Triumph or Not?

  In class on Friday, we discussed whether or not the 1962 novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey was a story of human triumph. Personally, I am torn between the two. Specifically, I believe that the death of McMurphy can be spun both ways. After the nurse forces McMurphy to have a lobotomy, Bromden kills him and observes, “I saw the expression hadn’t changed from the blank, dead-end look the least bit, even under suffocation” (323). This observation would indirectly characterize Bromden as spiteful and hateful of McMurphy, when, in reality, Bromden truly admired McMurphy at times. I find it hard to accept that the book was one about human triumph because the main character, who only tried to help the patients throughout the book, receives a lobotomy and is killed by one of the men that admired him most. On the other hand, McMurphy could have known that the only way to free and inspire the patients was to sacrifice himself. With his nonstop defiance and aggression, he knew he would receive awful punishment at some point, so his lobotomy could have been a sacrifice. In that case, the lobotomy acted as a catalyst for the timid men to defy the establishment and leave. In this instance, the book can be seen as a story of human triumph. But is it really a human triumph if people have to die for the cause to live? Does the triumph of the individual matter at the expense of others? I still need time to reflect on these questions, for I am still not entirely sure.

Those Crazy AP English Gods

Ms. Serensky often informs us of how themes from the books we read in AP English somehow pop up in her daily life. Such themes conflict her so much so that she has noted her hesitance in choosing certain books for us to read. I too, have experienced a similar relation between the books we read in English and my own life, but in the more enjoyable form of movies. It began last year after reading Into the Wild, by Jon Krakauer. A week or so after finishing the book, I remember flipping through the channels on the television, and the movie Into the Wild magically popped up on the screen. I recall being fairly excited to see this movie adaption, which ended up being just as depressing as the book, and thought it ironic that it had appeared right after finishing the book. I, however, have never noticed it on television after that. The next book we read was Angela’s Ashes, by Frank McCourt. Once again, a few weeks after reading the book, I was watching television and the movie Angela’s Ashes came on. This too, I have never noticed on television again. After that chipper novel, we moved on to mindboggling and twisted world of Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood. In class, we watched the film documenting Capote’s experiences while writing the book, but we did not watch the In Cold Blood movie. Just a few weeks after finishing the book, I noticed In Cold Blood on T.V. At this point, I was still terrified to sleep through the night because of the haunting images that arose from the book, but I decided to watch it anyway. Home alone. Not the best idea I have ever had. But no matter how traumatizing the movie was, I have never noticed on it on television after that. So then this year, we started of the first quarter with Shakespeare’s play Othello. This time, we got to enjoy the visual representation of the book in real life in the form of an actual play. However, the next week I was flipping through the channels, and noticed that the movie version of Othello was on T.V. It was ironic because Iago resembled a big, fluffy teddy bear to me, far from the manipulative, psychopath type he was portrayed as in the novel. This movie, too, I have never noticed on television again. Oh, the madness of AP English never stops! As of now, I have not seen The Namesake on T.V., but that could be because we actually watched the corresponding movie/book in school. Sometimes, I wonder if the AP English gods are having too much fun up there.

What's In a Dream?

In Ken Kesey’s 1962 novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, the rather mentally derailed first-person narrator, Chief Bromden, often goes on delusional tirades describing life in the mental hospital.  Bromden’s empathetic way of thinking forces him to be driven into a world that allows him to escape the pain of sharing other people’s feelings. In this way, Bromden has created a seemingly “alternate universe” that surrounds him at the mental hospital. At one instance, Bromden believes that the hospital ward has the ability to descend into the bottom of the building, where workers wait with machines to open the patients and spill out their mechanical innards, ultimately killing them. When he wakes up the next morning, Bromden promises not to reveal his revelation to others because they would tell him that it was just a dream, and to this opinion Bromdem thinks, “But if they don’t exist, how can a man see them?” (90). This rhetorical question juxtaposed with the rest of the outlandish outbursts described in the text has given me loads of crazy thoughts in the past week, enough so that in AP Biology last week  I blurted out, “I can’t wait to meet you again in heaven, Lizzy!”  This rather obscure comment got me thinking: it will be so cool to meet all of my old acquaintances in heaven!  And with our new, ageless physiques, Lizzy and I will even be able to do gymnastics together again! So maybe that’s not exactly how the future will pan out, but time certainly puts strains on our hearts that calls us back to people from our pasts. Although fights and conflicts may spark dislike and abhorrence towards people now, after years and years of distance, the ability to meet that person again and see them once more does not sound bad at all.

