what I was planning . . .” She wasn’t sure about the ellipsis: “Now I’m totally second-guessing myself.”


YOUR ASSIGNMENT:
Your own biography in six words.
It's a competition for brevity, wit.
Winner gets extra extra credit -- wow!
Everyone else gets extra credit; good.

Fences' Frightful Realization

GABE: Hey, Rose. It's time. It's time to tell St. Peter to open the gates. Troy, you ready? You ready, Troy. I'm gonna tell St. Peter to open the gates. You get ready now. (Gabriel, with great fanfare, braces himself to blow. The trumpet is without a mouthpiece. He puts the end of it into his mouth and blows with great force, like a man who has been waiting some twenty-odd years for this single moment. No sound comes out of the trumpet. He braces himself and blows again with the same result. A third time he blows. There is a weight of impossible description that falls away and leaves him bare and exposed to a frightful realization. It is a trauma that a sane and normal mind would be unable to withstand. He begins to dance. A slow, strange dance, eerie and life-giving. A dance of atavistic signature and ritual. LYONS attempts to embrace him. GABRIEL pushes LYONS away. He begins to howl in what is an attempt at song, or perhaps a song turning back into itself in an attempt at speech. He finishes his dance and the gates of heaven stand open as wide as God's closet. ) That's the way that go!

Based on your reading of this play, what might be the
"frightful realization" that Gabe is exposed to? Why do you think so?

Post Deadline: March 27, midnight

FUNNY FOR CREDIT

		February 11, 2008 - Cartoon Caption Contest # 133

Each week, the New Yorker magazine provides a cartoon in need of a caption. There's an official contest on the New Yorker website (see link below) and we'll be having our own unofficial extra credit contests here.

Your job is to think of the perfect, pithy (look it up) caption for this cartoon. Post it on the blog, read others' ideas, and then we'll vote. Winners get extra credit, of course.

Visit this link to see previous cartoon captions and winning ideas.

http://www.cartoonbank.com/CapContest/CaptionContest.aspx?tab=vote

"Meursault is "the only Christ we deserve"

Albert Camus prefaced his novel, "The Stranger," with the following note in 1955:

I summarized The Stranger a long time ago, with a remark I admit was highly paradoxical: "In our society any man who does not weep at his mother's funeral runs the risk of being sentenced to death."

... I also say that I tried to draw in my character the only Christ we deserve. It will be understood, after my explanations, that I said this with no blasphemous intent, and only with the slightly ironic affection an artist has the right to feel for the characters he has created.

1. Define the author's worldview -- his judgments about individual and the societal values -- and where he places blame -- based on this statement.

2. Do you agree with Camus' assessment of Meursault as "the only Christ we deserve"?

3. Do you agree with Camus' worldview?

WHAT IS FICTION FOR? DUE: 9/10

Math builds bridges. Science heals disease. What does fiction do? What real value do stories offer? Why read a story about a guy who falls in love, when that guy is not real anyway? What are stories for? How much do we need them?

FOR CREDIT, you must write one entry and make at least one thoughtful response to another entry. Use the above questions to begin your discussion. Try to use specific examples in your responses.

WHEN YOU RESPOND, PLEASE DO NOT
CREATE A NEW POST.
JUST CLICK ON THE WORD "COMMENTS"
(NEXT TO THE PENCIL).
AND ADD YOUR COMMENT
TO THE LIST IN WHITE.

Use complete sentences in your discussion. Use correct grammar, or at least try your best.

Note: If your discussion includes the words “think,” “feel,” relate,” or similar transitive verbs, you must be specific: in other words, “It really makes you think” or “You can relate to it” is not specific enough.