Annie Dillard, a well-known American poet and essayist, uses a very distinct style of writing as seen in her essay "Seeing." Her sentences have a poetical and lyrical feel to them as they run and abruptly stop with a period or semi-colon. Her use of descriptions further lends to this poetic rhythm. Her content also reveals herself as a constantly curious person, always undertaking her own experiments. Also her love of nature and the senses reminds me of the Romantics and Transcendentalism. Throughout, her sentences are packed with senses and knowledge that invokes awe and admiration.
In this following essay, I hope to imitate a little of this brilliance in her writing style and invocation of Romantic ideals.
History: The Forgotten Ghost
When I was ten years old, visiting my sister at Ohio University, I used to fear the "haunted" and abandoned buildings of the Ridges or the infamous Athens Insane Asylum. It was a silly suspicion; still I had my doubts that ghosts roamed the hills and the foreboding towers in the ruin. For some reason this only increased over my visits there so that the time my parents decided to drive up the hill toward the site, I was begging to leave. We had entered the brick path and were heading toward the white portico and yellow stone stairs. My sister had suggested we visit the "museum." A place to see the corroded chains cast aside from the crazy patients. We reached the steps looking into the majestic yet awe-inspiring hallway; where victims entered and never left. My voice became shrill as I pleaded to not leave the car. My parents questioned, glanced at each other, assented and then drove the car away. Relief flooded my body; fear subsided. Yet the next time we would visit my sister that same fear would creep up again anytime she mentioned visiting the old "North Green."
~
It is a decade since I first visited the Ridges with fear, and now I journey there almost weekly with sense of wonder. Its lush green trees and uninhabited white gravel paths lend for solitude and peace. I pass the occasional doe that dances through the fields or spot the bird that flies freely over its towers. As Radar Hill meets the grey over-clouded sky, I can see miles of green and brown hills that constitute the country and farmland. To the South, glimpses of the red buildings can be spotted along with smoke stacks and perhaps, a white bell tower from campus. There, I feel alone yet one. I am the grass that pricks my hands; I am the brick in the crumbling path; I am the insane patient, gone.
Now, I realize that ghosts do not haunt this place. Only ignorance caused this fear of mine. Rather, these abandoned buildings are haunted by something else entirely. History. History of the nurses; the doctors' daily lives searching for a cure. The griefs of the family giving up their loved ones; the sorrow, isolation, fear and yet maybe sense of comfort of the patients experienced, treading over the frequented paths. All of this defines the Ridges. It speaks through the silence, the wind screeching, and the crows cawing. It shows itself in the stillness of the buildings; the broken glass and boarded-up walls of the TB ward. All of it mirrors such mourning and grief; it pleads for pity and sorrow of the patients. It asks for forgiveness.
If ignorance causes infelicity, knowledge only asks for affliction. I now see the Ridges clearly; I understand what they served as. I learn from its history and attempt to move forward. Pity and yet wonder grip my soul as I travel down the rocky path. Its dirt slides beneath my boots, and branches brush against my arm. I hit the worn bricks and look back. The sun sets against the white yet dark towers, yielding a yellow and pink glow in the sky. Acceptance toward an end in purpose yet hope for a new beginning to serve as a reminder of this community's history.
Essays that I read this week:
1. "Confessions" by Amy Tan
2. "Planet Unflinching" by Kelly Cherry
Analysis of "Confessions"
In "Confessions" Amy Tan tells of her childhood memory of her mother almost killing her to further reveal her relationship of her mother and the strain of losing loved ones. For most of the part the essay remains in the past scene until three paragraphs from the end she jumps 25 years to when she first remembered that memory and her present relationship with her mother, who has Alzheimer's disease and doesn't remember ever hurting Tan. This choice to include both of these scenes/commentary pulls at the reader's emotions, who doesn't know how to feel toward the mother. Her blend of the past and present contributes to this feeling as well. I did not notice this until I read the essay a second or third time, but the first sentence foreshadows the present mind state of her mother. "My mother's thoughts reach back like the winter tide, exposing the wreckage of a former shore." Initially I thought this had been a statement toward the grief that the mother is feeling after the death of her husband and son; yet, it also captures her state of mind in Alzheimer's. In this sentence alone Tan blends both the past and present to expose such a horrid experience and leave the reader pitying but shocked at the mother.
"Clink . . . crash." An adapter to hold the flask to a rotary evaporator, equipment that literally does what the name implies - rotates flasks to evaporate liquid - hits the edge of the bench. It falls to the ground. Shattering into ten pieces. Swarms of lab coats swivel in the direction of the noise. Goggles stare, assessing the damage. The professor rushes to the scene with broom and dust-pan in hand.
