For Esme. Summarizing this story is particularly difficult, for me. It's about an American soldier, I suppose, who is in Britain towards the latter half of the war. He heads out for a walk on his last day of training, before he gets involved with the invasion, and ends up watching a school-choir practice session that he really enjoys. He notices one girl in particular from that choir, as the most attractive [he thinks she's approximately 13, at this point] as well as the one with the best voice there.
He leaves the practice and ends up in a tea-room, shortly after which the girl walks in, with her younger brother and nanny [or guardian, or something] in tow. She notices him staring, and walks up to him and strikes up a conversation, introducing herself as Esmé. I'm not going to try to summarize the conversation, because doing that would kill it, for me; it was fascinating and bizarre, and disjointed, to a point where it needs to be read to be believed, I think.
The conversation ends with him promising to write her a story, and her taking his mailing address so she can mail him to begin a correspondence. The story she wants needs to be squalid, or moving.
We then transition to the squalid, or moving part of the story. Sergeant X is sitting in a room, clearly in bad shape, physically and mentally. Corporal Z, a robust young man named Clay, enters his room and generally harasses him by being healthy and cheerful, until he leaves in slight nervousness and disgust, mixed with sympathy. [Their interaction also, I cannot record in detail, there was too much in it, this will stop being a summary at that point and turn into the entire story in my words.] It's at this point that Sergeant X sees a letter that has reached him after a long time [given his movement with the army]. The letter is from Esmé, beginning their correspondence. Upon reading the letter, X suddenly feels sleepy, the representation of some kind of catharsis. As he says himself 'You take a really sleepy man, Esme, and he always stands a chance of again becoming a man with all his fac-with all his f-a-c-u-1-t-i-e-s intact.' From the beginning and the end of the story, it seems fair [thought nothing is every to be taken for granted in the world of this author] to assume that this entire story, the story we've just read, is the story X wrote for Esmé.
The author is one J.D. Salinger, a notoriously odd writer, a recluse, but also hailed as one of the geniuses of our time. With this assessment, I agree, his seminal book 'The Catcher in the Rye' is one of the greatest things I've ever read. That too followed an odd path, very different from most books that were popular at a time, following a strange, disjointed, stream-of-consciousnessesque pattern, where the narrator and principal character was a very alienated and thoughtful teen aged boy.
But back to the present. I thought this short story was fantastic, to be honest, but to be more honest, I probably can't tell you why. As my group members will attest to, my review of this story can probably be summed up as 'I really liked it; it was so Bizarre'. I'm not even entirely sure if those two statements, or sentiments, are related.
One thing I really enjoyed was the way language was used here, especially in the two conversations, particularly so in the conversation between X and Esmé. Word choices that the author had made got me scratching my head for hours, and possibly annoyed my group members a lot as well. Our group was able to agree about very few things, and any time we would, we'd come up with something else that struck one of us that was alien, as an idea, to the rest of the group.
Among other things, I'm unable to separate what I think is written in a matter-of-fact way, and what I think is written fantastically, though I do think both these elements exist. I suppose what I really like is the fact that one can read this story and enjoy it so throughly, all seven of us, and yet have completely different reasons for liking it, or even completely different interpretations of it. I think a part of the reason for that is that the author wanted it to be that way, but if I claim that I'd be accused of intentional fallacy, and my accuser would be right, so I would like to humbly retract that statement.
I most enjoyed, as I mentioned, the dialogue. I suppose through that I also enjoyed the characters a lot. For some reason I remain fascinated with X's wife, a character who showed up as a reference thrice in the story, each in a seemingly insignificant role, but I think if you're to immerse yourself in the story you can't avoid her, she's the reason he's writing this letter, in a way, she's who stops this story from being a romance, and she's referenced in the letter that brings X back to life, as it were. Apart from her though, I enjoyed the construction of all the characters a lot, Esmé, X, Charles in particular, and also Z, and to some extent Loretta. Even with the smallest of references, you can form an opinion about these characters, even if you feel you can't form a picture of them; it's genius.
