Emily Dickinson: A Blog Post

So, I'm going to share I secret: I really cannot stand Emily Dickinson. What? You all knew?! I made that perfectly clear in class?!

Perhaps I should explain.

(LOOK DEEP INTO MY EYES...)

I'd heard Emily Dickinson's name before, but hadn't ever read a word of her work until last year in English. This may be due to the fact that I didn't care for poetry too much until my Sophomore year, and I'm not the type to go looking for poet's works (except Allen Ginsberg--he's a cool dude). So my class got a brief synopsis on Emily, and then we were thrown to her works! Oh, the sing-song horror of it all! So many damn words arranged in the whiniest and bounciest rhythm possible. I really couldn't look past that.

AND THEN. Her poems had deeper meaning. She takes this nursery-rhyme tune and makes poetry that on the surface seems obnoxious, but beneath has a ton of messages. Don't get me wrong, that's really cool. But it makes me enraged! I can't figure out why, but it really gets to me... I guess it stems from NOT UNDERSTANDING WHAT THE @#$% THIS GIRL IS SAYING. And then when I figure out it's really interesting, it's annoying. Any other poet, I don't really care if it's a hunt to find out what they are trying to say. But hiding something incredibly fabulous under a ton of rhymes (I don't dig on rhyme schemes--far too forced) and occasional whiny gibberish is cruel. I don't like the way her writing sounds.

Okay, that's basically the gist of it. Perhaps I just don't appreciate "great poetry".

In Defense of My 72% in AP English

Yes, I'm admitting it: I have a D in this class. But it's super close to a C. And some missing work/essays haven't even been put in yet. So it really isn't the end of the world.

Why is it I have a D? Well, the short answer could be that I haven't done my work on time. But I'll just give the long answer because, you know, why not?

English is absolutely my favorite subject, because it takes all the nerdy, questioning philosophical stuff and shoves it into novels and writing. THREE THINGS I CANNOT HAVE ENOUGH OF. But it's also a lot of work. And if I didn't have a manager and a teacher conspiring together to make sure I don't have an inch of time to do work, then maybe I'd get it done in a timely manor and not spend my nights off doing a major works data sheet, three Beloved reading journals, a AP-style quiz on Beloved, and a blog. But all in all, I can be exceptionally lazy. As much as I'd love to be a seventh grader and blame everything on anyone who isn't me, I've got to own up to it and accept my grade as my own doing. And you know what? I love my grade. I'm going to keep working at it, and maybe my grade will become a little prettier, therefore more accepting by society. Then I may have something that won't make colleges ask why they accepted me as an English major in the first place.

But if I resent my grade, I know I won't make it any better. So why not love it and own up to it? I HAVE A D.

Hey, at least I'm not failing. (This post was incredibly useless)

The Bell Jar

(Line from the book, possibly my favorite)

So rather than spam this page with three blog posts, I'll just do one each evening this week--hopefully I'll remember.

Okay, well my second independent reading book was The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. I didn't dig it as much as I did my first book, but this one definitely wasn't bad. First off, Sylvia Plath really knew how to craft some sentences. It's strange how she writes such a depressing novel and it ends up sounding sooooo pretty. The imagery for fig trees and bell jars were both beautiful and terrible. Granted, she killed herself a month after this book's publication, so I'll just assume she wasn't in the best of places when it was written.

I really loved the first two hundred pages. Its very much my kind of book, mostly because it focuses on character development rather than plot. Then the last forty-four were... rushed. A good four major life events happen to tie the ends up to this book, but they feel so fast when compared to the rest of the novel. Only a good two pages are devoted to her friend's suicide. Really? Granted, the main character is a little bit self-absorbed, but not so much that a suicide would mean nothing. Quite possibly Sylvia Plath was trying to wrap everything up rather quickly with hopes of everything just ending. What I found annoying about that mindset was that she didn't explain what caused Esther to get better. Instead, the reader is told everything is all good, and the bell jar has lifted, but the depression was a crucial part of her life and she wouldn't be willing to ignore it.

What I find most depressing about this book is how positive the future is for Esther, but terrible for Plath. It almost feels like she wrote everything down to get better, but it didn't work...