The Treatment of Boori Ma and Bibi Haldar

While reading Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies, I noticed some common themes between the stories. Specifically, the representation of the Indian community in regards to outsiders was very similar in "A Real Durwan" and "The Treatment of Bibi Haldar."

In "A Real Durwan," Boori Ma is a frail old woman that serves as a sort of doorkeeper for the apartment building that seems to have taken her under its wing. She talks of tales from her old life, both good and bad. Her voice is described as being "brittle with sorrows, as tart as curds, and shrill enough to grate meat from a coconut" (70). From talking about her losses during Partition to reminding the public of her daughter's extravagant wedding, Boori Ma always seems to be rambling on about something or another. Initially, this struck me as kind of annoying and reminded me of those old relatives everyone keeps around but doesn't care to take seriously. However, I soon noticed that I was being presented the situation largely through the eyes of an outsider. Since the narrator is pretty detached, I began noticing the way the people of the apartment building were treating her. They were very dismissive of her legitimacy, both as a storyteller and as a durwan. The title, "A Real Durwan," stems from the fact that none of them consider her to be a proper doorkeeper. In fact, she seems to be living amongst them much like a stray cat would.

Similarly, "The Treatment of Bibi Haldar" concerns a younger woman, Bibi Haldar, who is deemed unmarriable and unlovable due to her sporadic seizures, the cause of which is unknown. She is also described as being kinda ugly and unkempt. This story differs from "A Real Durwan" since, for the first time in the book, this story is narrated from the first person plural, "we." "In the mornings Bibi arrived in the storage room wearing cracked plastic slippers and a housecoat whose hem stopped some inches below the knee ... She bemoaned her fate and challenged her stars as we hung our laundry or scrubbed scales from our fish. She was not pretty" (160). Already we can see that the community is being a little harsh towards Bibi; treating her suffering as volatile and her appearance as subpar. When it turns out the cure for her disease is "the most outrageous of them all," which is to find a husband, the community actually seems to help her get cleaned up and marriage-ready. However, I had to be careful to consider whether this was the Indian community genuinely helping her, or if they were treating her as just another pet or project.

In these two stories, both Boori Ma and Bibi Haldar seem to be overlooked as to having any legitimacy. This made me question what Jhumpa Lahiri's intentions were when writing this book. Instead of presenting India as the ideal homeland and America as a cold new world, Lahiri actually hints at the cons of Indian community. Especially when it came to the treatment of Boori Ma and Bibi Haldar, I noticed that the people weren't as accepting of outsiders as I may have thought.

How To Get a Girlfriend

In Junot Diaz's "How to Date a Browngirl, Blackgirl, Whitegirl, or Halfie," Yunior presents us with step-by-step tutorial of courting various females. Written in second person, it gave me a flashback to Lorrie More's Self-Help. As with the stories in that book, however, I began contemplating the deeper meaning of the information he was presenting us with, especially in the context of his personal life.

Admittedly, the guide itself gives some pretty harmless dating advice I think we've all been through at some point or another. For instance, it's not a bad idea to get rid of old embarrassing pictures before inviting a person of interest to one's home. Doing some minor house cleaning is also expected. "Make sure the bathroom is presentable. Put the basket with all the crapped-on toilet paper under the sink" (144). On the surface, all of the instructions so far seemed fairly ordinary, but upon taking a closer look at the story I began noticing Yunior's dissatisfaction with himself and his culture.

The fact that the title literally lists a few of Yunior's "types" is already a bit revealing of the importance of race. From the beginning, when he's preparing his home for the girls, he mentions, "hide the pictures of yourself with an Afro" (143). Additionally, we notice his slight panic as a white mother comes to meet him at his door. "Run a hand through your hair like the whiteboys do even though the only thing that runs easily through your hair is Africa" (145). Then, throughout the story, he mentions how he should adjust his mannerisms based on a girls' race. Besides this, these girls don't really seem to have any individual or memorable personalities that require special adjusting.

