"Danse Russe"

I fell behind on my blogs about the readings, so I thought I’d revisit a poem that we read earlier in the summer.  “Danse Russe” by William Carlos Williams will be an experience that I will never forget.  The first time we read the poem, I noticed many people with expressions revealing that they thought him crazy.  Silly.  As for my own reaction, I couldn’t help but feel a heavy sadness for the man. 

At first, I did not thinking that his wild antics in front of the mirror took place in his head.  I thought it was his rebellion—his room to escape the confines of society and his role in it.  When I realized that it was all taking place in his head, I became even more disheartened.  How alone must this man be?

A few weekends ago, I was talking to my father about my writing.  Suddenly, I remembered “Danse Russe,” because it reminded me of him.  As his eyes scanned the computer screen, he grew quiet. 

“Isn’t he like you?” I asked.

My dad grew uncomfortable.  “But I’m not lonely like him.  Although I could definitely see myself doing that in front of the mirror.”

Despite his attempt at humor, I could tell the poem struck a nerve.  Since then, I’ve wondered how many other fathers feel that overwhelming sense of isolation and burden, whether they admit it or not.

I have become so fond of “Danse Russe” that I decided to include it in my group’s final presentation.  When I read stories and poems, my mind forms specific images.  I chose to draw the image I saw when reading “Danse Russe.”  Translating the poem into art was an interesting experience.  I think that may be a good way to engage students with literature even further.  

International Experience - 2

My second international experience is with my good friend Anh, who is from Vietnam.  Unlike Anannya, she had extremely little exposure to American culture, but her grandfather did teach her English at a young age.

I met her the first day of Freshman year, although we had already communicated online.  She was wide-eyed and anxious, having to adjust to a completely different country.  It’s still sometimes hard for me to imagine her growing up under a communist regime. 

Her pronunciation of words was sometimes off, so I would help her where needed.  Her English is quite good despite that.  However, the cultural references are sometimes lost on her.  Once, I told her to “spill the beans,” and she looked at me like I was insane!

Anh had the opportunity to meet my grandmother, who is Japanese and grew up in pre-WWII Japan, and they immediately felt a connection.  My grandma could see that she had been raised in the traditional way; Anh was close to her grandparents as well.  Seeing the two cultures come together at that moment was amazing.

Having two close international friends has probably been the best experience of college so far.  Learning about other cultures, and seeing proof that there actually is life outside of Texas has confirmed my desire to one day travel the world.  

International Experience - 1

My new partner eventually stopped meeting with me, which put me out of luck in terms of blog posts.  However, I thought I’d write about my experience of having two good friends at TCU who are from different countries.

My best friend and roommate, Anannya, is from India.  She grew up in Bombay and moved to Dheli when she was older.  I met her the first or second week of our Freshman year, and I immediately became interested in Indian culture.  The first time we had a movie night, she brought a bag of “Bhelpuri” with her—a spicy, grainy Indian snack.  I had never experienced such a wonderful combination of spices in my life, and I manhandled the bag from her, gulping down the rest.

All of Freshman year, we spent nearly every day together.  We would often go on long walks late at night, and she would tell me about the caste system, Indian traditions, food, and her experiences of going to boarding school.  I found the boarding school conversations extremely interesting.  Because of the British occupation of India, their influence remained.  Their boarding school was structured in the same way one in England might be. 

We began talking about me visiting India someday, but now I’m taking that dream much more seriously.  Already, I’m saving up money to go with her.  I would have places to stay, plenty of food to eat, and a raw cultural experience with my own tour guide. 

We communicated all summer with Facebook and Skype, and this year, we are roommates.  Since we live together now, I have been able to observe even more cultural differences, as well as similarities.  Recently, she became horrified when she learned that Americans spelled “fetus” without an “o.”  Aside from small details like that, and a lack of knowledge about the intricacies of American politics and history, Anannya is American to the core.  Growing up in India, she experienced American and British TV fully.  As a result, she understands a lot of cultural references.  She has even perfected a fake American accent, so most people here don’t know that she’s foreign!

"Cat in the Rain" and "The Sea Change"

“Cat in the Rain” slightly frustrated me at first because I had no idea what Hemingway’s point was.  All I could pick out as important was the unequal relationship between the man and woman.  He treated her as an inferior.  Knowing that he was using the iceberg technique, I read this story several more times, picking out the characters and seeing how they all related to each other. 

The cat was the most puzzling.  Then I began making connections between it and the wife.  Helpless, trapped, and huddled under the table, the cat reminded me a lot of herr.  From the beginning, when she tells her husband about wanting to rescue the cat, he first insists on doing it himself.  Throughout the story, he is short with her and pays her little attention.  “Oh, shut up and get something to read,” he tells her when she reveals her true feelings.  Like the cat, she feels helpless and trapped by a husband who does not give her any credit.

            “The Sea Change” was equally as mysterious.  All the dialogue was presented, as well as a clear look at their relationship and the ending of it.  What was missing was the problem.  There is no indication of what exactly went wrong.  Perhaps Hemingway meant this story to be symbolic of all break-up stories—the problems are more or less the same, so let’s focus on the actual breaking up instead.    