My Bad!

Upon waking up this morning, and learning that it was a snow day (yes!), I nervously stumbled over to my computer, knowing that Ms. Serensky must have sent us an e-mail regarding a fun activity that we should be doing for AP English on our day off. However, upon looking in my inbox, I noticed that no such e-mail existed. Then I talked to Lizzy Burl. She pointed out that Ms. Serensky had sent us an e-mail on Saturday, wanting us to write three discussion questions regarding One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. How was it, I thought to myself, that I had not received an e-mail? In fact, I hadn’t received an e-mail all year! That thought blew my mind for that could not, in fact, be possibly true! Then I remembered our school e-mail addresses…Oops! After trying about five different passwords before pulling out the original purple sheet of paper regarding our accounts and passwords, I was finally able to open my e-mail account, and sure enough, there lay a slew of unread e-mails from Ms. Serensky. Of course she would send e-mails to our new, shiny school approved e-mail addresses as opposed to our normal e-mail addresses that she sent her e-mails to last year! I even remember creating my account for the new school e-mail address, and feeling a sort of aversion towards it, not wanting to return to it soon. So the thought of Ms. Serensky sending us e-mails to it slipped my mind. How silly of me to let a dislike towards an electronic mailing device deter me from getting important e-mails from Ms. Serensky.

Yikes...

After talking in class about the conditions of mental health facilities during the 1950s and 60s, I noticed that the word “lobotomy” sprung up quite a bit in our discussions. Also, upon reading the first few chapters of the 1962 novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, by Ken Kesey, the narrator makes references to “that filthy brain-murdering room,” and also mentions that “Sometimes a guy goes over for an installation, leaves the ward mean and mad and snapping at the whole world and comes back …with black-and-blue eyes…and he’s the sweetest, nicest…thing you ever saw” (16, 17). This got me wondering about what exactly happens in a lobotomy, and how it affects people. First of all, a lobotomy is a surgical procedure involving the removal or damage of parts of the frontal cortex. It consists of cutting the connections to and from the prefrontal cortex. When performed successfully, a lobotomy may result in significant behavioral changes in the patient. During the height of lobotomy procedures, lobotomies sometimes worked beneficially, calming the patient so that he or she could live a relatively normal life. However, lobotomies also posed a great deal of risk. Due to the fact that the brain is a fragile and complex organ, and that in the era in which lobotomies were performed (the early 1900s-1960s) people did not know much about the brain, there was the probable likelihood for the procedure to go wrong. At its worst, a lobotomy could cause death, but it could also cause serious brain damage that resulted in mental retardation in the patient. Patients could also enter comas and vegetative states after lobotomies. The method of lobotomies slowed down in the 1950s after the introduction of the drug Thorazine, which causes its own chemical lobotomy. Although lobotomies are not performed today to the extent that they were during the early 1900s, they still had a very deep impact on the lives of those in mental hospitals.

Cuckoo and Crazy

“Vintery, Mintery, Cutery, Corn,” a children’s nursery rhyme written for a Mother Goose book, throws together a compilation of nonsense words juxtaposed with a probable hidden meaning regarding the concept of insanity. In the first line of the poem, the narrator articulates, “Vintery, mintery, cutery, corn” (1). This string of nonsense words could represent a variety of farfetched concepts and ideas. However, I believe that the list parallels the insanity within all of us, and the one normal word, corn, illustrates how infrequently in our society do we ever come across a sane and normal person. In the next line of the poem, the narrator muses, “Apple seed and apple thorn;” (2). The juxtaposition of seed and thorn illustrates the two spectrums of life and death, conveying the idea that insanity prospers over a person’s lifetime. As the poem progresses, the narrator states, “Three geese in a flock” (4). In this phrase, the word “flock” represents all people in their entirety, symbolizing the concept that everyone is insane. Finally, the narrator declares, “One flew east,/ And one flew west,/ And one flew over the cuckoo’s nest” (5-7). This final phrase can allude to a variety of deeper meanings, however, I believe that it illustrates how everyone has a little bit of insanity in them. Due to the fact that birds typically fly north to south or south to north, the uncharacteristic directions that these birds fly in my illustrate insanity. Nonetheless, I believe that the bird that flies over the cuckoo’s nest represents sane people because the cuckoo’s nest may be facing the opposite directions of the other birds, so either north or south. This conveys the idea that perhaps we are all crazy, but the craziest people of all are also the sanest. I believe that this idea may foreshadow the insanity of the people in the 1962 novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, by Ken Kesey.