As the story progresses, Yunior continues to tell us his tips for the various outcomes one might encounter when trying to date. It was at this point, however, that I started pondering if what he was telling us was purely educational, or if his subconscious was making its way into the story, too. On several occasions, we seem to realize that Yunior is no more suave than some of the boys at Uni High. He struggles to make conversation at times, but is still quite respectable and takes what he can get. After one such encounter, a girl says, "you're the only kind of guy who asks me out," as if it's a bad thing. Here, we see Yunior further questioning his legitimacy as datable material.

Overall, I personally liked the way this story was written. It had a good pace (and length), and several comedic twists that made if more interesting to read. That being said, though, I struggled to understand if this was the dating advice of a confident, debonair guy who likes paying attention to details, or a nerd who finds every situation slightly uncomfortable, and has made a guide to deal with it.

I Tried to Become a Writer

Unlike many people, I actually enjoyed writing as a child. In fact, I'm pretty sure if someone had asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd say an author. From writing bizarre stories about the secret lives of my pets, to documenting the mundane activities of my family members, I always relished capturing moments on paper. However, as I matured, I somehow lost this interest for writing I had once possessed.

In Lorrie Moore's "How to Become a Writer," Francie considers herself destined to become a writer. The story literally opens with, "first, try to be something, anything, else" (119). Over the course of the story, we see Francie struggling with this fate. She tries to go to college as a psychology major, yet somehow ends up in a Creative Writing class. She starts writing, but no one even likes her work anyways. I found this sad, because she seems to become depressed as a result. However, what made her actions admirable to me was her persistence. Eventually, her whole life turns into a source of inspiration for her actual works. Though I saw some similarities between me and Francie, I think we also have several key differences between us.

As opposed to Francie, I seem to have come to terms with the fact that I will not become a professional writer anytime soon. While it would be really cool to become the next J.K. Rowling, I don't think I have the diligence required to make that happen. Additionally, whenever I wrote as a child, it was mostly for fun. If I am required to write stories for a class that meet a certain deadline and length requirement, I can't focus on the content at hand as well. (The fact that this blog is late is probably indicative of that, too.) What makes Francie such an admirable character, then, is her disregard for the rules as she continues to write her wacky stories.

One thing that also came into my mind as we were discussing "How to Become a Writer" was whether or not Francie's work was actually any good. Even though Lorrie Moore's story was very successful and we all seemed to enjoy it, a few of us were quick to assume that Francie eventually became successful, too. Nothing in the story hints at such a future, and her stories are honestly pretty weird. In this sense, I wonder if the criticism she was getting from the people around her was close-minded, or actually true. Then again, the story is called "How to Become a Writer," and depending on our definition of "Writer," this could very well mean she eventually became successful, or at least happy with where she is. Overall, this story really made me rethink what it means to become a writer, and how little input writers can have in their destinies.

Uncle Sonny

One of the things that struck me in "Sonny's Blues" was the stark resemblance between Sonny and the narrator's uncle. Throughout the story, the narrator is struggling to understand Sonny on a more personal level. The story opens when the narrator, a respectable (though perhaps stuck-up) algebra teacher hears his brother got arrested on heroin charges. The fact that he learns this news through the daily paper and not a relative (or Sonny himself) is indicative of the broken family dynamic. Indeed, both the parents are dead, and Sonny's closest relative seems to be a heroin junkie that seeks out the narrator shortly after this incident. Even after Sonny is jailed, it still takes a while for the narrator to reach out to him. It isn't until his daughter Grace dies from polio that he finally decides it's time to write Sonny a letter. Upon Sonny's return to the free world, the narrator makes an effort to get to know more about Sonny.