"E, did you break anything else?" He hands me the dust-pan.
My face flushed. I shake my head.
"Good. That's good." He sweeps the glass parts together. "Now, keep going. The experiment continues on."
I nod and turn back to my station. My goggles have fogged up, but I can still see the mess at hand. Beakers are all laid out, funnels beside them, blocking the unseemly mess of pipettes and stir rods. The column for column chromatography - a technique that isolates and thereby, purifies the desired product after the reaction has taken place - hangs there, ready for the test. Adrenaline courses through my body, but I feel very unsure of myself suddenly.
"Crap. What am I doing again?"
Such words are consistently uttered by science students in their academic career, but even more frequently when dealing with the dreaded "organic chemistry" series. A year and a half ago, I was thinking those same words as I sat down next to my previous lab partner and then boyfriend T. in the second row of Clip 194. The room that normally could hold 200 or so people seemed to engulf the 100 of us that braved showing up.The instructor handed out the syllabus and then promptly began drawing aromatic rings and a series of carbon chains. I copied those structures in my notebook, but what were they? Introduction to inorganic chemistry had not prepared me for the lingo that was used in organic. I just felt this helplessness and wonder . . . Would I really be able to learn all of this?
I felt the same way after receiving my first exam. By then I knew what carbon chains were, how to draw carbon backbone structures - which is just a short cut of using lines to represent bonds between carbons and the ends of those lines for the carbon atoms - and introductory material of organic chemistry. I had read all the chapters for the exam and thought studying once or twice a week with T. had been good enough. However when I had looked at those questions, they seemed applicable and challenging at the same time. I knew most of the answers and probably guessed on a quarter of them. By the end, my brain had checked out and was sending hungry and exhausted signals to the rest of my body. Again, I felt those words come to mind. "Crap. What am I doing again?"
In retrospect, I think half of the battle with organic chemistry, especially to incoming students, is a mental one. From days of high school, teachers and older "experienced students" complain about organic chemistry. They tell horror stories about a failed experiment, F's on the exams and just in general how it is the hardest thing that you will ever do. That you are odd to take Chemistry in college but even more insane to attempt Organic chemistry. They tell tales as if no one can survive the series . . . tales that any student would hear and believe that they were approaching Judgment day. Yet the truth of the matter is the complete opposite. Organic chemistry is literally the study of molecules that have carbon in it. Basically, you just study all the possible reactions and characteristics of carbon compounds. Yes, that does sound and is a lot of material. Yes, organic chemistry is challenging. Yes, it requires loads of work - perhaps, a good 10 to 14 hours per week of studying. But it is able to be done. People do survive and tell the tale. In example A, the people who tell the horror stories - they probably passed organic chemistry, especially if they are science students. Example B, every doctor or researcher or even some chemistry teachers took organic chemistry and passed, or they would not have graduated. So yes, organic chemistry is hard but passable, and people do live afterwards.
I finally began to have that mind set after I received the grade of my first exam. Of course, it was not the A that I had wanted, but I had done better than I had imagined and survived. I realized, however, that I could do better. That everything that older students had told me was true in some cases but not in this. Organic chemistry was just another class that I was determined to do well in. I began to put in the allotted hours needed to read and study, and that included studying o. chem over hanging out with friends or my boyfriend. A week before every exam I would begin intensely looking over the material, memorizing reactions, equations and any other little detail.The next exams, I entered feeling nervous but more confident. The questions were challenging but definitely doable. That is how the whole course was, though. Difficult but survivable. For example, I passed the class and
in the end of the year, the series of lecture classes along with 50 or
so other students. Organic chemistry is definitely doable.
Yet organic chemistry is not something you just survive and move on from. After putting in those many hours, you begin to have a relationship with organic chemistry, which in some ways yields many benefits. For one, it confirms the need to have determination. You need to want to do well; you need to want to survive; you sometimes need to want to love it. Despite the various times of becoming exhausted and wanting to throw that brick of a book across the dorm room, I had to keep studying and doing well. It was a good test to see if I had the gumption to not only complete those classes but even just to become a doctor. To take the mcat, go to medical school and plan to become a doctor. - And actually it wasn't until I began the organic series that I decided that I wanted to be a doctor rather than just research or bioengineering, but that story can be told later. - So organic chemistry helped me stay focused and develop my goals in life.