A Teenage Adult?

Throughout the 2003 novel The Namesake, author Jhumpa Lahiri uses a third-person omniscient narrator to continually describe Gogol Ganguli’s internal conflict with his coming of age and the acceptance of his true identity. With age comes independence, and Gogol finds plenty of freedom from his parents after his eighteenth birthday, when he can legally change his name. At this time, the narrator notes, “now that he’s Nikhil it’s easier to ignore his parents” (105). Lahiri uses Gogol’s age to indirectly characterize him as free and self-sufficient, while also indirectly characterizing him as immature for not having the ability to appreciate his family. This juxtaposition got me thinking: when do people become adults? This past weekend I turned eighteen, an age in which the United States identifies people as adults. However, at the age of eighteen, you are still a teenager. An adult teenager? The phrase is an oxymoron in itself, for teenagers are stereotyped as reckless and rebellious, while adults hold the title of ultimate maturity. This unusual juxtaposition can be seen as Gogol grows up and goes to college because it is his personal belief that he is mature, but ultimately, he is still a teenager. So when do we become adults? Can it be justified by just an age? But even the age that legally constitutes a person as an adult still characterizes them as a teenager. Why is this? Personally, I believe that adulthood comes with responsibility. Having dependence on people and needing assistance from people does not make you an independent adult. Therefore, it seems to me that adulthood cannot be defined by an age, but by the time when we can fully function by ourselves, and take on the challenges of the world without having to turn to others. Ultimately, the idea of a teenage adult seems quite ridiculous, but in reality carries a bit of sense. It can act as an in-between stage, a chance to explore the realms of adulthood while still safely tethered to the amenities of adolescents.

Perception v. Reality

When you read books, your mind has the ability to paint dazzling images with the most creative brush possible: the imagination. One of the most exciting parts of reading is delving into a new world where your mind can contort reality to fit the conceptions of the author. However, translating a book to a movie can ruin the fantasy in your head. In the movie The Namesake, Gogol’s voluminous hair filled with angst and rebellion creates more humor than actual sympathy for the character, especially because the junior in high school is being played by a twenty-nine year old actor. This juxtaposition contorts your image of Gogol in a negative way, allowing the fleeting image you once had in your head to quickly be swept away by the ridiculous reality. Another character, Moushumi, also appeared much differently than my preconceptions. In the book, after Gogol visits Moushumi’s apartment, he compliments, “’You’re beautiful’” (210). I do not want to appear conceited or superficial, but the image of Moushumi that I had drawn in my head did not nearly match the image of Moushumi in the movie because in the book Gogol directly characterizes her as beautiful. Most significantly, I wish that movies could live up to our fantastical perceptions. Just recently, I watched “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows”. For years I had drawn a detailed world out of the book, filled with descriptive images that I had pulled from the story. However, seeing the movie, after reading any book, always ruins those images in your head. As you try to look back on them, they appear fuzzy and faded, as though you are looking at them through a gauzed veil. Although I am excited to continue to watch The Namesake, I know it will never live up to the world I had created for the story in my head.

New Naggings about "Nicola"

I realize that I have already dedicated a post to some of the negative feelings that I have towards my name, but The Namesake has made me hyperaware of situations involving my name, thus prompting me to vocalize my rather annoyed opinion.  First of all, people are incompetent. While walking through town one day, I noticed my endearingly cool senior band photo resting nonchalantly against the stained wood panels of a window. While at first recoiling with embarrassment, I carefully looked back at the photo, and noticed that it clearly spelled out “NICOLE ZOLLINGER”. Seriously? One factor that I do not understand about my name is why people assume that the spelling is wrong. I understand that people do make mistakes, but if there is an “a” on the end, add an “a”. It is that simple. Another incident that happened this week occurred at gymnastics. After being threatened with push-ups for not knowing all of the girl’s names, a frantic scramble erupted, with people scurrying around to uncover the names of everyone. After a girl asked my name, I promptly replied “Nicola”. She glanced at me once, saying “Okay, Nicole,” and swiftly left to learn more names. The question I have to ask myself is: why would I say my own name wrong? A final occurrence that happened this week took place in one of my classes, when the teacher called me “Nicole-a”. I have had this teacher all semester, and have repeated my name to them many times, so it infuriates me when they act with such incompetence. Of course, I know I may be a bit hypocritical, for I make mistakes as well, and not everyone can be perfect, but such incidences that illustrate individual’s sincere ignorance deeply bother me.