At first, the narrator is convinced that Sonny went down a bad, irresponsible path, and there's nothing he could've done about it. Upon further reflection, however, he realizes that he may have played a role in Sonny's demise. He thinks back to the conversations he had with his mother:

"I want to talk to you about your brother," she said, suddenly. "If anything happens to me he ain't going to have nobody to look out for him."
"Mama," I said, "ain't nothing going to happen to you or Sonny. Sonny's alright. He's a good boy and he's got good sense."
"It ain't a question of his being a good boy," Mama said, "nor of his having good sense. It ain't only the bad ones, nor yet the dumb ones that gets sucked under." (116)

Here, the narrator's mother is trying to get him to understand the impact he has on his younger brother. Even though the narrator doesn't know it at the time and dismisses Sonny being a concern, he later comes to realize that there are less tangible things he could've done to protect Sonny. As his mother keeps talking, she opens up to him about his father's brother, which the narrator never knew he had. What struck me about this uncle was his distinct similarity to Sonny. As a young boy, the narrator's uncle "would sing, he had a fine voice, and play along with himself on his guitar" (117). Unfortunately, he would not live to follow his passions, as he was soon run over mercilessly by a carful of drunken white men. The narrator's father, who witnessed this event, was scarred for life.

As the narrator is spending time with post-prison Sonny, he reflects back on this moment. At this point, I found it to be no coincidence that the narrator's uncle was a happy, musical boy who met an unfortunate end. Sonny has also expressed a passion for music, namely piano--a passion that the narrator tried to stray him away from. Upon Sonny's incarceration, his vulnerability to the outside world becomes real. When Sonny asks the narrator if his nephews will even remember him, I couldn't help but compare Sonny to the narrator's uncle. In fact, the uncle's legacy has been lost, as no one in the family even knew who he was. By this token, I had to consider what would have happened if Sonny died of a heroin overdose, or simply drifted away from the family. I think there is something important about one's legacy, especially among their loved ones. It makes me sad that Sonny may have very well been forgotten, just like his uncle, had the narrator not made any attempts to reconnect with him.

Salinger's Children

In Nine Stories, Salinger features an array of stories that may seem disjoint at first, but upon closer inspection have underlying themes that bring them together. Namely, the presence of children, especially in an upper-class, adult-dominated environment, is clear. By having a good portion of the stories center around kids who still don't know everything about the world (but may claim to), Salinger succeeds in making Nine Stories a relatable and thought-provoking read.

In "A Perfect Day For Bananafish," the first story of the series, the audience sees a high maintenance, somewhat snobbish Muriel Glass have a phone conversation with her overbearing mother. Meanwhile, her husband, Seymour Glass, is outside on the beach, not really enjoying himself either. We learn that he is a war veteran, and because of this is it safe to assume that he is suffering from some form or another of PTSD, making it hard for him to relate to others. Soon, however, a young girl by the name of Sybil Carpenter joins him, and the two are hitting it off. During their encounter, it becomes clear that Seymour can communicate with children better than adults. He yearns for Sybil's playful innocence, a characteristic that many seem to cherish throughout the novel.

Similarly, "Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut" features two socialite ladies (Mary Jane and Eloise) drinking alcohol in one of their suburban homes as Eloise's daughter Ramona plays around in the distance. Upon being called in and asked to introduce herself to Mary Jane, it is revealed that Ramona has an imaginary friend, Timmy. Mary Jane finds this just marvelous, but Eloise is pretty annoyed. Here, it is clear that Eloise wishes her daughter were more mature and ditched the imaginary friends. She then turns back to Mary Jane and starts confessing that she doesn't really love her husband and actually finds him quite bland. Ramona comes running in saying Jimmy was run over, which prompts Eloise to send her to bed. Over the course of the night, Mary Jane and Eloise are drifting in and out consciousness as a result of their heavy drinking. At one point, Eloise gets up and goes to Ramona's room and has a breakdown when she sees her daughter is lying to the edge of the bed so as to leave room for her new imaginary friend, Mickey. It becomes clear at this point that Eloise regrets her life and wants to shield Ramona from things that could harm her. Her hysteria at the end of the story backs up this point.