"Hills Like White Elephants"

Reading and preparing a presentation for “Hills Like White Elephants” has been quite interesting.  Like probably many people in this class, I read this story in high school but did not grasp as much as I do now.  I remember my high school creative writing teacher (Mr. Williams) choosing pairs of males and females to read out the dialogue.  We spent an entire class trying to figure out the meaning.  We were unfamiliar with Hemingway and the iceberg technique, and as we racked our brains for answers, most of us became annoyed with him and his story.  Our teacher told us it was about abortion at the end of class, and we were all flabbergasted. 

Reading it this time was a completely different experience, although I do think I would have picked up on his meaning this time, even if I hadn’t read it before.  My close-reading skills have improved since high school, and I also approached this story with knowledge about the iceberg technique. 

One of the first things I asked myself was if Hemingway chose to write about this topic using the iceberg technique for a reason.  This is truly a modernist story, since he deals with such controversial subject matter.  It must have been obscenely controversial when it was published in the 20’s.  The iceberg technique is an effective tool to get away with publishing stories about unsavory or unpopular topics.  I think it’s interesting that Hemingway relies so much on it. 

“Hills” also stood out because of its structure.  Made up of mostly dialogue, it relies heavily on the reader to decipher meaning.  Add that on top of the iceberg technique, and this story becomes a labyrinth.  An entertaining labyrinth, ofcourse.  

"The Snows of Kilimanjaro"

“The Snows of Kilimanjaro” struck me as one of the more complicated Hemingway short stories we’ve read so far this semester.  I think it would take me many more readings before I could grasp the true gist of the story.  There is so much depth and detail that I probably missed.  But like “A Way You’ll Never Be,” I thought Hemingway’s writing style reflected the message he wanted to get across.  There was not the stream of consciousness technique in this story, but I did think the present and past was muddled to show that Harry was fading.

Harry’s attitude towards his writing was one I could connect with immediately.  He regretted his decision to put off writing about his experiences, especially since his time had run out.  Every moment that he had wasted drinking, womanizing, and being lazy could have been spent creating something meaningful.  As a writer, I also feel like I am cheating myself by putting off writing or not writing at all.  His regret and disappointment were understandable.

One of the things I enjoyed most about this story were Hemingway’s stylistic choices.  In the present time, the writing was bare and almost lethargic.  Mostly, it was dialogue.  I think it reflected where Harry was in that part of his life—he had married a rich woman who he didn’t love, and he had given up his writer’s soul.  His flashbacks, however, were rich in their description.  Although they had happened a while ago, he still remembered them with striking clarity, leading me to believe that those were the moments he cherished and felt were worthwhile. 

                

Conversation Partner Update

Unfortunately, due to an unfortunate illness in her family, my partner Ayaka had to return to Japan.  After five meetings, I felt we were beginning to become good friends.  Our weekly Friday coffee meetings were something I looked forward to every week.  I am grateful that we’re Facebook friends and that we’ll keep in touch, but TCU won’t be the same without her.  Hopefully she’ll be able to return to America someday.

My new conversation partner is a lovely woman named Seeho.  She is from South Korea and came here to be with her husband, who was transferred to work in Fort Worth.  They will stay here for a few years, so she wanted to improve her English, which is already quite good.  As an advanced speaker, she can grasp almost everything I say, although she has some difficulty with cultural references (which will just take getting used to).
 

After about fifteen minutes of getting to know each other, I noticed that she kept glancing at a young man sitting close to us.  He had been sipping his drink, eavesdropping on our conversation for several minutes. 

“Sangho, where’s your partner?” she asked. 

He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.  “I was late, so he probably already left.”

She chastised him for not being on time, and then we invited him to sit with us and talk.  Sangho is also from South Korea, although much younger than Sohee.  Hearing their banter in a mixture of English and Korean was hilarious—they loved to stretch each other’s nerves to the breaking point.  I was like a mediator, steering the conversation in a different direction each time their bickering (mostly Sangho’s) began to escalate. 

Sangho is 23 years old, and he came to TCU because his father “strongly encouraged” him to.  He tells me this with a combination of resentment and resignation. 

“But do you like America?” I ask.

He shrugs.  “Fort Worth is too small.”

“Have you ventured over to Dallas yet?”

“Yes…but that is too small, also.  It’s all so boring.”

I could understand how the lack of bustle must have been eerie to him.  Sohee, however, had a different opinion.  She loved the calmness, the quiet.  It was so relaxing, she told me, as Sangho snorted. 

Sangho did enjoy dominating the conversation, so after answering his questions about tattoo parlors, illegal downloading, clubs, and booze, I tried to steer the topics to something that would better include Sohee.  We began talking about literature and films.  Like with Ayaka, Harry Potter and Christopher Nolan movies are indeed a universal love, and we spent much time discussing favorite characters. 

After realizing we had been talking for over 90 minutes, we reluctantly went our separate directions.  Although I do miss Ayaka a lot, I am glad that my new conversation partner (and her guest) was so much fun to talk to.  I’m looking forward to seeing her (and hopefully him) for the rest of the semester.