The plot, the setting, all of it hinged around the interactions, so while I won't disregard them as contributing factors to the story or my enjoyment of it, I won't talk very much about them. Suffice to say that I think this story could've been about a man in a hospital or a woman in an office, set anywhere in the world, and I think an interaction like that would have had me enjoying it anyway, though that's a patently ridiculous statement to make; in any other situation the interaction would have been different. I hope you understand what I mean, if not, I apologise, bear with me.
Did being a part of the circle deepen my understanding of the text? Well it certainly confused me often, which is definitely a step towards a deeper understanding, it's just that I didn't take any more steps after that one. But as I mentioned, this is a story everyone got something different out of, so hearing all those opinions certainly was interesting. That said, I'm not sure how many of us were willing to change our views [if we had any] at all, so I don't know if in that way it could have been said to have served any point. I did enjoy the discussion enormously, if nothing else just as a forum to make intelligent conversation about an intelligent book, which is why I was really glad we got to have a second discussion, even though there may have been some people who may not have thought it was important at all [but hey, extension, so no complaints I suppose].
What have I understood about myself as a reader? Precious little, apart from the fact that I pick on things that most people don't consider very important, and that sometimes I can't tell if I'm being antagonistic towards a book for a real reason or not. That's actually quite an important realisation I suppose, but I can't take it seriously because I last thought about it in the context of Harry Potter [you broke my heart, Joanne, I will never be the same again]. I tend to focus on language as much as literature, which makes reading both fascinating and very very difficult for me.
There's more to all of this, but too much exposition frightens me.
Oh wait, one more question.
What insights do I carry about literacy discussions? Good grief. I feel like I'm being interviewed.
I'd make sure everyone has their say, I suppose. If there's one thing this story has given me, it's the reinforcement of the idea that there's almost never [never that I've come across anyway] a right and wrong about how to read, or what one has read.
I also think accountable talk is important, but sometimes overrated. One of the best things about a great discussion around a story is that it can get you talking or thinking about things that you never have before, and they may not be related to the story at all, but the story is what birthed the process that you're engaged in at that moment.
Encourage people to challenge, criticize, question, and also agree with, but defend that agreement. For everything, one should have a justification. It's sadly ironic that at this point I feel like I'm not in a position to adequately justify that position.
This seems in theme with the rest of this E-Journal entry, so I'm going to sign off now. Best of luck, peer reviewer.
Goodnight.
He leaves the practice and ends up in a tea-room, shortly after which the girl walks in, with her younger brother and nanny [or guardian, or something] in tow. She notices him staring, and walks up to him and strikes up a conversation, introducing herself as Esmé. I'm not going to try to summarize the conversation, because doing that would kill it, for me; it was fascinating and bizarre, and disjointed, to a point where it needs to be read to be believed, I think.
The conversation ends with him promising to write her a story, and her taking his mailing address so she can mail him to begin a correspondence. The story she wants needs to be squalid, or moving.
We then transition to the squalid, or moving part of the story. Sergeant X is sitting in a room, clearly in bad shape, physically and mentally. Corporal Z, a robust young man named Clay, enters his room and generally harasses him by being healthy and cheerful, until he leaves in slight nervousness and disgust, mixed with sympathy. [Their interaction also, I cannot record in detail, there was too much in it, this will stop being a summary at that point and turn into the entire story in my words.] It's at this point that Sergeant X sees a letter that has reached him after a long time [given his movement with the army]. The letter is from Esmé, beginning their correspondence. Upon reading the letter, X suddenly feels sleepy, the representation of some kind of catharsis. As he says himself 'You take a really sleepy man, Esme, and he always stands a chance of again becoming a man with all his fac-with all his f-a-c-u-1-t-i-e-s intact.' From the beginning and the end of the story, it seems fair [thought nothing is every to be taken for granted in the world of this author] to assume that this entire story, the story we've just read, is the story X wrote for Esmé.
The author is one J.D. Salinger, a notoriously odd writer, a recluse, but also hailed as one of the geniuses of our time. With this assessment, I agree, his seminal book 'The Catcher in the Rye' is one of the greatest things I've ever read. That too followed an odd path, very different from most books that were popular at a time, following a strange, disjointed, stream-of-consciousnessesque pattern, where the narrator and principal character was a very alienated and thoughtful teen aged boy.