At this point, I still have a lot I could say about the children in the other stories. In "Just Before the War with the Eskimos," it is interesting to study the effect of Franklin on Ginnie, as well as Ginnie and Selena's relationship. "The Laughing Man" is literally narrated by a small child, which we can use to make claims about how this alters the perspective of the story. "Down at the Dinghy" also features a young boy who hears something that sounded mean, even though he doesn't know what it was exactly. His mother works around his innocence and has to make a decision whether to preserve it for a little longer or to tell him what really happened. "For Esmé--with Love and Squalor" focuses on a girl who acts mature for her age, and as a result she succeeds in making a positive impact on the narrator's life. Finally, "Teddy" deals with some important life-or-death, genius child-or-troubled kid themes. During our class presentation, we delved into the plethora of issues at hand when it came to Teddy's personality, and his youth definitely has something to do with it. I would be interested in hearing what you guys have to say about these stories, since I don't think Salinger used so many children just by coincidence.

Father of the Year Award goes to...

Like most of Ernest Hemingway's works, In Our Time is rich with masculine ideals. Throughout the novel, men are presented as rough, boisterous, and matter-of-fact individuals, especially when in the company of other men. What makes this dynamic interesting, however, is the impact of fathers on their sons. In the case of Nick Adams, the audience gets to track his coming of age and how he handles different situations, especially as a result of his father. Additionally, the occasional cameo of other narrators displays similar themes of boyish dependence turned masculine independence.

In the story "Indian Camp," the audience meets Nick for the first time. Then a young boy, we learn that he is accompanying his father on a sort of take-your-child-to-work day. Even though we are thrown into this story in media res, there are signs that Nick is just as clueless as us. Like any child, he displays an interest in what they are doing and where they are going. The father answers all his questions, but in a brisk and factual tone. Soon, the two of them enter the hut of an Indian family, where a woman is in extreme labor. At this point it becomes clear that Nick's father is a doctor who is going to help her give birth. However, this isn't without giving Nick some life lessons first. Nick, who sees how much pain the screaming woman is, asks his father if he can give her anything for the pain. "'No, I don't have any anesthetic,' his father said, 'But her screams are not important. I do not hear them because they are not important'" (16). Here, it is clear that Nick's father wants him to distance himself from human feelings and emotions, instead focusing on everything objectively.

Maybe ten years later, Nick is a young man, somewhat more mature yet still struggling with himself and his relationships. Indeed, he finds himself breaking off a relationship with Marjorie in "The End of Something," and the following story "The Three-Day Blow" shows him unwinding with his friend Bill. The two start drinking, clearly trying to one-up each other yet still maintain a mature facade. The conversation moves from sports to girls to books, and eventually lands on fathers. It turns out they have very different fathers, with Nick's father being an upright (though boring) doctor, and Bill's father being "'a little wild sometimes'" (44). A painter, he spends most of his days drinking and hunting, two traits that Hemingway is especially fond of when it comes to ideal masculinity. Nick's father, on the other hand, has "'never taken a drink in his life'" (44). Even though the two boys don't express their opinions past a few words, it's clear that Bill's father is the cooler of the two.

Finally, in the story "My Old Man," a young boy by the name of Joe talks amiably about his father. Throughout the plot, however, it becomes clear that his old man has done some questionable things, and the originally innocent narrator gets disillusioned by the end of the story. In this case, Hemingway is trying to make a point about the naiveté of outsiders, especially when it comes to the war. Joe represents the masses of America, whereas his old man is the war. At first, the narrator talks very highly of his father, saying things like, "when my old man grinned, nobody could help but grin too" (115). However, as the story progresses, Joe finds himself in the middle of one of his father's gambling deals gone bad. He is told to run off just as the audience is about to figure out what all the angry men are talking about, similar to how the government tried to shift the attention of the American people away from problems abroad. By the end, though, Joe learns his old man's intentions and he gets a more jaded view of the world. "Of course I knew it was funny all the time. But my old man saying that right out like that sure took the kick all out of it for me and I didn't get the real kick back again ever" (124).