It also has the odd benefit as an excuse. As I came to enjoy studying o. chem and nerdly loving it, I sometimes used that as an excuse to not hang out with my friends or even my boyfriend T. "Oh, I am studying ochem," and suddenly, no one would question why I did not want to go uptown or hang out at a friend's dorm or apartment. There would be no questions on why I didn't want to get involved with the latest friend drama. Rather, I would receive the doe-like pity eyes, and "Oh, that is awful. Good luck with that" generic response. After they would leave the room, I would turn on my computer, begin some TV show and open up my ochem book. - I know it sounds lame, but sadly that is me. -
It is also in times like this that organic chemistry does have its consequences. Sometimes having such a determined goal in mind does push other things and people away. As I said, I used o.chem as an excuse to isolate myself and not deal with that outer world. I could try to blame o.chem for the reason that T. and I broke up, but that would be a false positive. All that I can say is the way I treated o.chem was the way I treat all of my school work. When I don't want to deal with the outer world or emotions, I hide by working or studying. Although it does work in some cases, I found out that it is not the best way to lead a relationship. If I could sum up any phrase to describe why we broke up, it would have to be lack of communication, unbalanced priorities and lack of time spent together. Both of us were too busy studying and working toward our academic goals that it would never have worked out. Organic chemistry teaches the same thing: when you study too much of Sn1 or Sn2 reactions - a substitution reaction where the carbon exchanges one atom for another, like chloride for OH -, you may not be able to do well in another reaction type like elimination reactions. It shows that there is a need to balance more than one subject, or let your determination to learn one thing inhibit your experience of anything else.
Yet again, organic chemistry teaches more than just that - it shows that life does carry on. That you can survive almost anything. Despite my break-up this fall, I could just jump right back into o.chem labs. I continued to study and learn information like every other student was. College still went on. In organic chemistry, you may fail a quiz or homework or exam, but you still have to continue on. Despite failure, you can still pass the class.
Or even in an experiment, despite any broken glass or initial failure, the product needed to be purified. I still had to pour my white powder into the column. Despite my shaking hands or even spinning brain, I poured the solvent or eluent into the column, stirred it with the powder, cleaned the column, and began to run the results. The product was separated into eight fractions, all of which showed a separated product. Somehow I had managed to extract what was needed. It goes to show you, though, that despite any bumps in the road or hardships, you can still survive. The experiment of life can still yield passable results.
Note of Explanation: If you need me to explain any of the o.chem terms in more depth, just let me know or ask me questions about o.chem, I would love to answer. Beside that, here are some funny anecdotes or jokes that were put together by o.chem nerds.
Video: I wish our professors would do this . . .
Also this joke is dealing with a reaction that forms an aromatic group (six ring group) from two compounds of carbons, one that has double bond single bond double bond - or a diene. But yeah, you probably get the joke.
And you don't have to feel obliged to read the video, cartoon or website, but I thought that it would lighten the mood and make you understand a little bit more about the series.
As I grabbed a mug of frozen cool whip and fudge and with the longing of peanut butter on my mind, I sat down to read "Once a Tramp, Always . . ." by M.F.K. Fisher. Little did I know that it would be about food, cravings, and the memories that amazing and not so amazing food would bring about. I truly loved her anecdotes about mashed potatoes and Ketchup - one of my favorite dishes when I grew up - and even her description of her grandmother's awful "Boiled Dressing." All of her stories and even just knowledge about food not only enthralled me but definitely was a common experience that allowed her to break down the barrier between herself and her reader. Even though this was written at least 21 years ago or probably more, food is universal and allows the author to be intimate with the reader. This can be seen when she shares her description of the potatoes as "light, whipped to a firm cloud with rich hot milk, faintly yellow from ample butter." By that time, I could almost hear my stomach growling.
Still another technique that I found intriguing was her sentence structure and diction, which screams 19th and early 20th century longer sentences and almost academic words. The first sentence read "There is a mistaken idea, ancient but still with us, that an overdose of anything from fornication to hot chocolate will teach restraint by the very results of its abuse," and there she intrigues the reader with a very blunt statement. Personally this style reminds me of Jane Austen and how she begins all of her novels with an intriguing and possibly true statement. The most famous of these would have been "It is a truth universally acknowledged . . ." Fisher continues this academic but blunt and witty language throughout the piece. She defines cravings as "the actual and continued need for something" while she also informs the reader that in place of beauty, "gastronomy serves as a kind of surrogate, to ease our longings." All of this seems archaic yet comfortable writing, her tone intelligent and conversational. Throughout the piece, she then educates the reader while still enthralling them.