But back to the present. I thought this short story was fantastic, to be honest, but to be more honest, I probably can't tell you why. As my group members will attest to, my review of this story can probably be summed up as 'I really liked it; it was so Bizarre'. I'm not even entirely sure if those two statements, or sentiments, are related.
One thing I really enjoyed was the way language was used here, especially in the two conversations, particularly so in the conversation between X and Esmé. Word choices that the author had made got me scratching my head for hours, and possibly annoyed my group members a lot as well. Our group was able to agree about very few things, and any time we would, we'd come up with something else that struck one of us that was alien, as an idea, to the rest of the group.
Among other things, I'm unable to separate what I think is written in a matter-of-fact way, and what I think is written fantastically, though I do think both these elements exist. I suppose what I really like is the fact that one can read this story and enjoy it so throughly, all seven of us, and yet have completely different reasons for liking it, or even completely different interpretations of it. I think a part of the reason for that is that the author wanted it to be that way, but if I claim that I'd be accused of intentional fallacy, and my accuser would be right, so I would like to humbly retract that statement.
I most enjoyed, as I mentioned, the dialogue. I suppose through that I also enjoyed the characters a lot. For some reason I remain fascinated with X's wife, a character who showed up as a reference thrice in the story, each in a seemingly insignificant role, but I think if you're to immerse yourself in the story you can't avoid her, she's the reason he's writing this letter, in a way, she's who stops this story from being a romance, and she's referenced in the letter that brings X back to life, as it were. Apart from her though, I enjoyed the construction of all the characters a lot, Esmé, X, Charles in particular, and also Z, and to some extent Loretta. Even with the smallest of references, you can form an opinion about these characters, even if you feel you can't form a picture of them; it's genius.
The plot, the setting, all of it hinged around the interactions, so while I won't disregard them as contributing factors to the story or my enjoyment of it, I won't talk very much about them. Suffice to say that I think this story could've been about a man in a hospital or a woman in an office, set anywhere in the world, and I think an interaction like that would have had me enjoying it anyway, though that's a patently ridiculous statement to make; in any other situation the interaction would have been different. I hope you understand what I mean, if not, I apologise, bear with me.
Did being a part of the circle deepen my understanding of the text? Well it certainly confused me often, which is definitely a step towards a deeper understanding, it's just that I didn't take any more steps after that one. But as I mentioned, this is a story everyone got something different out of, so hearing all those opinions certainly was interesting. That said, I'm not sure how many of us were willing to change our views [if we had any] at all, so I don't know if in that way it could have been said to have served any point. I did enjoy the discussion enormously, if nothing else just as a forum to make intelligent conversation about an intelligent book, which is why I was really glad we got to have a second discussion, even though there may have been some people who may not have thought it was important at all [but hey, extension, so no complaints I suppose].
What have I understood about myself as a reader? Precious little, apart from the fact that I pick on things that most people don't consider very important, and that sometimes I can't tell if I'm being antagonistic towards a book for a real reason or not. That's actually quite an important realisation I suppose, but I can't take it seriously because I last thought about it in the context of Harry Potter [you broke my heart, Joanne, I will never be the same again]. I tend to focus on language as much as literature, which makes reading both fascinating and very very difficult for me.
There's more to all of this, but too much exposition frightens me.
Oh wait, one more question.
What insights do I carry about literacy discussions? Good grief. I feel like I'm being interviewed.
I'd make sure everyone has their say, I suppose. If there's one thing this story has given me, it's the reinforcement of the idea that there's almost never [never that I've come across anyway] a right and wrong about how to read, or what one has read.
I also think accountable talk is important, but sometimes overrated. One of the best things about a great discussion around a story is that it can get you talking or thinking about things that you never have before, and they may not be related to the story at all, but the story is what birthed the process that you're engaged in at that moment.
Encourage people to challenge, criticize, question, and also agree with, but defend that agreement. For everything, one should have a justification. It's sadly ironic that at this point I feel like I'm not in a position to adequately justify that position.
This seems in theme with the rest of this E-Journal entry, so I'm going to sign off now. Best of luck, peer reviewer.
Goodnight.
Do you think you would have enjoyed the story as much if you didn't know it was written by Salinger?
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