Naggings about "Nicola"

Sometimes I wish I had a different name. One people could pronounce. One people could relate to. However, we cannot choose our names, can we? In Jhumpa Lahiri's 2003 novel The Namesake, Gogol obsesses over the uniqueness of his name. Although I do not obsess over my own name, I find that I can relate to Gogol's discomfort in various ways. When Gogol's English teacher Mr. Lawson decides to focus on Nikolai Gogol's work, the third-person omniscient narrator notes Gogol's reaction and states, "Warmth spreads from the back of Gogol's neck to his cheeks and ears" (91). Every time I meet a new person, or a substitute teacher pronounces my name wrong, I can feel the embarrassment creep up my cheeks, illuminating them with an indiscreet rosy red. In this way, I can note how Lahiri utilizes pathos for Gogol’s embarrassment, creating sympathy for his situation, an occurrence I can empathize with. Later in the lecture about Nikolai Gogol the narrator notes, “Each time the name is uttered, he quietly winces” (91). No matter how many times I repeat the correct pronunciation of my name, some people just cannot accept the correct pronunciation of my name. They come up with rather ridiculous variations like “Nikolai” (a boy’s name), “Nicholas” (once again, a boy’s name), “Nicole” (have they seen the spelling of my name?), and I guess the easily misunderstood “Nicole-a” (thanks Coca-Cola and Ricola). However, I feel embarrassed when people mispronounce my name after I have told them the correct pronunciation. In this way, I can relate to Gogol’s feeling of humiliation at having his name said out loud because I do not like it when people pronounce my name wrong in front of others who know the correct pronunciation. Also, as Lahiri indirectly characterizes Gogol as insecure and self-conscious, I can draw a parallel to myself because I become too ashamed to correct people. All in all, I enjoy having a unique name, even though I do not appreciate it all the time. I would never change my name because it makes me unique and different. I mean, how many other Nicola’s do you know?

An Open Mind

In class this week, we have thoroughly discussed the complicated marital relationship between Gogol and Moushumi in Jhumpa Lahiri's 2003 fiction novel The Namesake. Although many people believe that Gogol and Moushumi have equal faults in the deterioration of their relationship, I believe that Moushumi signifies a parallel of Gogol during his late teenage years and therefore, due to her lack of maturity now, should take much of the responsibility for the downfall of the relationship. As Moushumi reflects on her past relationships and her current relationship with Gogol, the third-person omniscient narrator notes, "There is something appealing to her about this prospect, to make a clean start in a place where no one knows her" (254). The contemplative tone juxtaposes with deceptive diction in the phrase "no one" to indirectly characterize her as fleeting and ever changing, not settling for the life given to her. This concept relates to Gogol's decision to change his name earlier in the book, specifically when the narrator states, "now that he's Nikhil it's easier to ignore his parents" (105). The narrator describes a college student's apparent rebellion against his past life, and his desire to change the commonality that surrounds him, which indirectly characterizes Gogol as rebellious and changing. This draws a parallel to Moushumi's actions in their relationship, and indirectly characterizes her as immature for sharing the same qualities and characteristics as an eighteen year old male. As the couple go out for their first anniversary dinner Moushumi abruptly states, "'It's not what I thought it would be," to which Gogol replies, "'Let's just enjoy ourselves'" (252). Moushumi's statement acts as a metaphor for her and Gogol's relationship, indirectly characterizing her as a person who has unrealistic expectations in of life. This juxtaposes with Gogol's view on the relationship, for he simply wants to create an illusion of happiness, which illustrates his attempt to bring the relationship together, even if his attempts do not appear vehement. Ultimately, Lahiri writes to those who struggle with their identities in order to illustrate the need to accept life with open arms and an open mind.