Analysis: Franny and Zooey

Last time I shared with you my thoughts on The Collector. Today? Franny & Zooey. 


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Franny is the penultimate twenty-something striving for something more. Taking the advice of her brothers – one deceased and one living – she begins to read the “Pilgrim” books that mention this Jesus prayer. One of Franny’s annoyances is academia – specifically theatre and professors – because to her, these feed the ego instead of suppress it. At this moment in her life, she lets go of everything in hopes to attain a vision of God through her Jesus prayer. She has become a seeker obsessed with seeing.

However, you don’t quite get this at the beginning of the novel, and at times, it’s a bit confusing to figure out what’s going on. But Salinger’s use of dialogue is absolutely amazing, and his characterization of Franny, Zooey and Bessie are incredible.  Because of this, I knew intrinsically from the beginning that Franny was highly dissatisfied with her method of living, and Zooey was highly dissatisfied with Franny’s method of following their brothers’ footsteps. It’s only until he reminds her of Seymour’s “Fat Lady” metaphor that she realizes she can still do those things she loves – such as theatre – and not feel guilty. In searching for that one “Fat Lady” in the audience, she is somehow searching for a supernatural connection. And for Franny, that’s all that really matters.

Have you read this book? Are you reading it? What are your thoughts?

Analysis: The Collector

Over the next few posts, I'll be sharing with you my initial analysis of some of the books on your list. These are excerpts from posts I completed for my graduate course on fiction. Nothing formal - trust me. We were just required to share our thoughts. Some are short and to the point, others are more detailed. Regardless, my hope is it gives you a glimpse of the book as I see it and possibly sparks some interest if it's not your chosen read.

The first one is The Collector:

The Collector was John Fowles first novel. I’m not gonna lie – that kind of creeps me out. It certainly is a very psychological book, and I can’t help but wonder exactly what was going on in his mind when he wrote it.

Ferdinand/Frederick/Caliban has many turning points while he houses Miranda. I think however, one of the most important ones is when she says: “I can’t marry a man to whom I don’t feel I belong in all ways. My mind must be his, my heart must be his, my body must be his. Just as I must feel he belongs to me” (89).  This triggers his confusion of her feminine beauty. He has always looked at her curiously when she shows her mood swings and laughs in response to her knowledge of coarse jokes. Beauty, to this man, has no mind of its own. It’s the same with his butterflies. He captures them for their beauty and in their silence he enjoys them. This is why he is forced to make excuses about his ineptness in bed (106) and why, in a moment of weakness, he takes pictures of her while she is knocked out.

Alone with these pictures, he has time. He has privacy and doesn’t have to worry about performing for her. When it’s just him and her pictures, she doesn’t talk back (109).  

If you're reading this novel, what are your thoughts so far? 

little bee: a review

About a year ago,  I was wandering through Borders and this book caught my attention. After picking it up, I flipped it over to read the back cover. This is what I read:

We don’t want to tell you what happens in this book. It is truly a special story and we don’t want to spoil it. Nevertheless, you need to know enough to buy it, so we’ll just say this:

This is the story of two women. Their lives collide one fateful day, and one of them has to make a terrible choice, the kind of choice we hope you never have to face. Two years later, they meet again – the story starts there…

Once you have read it, you’ll want to tell your friends about it. When you do, please don’t tell them what happens.

The magic is in how the story unfolds…

Sitting in the bookstore, I remember vividly my pulse quickening at the description. What could the book possibly be about if one is not supposed to speak about it once finished? Immediately I wrote the book in my list of future book purchases (because I do have one of those) & every time I saw the book on the shelf I’d pick it up – again – and read the back – again. Because of my promise to not buy a new book until I’ve finished the insurmountable stack on my nightstand, I’d always place it back where it belongs on the shelf.

Until this summer.

For my birthday, I received a gift card for Borders – and I instantly knew what I would get. I started reading Little Bee this past week, and finished it last night. Let me say this: go get this book. Now. And if you decide on another book to read for outside reading? Still get this book. No really - it's that good!

I’ve read two books this year that  made me want to get up and do something. In the words of Thoreau, it wasn’t enough for me to simply read – I needed to act on what I read. The words broke me and inspired me to remember the connection between us as human beings and how our “stories end up being the tellers of us.” The Help was one of them – Little Bee is the other. It’s haunting. Beautiful. Disturbing.

I’m going to adhere to the author’s wishes and not tell you anything about the book – but I do want to close with the words of one of the narrators. Listen closely.