Interestingly, the chapter preceding "My Old Man," Chapter XIII, provides a glimpse into a different father dynamic. In it, the narrator is searching for Luis, a boy who is supposed to bullfight later that day. Instead of getting ready, however, Luis is out in the streets partying, dancing, and getting drunk. A woman by the name of Maera tells the narrator to go down and fetch him, and the narrator tries to. Upon trying to grab his attention and lead him back to the hotel, Luis continues dancing and says, "Oh, leave me alone. You're not my father" (113). Here, Hemingway is enforcing the concept of fathers as the ultimate authority figures. Because Luis is "an ignorant Mexican savage," as the narrator says to Maera, it can be inferred that they aren't actually related. Hemingway is also portraying Luis as the extreme, reckless version of masculinity, as the other men in the story show at least some discipline.

Overall, Ernest Hemingway is very big on men and their expected actions in social situations. In "Indian Camp," we see a man teaching his son about the ways of life, emphasizing a lack of compassion when it comes to dealing with problems. Once the son has grown up, though, he develops a more critical view of his father, admitting that his father isn't as manly as his friend's. In "My Old Man," Hemingway takes a slightly different approach to addressing masculinity by relating it back to the current events of the time. He is indirectly criticizing America for acting too childish, like Joe, and failing to see the real problems behind the idealistic facade of the war. Finally, an interstitial chapter underlines all these issues by confirming the importance of fathers.

Karma's a Bitch

Upon finishing The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien, I have come to the conclusion that karma's a bitch. Throughout the novel (or short story collection, I'm not sure), all of the characters seem haunted by their past and compelled to do things they're not comfortable with, simply for the sake of getting even. When a character does something seemingly heroic, he does not feel happy for his success, but instead haunted by the lives he hurt. In fact, a lot of the main characters seem to be fighting their own emotional battles during the war.

For starters, Tim O'Brien, the author and protagonist, reveals many dark secrets he doesn't know how to share with anyone. In the chapter/short story "On the Rainy River," he opens with, "[t]his is one story I've never told before. Not to anyone. Not to my parents, not to my brother or sister, not even to my wife" (37). He then goes into detail about a story he feels quite shameful about--the story of how he almost ran away from the war. In fact, this turns into an ongoing theme in this book. Many characters feel ashamed of their true feelings, and are forced to suppress them under a facade of manliness.

In "Enemies," the author gives us a clear example of the war mentality. In it, Dave Jensen and Lee Strunk get into a fight over a stolen knife. Jensen totally whoops him, leaving Strunk with a broken nose. Afterward, however, Jensen isn't satisfied. In fact, he becomes terrified and even paranoid of what Strunk's revenge will be. "It got to the point finally where he lost control. Something must've snapped" (60). He becomes frantic, eventually firing his gun into the air and using it to break his own nose. It is this kind of behavior that can be used to understand the severe mental strains soldiers are put under when on the battlefield. As O'Brien would put it, instead of a "happy war story" that ends with a heroic character, the servicemen are much more aware of the immediate consequences of war. As displayed here, Jensen convinces himself he will have to pay for his actions, even though Strunk just ends up laughing it off once he hears the news. Interestingly, Jensen and Strunk end up growing closer after this encounter in the subsequent story "Friends," even making a pact to the death.

Similarly, "The Dentist" also expresses this mindset of getting even, especially as a ways of proving one's worthiness as a soldier. In it, Tim's platoon is visited by a dentist, who is to check everyone's teeth. One man, Curt Lemon, is fidgety all day, later confessing that he had bad encounters with dentists in the past. He goes into the tent anyways, then ends up fainting. He is mortified and goes nearly insane, with Tim noting "the embarrassment must've turned a screw in his head" (84). As a result, he sneaks into the dentist tent late one night and demands he have a tooth pulled. The dentist, who at first finds nothing, eventually shrugs and pulls out a healthy tooth, to Curt Lemon's delight. It is this kind of behavior that goes to show just how crazy people can get in this environment.

All this leads me back to the title of this book, The Things They Carried. In the opening pages, the author goes into detail about the physical items soldiers carry on their backs. However, as the story progresses, it becomes clear that the men also carry emotional burdens. This explains the constant flashbacks O'Brien includes in this novel. The stories of Dave Jensen and Curt Lemon in particular go to show the extent of these strains, and just how damaging they can be to individuals in the war.