Essays I read for this week:
1. "Revision" by, Terry Tempest Williams
2. "Essay, Dresses, and Fish" by, Sandra Swinburne
Analysis of "Essay, Dresses, and Fish"
In "Essay, Dresses, and Fish," Swinburne seamlessly blends a story of dress shopping, knowledge of the American shad, and the purpose of an essay. In particular it is this story of her knowledge of American shad and her use of the story within a story that demonstrates the purpose of an essay - to relay the ordinary experiences of an ordinary person. As she explains, the fish return home to Holyoke every year to spawn and give their offspring the "optimal chance for survival." It seems so basic, but this experience excites Swinburne to wonder what compels this action of the fish - "courage," "parental love?" She conveys all of this knowledge through her experience of meeting a stranger while dress shopping, which further demonstrates an essay about the ordinary. It is through these stories that she hits the definition of an essay: "good writing of ordinary people on ordinary subjects" and thereby reveals that the ordinary is actually compelling and amazing. In reality, it shows another detail about "what the living do to ensure life."
It begins with melodic yet majestic chords of the organ. After just watching the baptism of a small infant, the congregation pulls out the hymnal from the back of the pew and flips to page 300. Their eyes begin to skim the words as the organ continues to play. They open their mouths to come in. "I was there to hear your borning cry, I was there when you were born, I rejoiced to see you baptized, to see your life unfold." The melody falls in the first stanza, rises in the next; each word is its own note. So simple. Yet so elegant.
Since I first remember, we sang this song in church for almost every infant baptismal. There is something about seeing a baby, a cute and tiny child of God, just officially welcomed into the church. When we all confirm our support to raise him or her, we are opening our arms. We are bringing the baby into our family. On one level, this song represents that. It is saying how we will be there to see the child grow, develop, and struggle through the faith. We will be there for the celebration and the depression. We will be there for everything.
As a child, that is all I took it as. It was comfort. It was reassurance. Yet as I grew older, I understood the deeper level. Of how this song represented our walk with Christ. It says, "I was there to hear your borning cry," but it also says "I'll be there when you are old." It talks about aging and death, and how Christ and God will always be there for you. No matter what demons you may face. In this further case, that is another reassurance. It is a humbling yet relieving feeling that He will always be there.
Yet at the same time, the song has moved me to tears, and not just tears of joy. It became a bittersweet experience after my grandma died. A week after her funeral, we had a baptism in our church. The hymn was this one, and as I began singing, all the memories of my grandma came back to me. I should have been happy. She was safe and at peace in heaven with God. Still it shook me. The words "When the evening gently closes in, and you shut your weary eyes, I'll be there as I've always been, with just one more surprise" made me cry. It just reminded me too much of her: her life, her love and her own journey with Christ. While at first, it made me sad that she was gone, for a little bit it also brought anger. I could not understand why God would have made her suffer or why he would take from this world. Eventually that emotion subsided, but the song still reminds me all of these experiences. All the demons that everyone has to face.
In this way it is amazing that such a beautiful and simple song can evoke so many different emotions. It reminds me of death but also re-beginnings. Similar to the birth of a child. It reminds you of how precious life is, how horrid the loss of loved one, and yet the infinite joy of bringing a new loved one into your family.
Essays that I read for this week:
1. "January" by Verlyn Klinkenborg
2. "Winter" by Larry Woiwode
Analysis of "Winter"
In this essay "Winter" Woiwode imparts his experience of dealing with a brand new yet possibly broken outdoor wood burning furnace during the coldest winter that North Dakota has ever seen. Yet he captivates his reader through suspense of what is going to happen. Will he survive that winter night? One strategy that he uses to increase this suspense is the structure of his paragraphs and sentences. The start of every paragraph is either of a thought that is going through his mind or an action. Also the sentences, particularly at the end are longer with many connections through commas in them, which makes them seem fragmented, increases the pace of the essay and continues the suspense. This can particularly seen in the last lines of the second to last paragraph: "I'm not sure how long I wait for the torch to do its work but soon I know I have to sleep. Life, brief as a breath, over? . . . You'll have to resolve the distinctions between the two for yourselves, if I can't keep the torch on target, get us heat, undo the miscues that brought us to this, so you'll know it wasn't my interior and its resolving search for words that held me here, but you." This fragmentation and pace reflects not only his thoughts but almost acts like a pulse of a heart. A pulse that keeps the narrator going throughout the essay.