What is an adventure? That depends on where you are starting from. Little girls in your country, they hide in the gap between the washing machine and the refrigerator and they make believe they are in the jungle, with green snakes and monkeys all around them. Me and my sister, we used to hide in a gap in the jungle, with green snakes and monkeys all around us, and make believe we had a washing machine and a refrigerator. You live in a world of machines and you dream of things with beating hearts. We dream of machines, because we see where beating hearts have left us.

Which book did you decide to read? Let me know what appealed to you about the book.

this thing called story

What is this thing called story?
From the beginning of time, people have created and spoken and passed on stories of our past in a desperate attempt to awaken something within the community. Ancient Greece used well-known mythological stories as backdrops to the Greek tragedies. For a short period of time, thousands would gather and take part in the religious act of emotional purging and catharsis.
In the novel The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien mentions stories are "for joining past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can't remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story."
To me, stories bring hope. Life can get pretty messy sometimes. For all of us, disappointment lurks in the corner waiting to make his appearance. Stories remind us of the good - of those who push through conflict despite the messiness around them. It may not always end with a bow tied neatly around a happy ending, but characters within stories are noble and fight for what they know is right. They are flawed - just like us - and even through mistakes make something beautiful. This is the hope.
This past summer, sitting in a coffee shop in Nairobi, Kenya, I thought about how I would accurately tell the stories of those I met in Kibera. I wanted to return to school and let you guys know just how lucky you are to gain a free education. I wanted to make it clear that flushing toilets and central heat and air and the excess of paper, pens, books, pencils, markers, crayons...these things aren't guaranteed. I wanted to share about the two kids writing their numbers on a metal pole with chalk - only to lick the pole clean in order to start again. I wanted to share about Rose who is orphaned but finding a way to raise funds for school through her grandmother's business. I wanted to tell you of the poster hanging in the headmaster's office of what to do if you are raped...
Why?
...because I needed to remind myself of hope.
There's a fine line between experience and storytelling. I found it in Kibera. And sitting with these kids as they each shared with me their background and hopes and dreams, the dichotomy of my world and their world collided within my chest, creating a discord not easily removed. Coming home and sharing my experiences wasn't an option anymore. I needed to find the link between what I witnessed and what I hope for these kids. Walking down the dirt path lined with sewage holding the hand of Rose or Adah or David or Benjamin - I realized the grotesque beauty of storytelling. You may or may not be moved by what I say or the stories I share. But does it really matter? The thing about this fine line between experience and storytelling is that it's my experience - my story. It matters to me. It moves me. And in sharing it, I hope it moves you - but I know if it doesn't, it's okay. 
....because  in sharing, I've reminded myself of hope. And late at night, when I'm trying to remember how I got from there to here, this is all I need to know.

Begin by Learning

It's like clockwork.

Every year, my inspiration slowly creeps into this morning monster - begging me to get my lazy self out of bed and write. This is how I know when school is just around the corner. I mean, you're not going to find me waking up at 4:45am during the summer unless I'm catching a plane to some distant land....

So I do with this muse the best thing I know - I use it. I sit down at the computer, rest my hands on the keyboard, and wait...eventually the words begin to flow.

Yesterday I read a blog post of a teacher who I admire. He spoke about who we are as teachers - and what it takes to make it in this profession. He said something I found inherently brilliant: begin by learning. Begin by learning, and never stop.

Curiosity races through my veins most days. I think it may be the storyteller in me. I look at a person walking down the street and I wonder where he has been...what his story is...where he hopes to go. I hear of a new novel and I'm immediately drawn to the plot - how did the author think of this? Was it a dream? Has it been festering inside for years? How long did it take for her to write it?

And then there's teaching. Who will I have this year? What will our discussions bring? Will the students like the books we read? Will they even care at all? Most importantly: how can I be the best teacher for these teenagers sitting in front of me - waiting for me to speak? 

It's a tough job - a rewarding one, but a tough responsibility. Learning is essential. I constantly need to be reading...writing...researching...soaking in everything I hear about AP Literature in order to effectively turn around and get my students - you guys - to start thinking on your own.

I know it's the beginning of a new year. My clock says 6:37am and I'm already at the school - brainstorming, creating, drafting, dreaming...my biggest hope for this year is that you use this first week as a catalyst. Storytelling - in all its wonder - is the backbone of civilization. We will begin by learning what it means to find stories that resonate with us - and why stories grotesque in nature mirror our life so closely. We will begin by learning to soak in the words of an author and allow the how and what to simmer for a while. We will begin by learning the value of setting pen to paper and writing our own story - fictional or based on our perception of reality.

We will begin....and we won't ever stop.