Honor is an interesting word. Because of my exposure to court through mock trial, I first think of a judge upon hearing this. Then images of knights and chivalry flash through my head. Inevitably, I get “Honor to Us All” from Mulan stuck in my head, leading to images of Japanese samurai. I remember my sister’s graduation from Case and how she graduated with honors. Finally, I end with vague ideas of doing the honorable, or right, thing. I say it is interesting because, for all its different usages it, honor is a very unclear and intangible concept, yet to many their it is the most important they have.

This idea is illustrated in this quotation from Helmer to Nora: “But nobody sacrifices his honor for his love.” He is willing to give up his wife, his love, over his honor, yet I am not sure he even has it to sacrifice. One of the definitions Merriam-Webster gives for honor is “a good name or public esteem: reputation.” Helmer certainly has this. He is moving up in the world and the bank gives him the position of manager. Clearly he must have a good reputation and name if the bank trust him with such a position. Another definition Merriam-Webster gives for honor is “a keen sense of ethical conduct: integrity.” It seems that once again Helmer has this. After all, he fires his friend Krogstad for his dishonorable conduct and forging of signatures. But he does not apply this same code of honor to himself. When he reads Krogstad’s letter and discovers Nora’s forgery and Korgstad’s subsequent blackmail, he is willing to do anything “to keep the whole affair quiet” at “whatever the cost” for the sake of his so-called honor. He may have the honor of a good name and reputation, but it is clear that he does not have honor when this is put at risk. Because in defense of his honor Helmer was willing to do anything, even the dishonorable.

Then we have the characters of Mrs. Linde and Korgstad. Society would consider both dishonorable. Mrs. Linde, a widow, is a poor woman struggling to make ends meet with no good name or reputation to help her. Korgstad, a widower, is the only parent for his children, has a disreputable name for forgery in his past, and blackmails Nora for her forgery. Neither of these characters have the first definition of honor, but they do have the second. Mrs. Linde’s sense of right and wrong, along with her loyalty to her friend, causes her to go to Korgstad, getting him to release Nora from her debt while also ensuring that the truth comes ourt. Korgstad, after realizing the absurdity of his blackmail, owns up to his mistakes and corrects them as best as he can. While both Korgstad and Mrs. Linde are dishonorable in society’s eyes their final actions are far more honorable than Helmer’s.

Sophocles once said that “Honor isn’t about making the right choices. It’s about dealing with the consequences.” Mrs. Linde and Korgstand may not have always made the best decisions, but they dealt with the consequences of them as best they could and eventually with honor. The same can not be said about Helmer. The two dishonorable outcasts had more honor than the honorable bank manager in the end.   

Here’s the thing. This blog is due at midnight, and I have absolutely no idea what to write about. And because I have no idea what to write about, I have procrastinated. And because I have procrastinated it’d now 9:16, and I am panicking because I have nothing done, no ideas, and this is due in three hours. Foolishly, I had believed that given time inspiration would just strike me. I had believed time would solve my problems because I could not.

Viola expresses a similar sentiment when faced with the seemingly impossible problem of the convoluted love triangle she, Orsino, and Olivia were in. She states “O Time, thou most untangle this, not I; / It is too hard s knot for me t’ untie” (2.3.40-41). And frustratingly, it does. Time solves all the entire problem. Viola literally does nothing and gets exactly what she wants. Her brother Sebastian comes back from the dead and just happens to stumble upon Viola, reuniting them. Olivia marries Viola’s brother, thinking that he’s Cesario, and is okay with it. Orsino, having been rejected by Olivia, decides to marry Viola, apparently not caring about her deception. It feels too neat and lazy. Frankly, it seems like bad writing.

Yes, I know, I just accused Twelfth Night, which was written by William Shakespeare, “the greatest writer in the English language,” bad writing. Let me qualify this. I recognize this is a comedy, and that, unlike Othello or Macbeth, its primary purpose is to entertain and not offer some deep insight. And I enjoyed the comedic aspects of Twelfth Night; I found Sir Toby’s and Sir Andrew’s carousing, along with Maria’s prank on Malvolio, hilarious. But the plot conveniences at the end irked me beyond measure. Everyone just accepts what happens to them; they don’t make anything happen. None of the characters grow, none of them react, and they all just get what they want, living happily ever after. It’s like Shakespeare forgot to add consequences for the plot he made and just wanted a funny story.

I find the passivity of the characters irritating because that’s not how life is. If you want something down, you have to do it yourself. Procrastinating and hoping time sorts everything out is not a solution. Thing won’t get better by doing nothing. Time won’t resolve your problems for you.

Note: I know the title is overly dramatic but I wanted the alliteration, so deal with it.

I went into Frankenstein with expectations of a novel filled with eerie science experiments, grotesque creatures, and heinous murders. And while Mary Shelley technically delivered in all these fronts, I was disappointed. At best the story vaguely alluded to the science that took place, and we never even got to wittiness the creature murdering someone. I had wanted a more hollywoodesque horror novel that allowed me to experience the frights with the characters, but, instead, I only got to witness the passive aftermath.

That said, I still found myself on the edge of my seat for almost the entirety of the novel (the exception being when he rambled on and on about how beautiful nature was and the solace he found within it). Shelley did not need blood and guts to deliver one of the most chilling novels I have ever read; all she needed was the suspense and anxiety created from the foreshadowed disaster.

I usually despise the technique of framing a story within a story, but for Frankenstein it was a genius move. Not only did it parallel the themes of the core story, but it also is what created the almost all of the suspense for me. Knowing the unavoidable misery that Frankenstein was moving inexorably toward filled every scene with tension. The knowledge of his impending doom darkened even the gold-tinted scenes of his childhood with Elizabeth. This knowledge caused me to imagine these scenes in almost garishly bright, yellow lighting (not unlike the yellow of the creature’s eyes) creating a sense of discordance and wrongness that otherwise would not be present.

This pattern continued throughout the whole novel for me. In every scene I was riddled with anxiety wondering if this would be when the creature finally lashed out. It was as if every scene was set to a soundtrack of of soft but discordant violin music.

In essence, Frankenstein suffered the same fear that I did. That night after he animates the creature Frankenstein he dreams that upon kissing Elizabeth’s lips she immediately died portending the inevitable role Frankenstein and his creature would have in her death. And when he wakes up and sees the creature standing over him he almost goes mad in fear. The certainty that the creature will be end of him and his family colors every moment of every part of Frankenstein’s life and quickly sucks away any joy he obtains.

The irony of the situation was Frankenstein’s fear of the future that made the future come into being. If he could have let go of his fear and repulsion of the creature no of the things he feared would have happened.

In the end, I was pretty underwhelmed by the actual events of the novel, but Mary Shelley showed me that fear of what is to come is as powerful as the fear of the actual event itself. And in some cases it even exceeds it.

“The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it. The way is shut.” I have always found this quotation from JRR Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings alarmingly eerie. It conjured up images in my mind of the dead exerting their will on the living, and preventing them from achieving what they desired. The idea that the dead could have such power unnerved me, but since Lord of the Rings was clearly fiction I dismissed these fears as baseless. In the real world it would never be possible for the dead to have so much power. James Joyce’s The Dead, however, shows this assumption to false. The dead influence our actions as much as any living person does.

The prime example of this is Gretta and Michael Furey. From all appearances Gretta was having a fine time at Aunt Julia and Kate’s party laughing at Gabirel’s insistence she wear goloshes and animatedly trying to keep Miss. Ivors for supper. This changes, however, when she hears Mr. D’Arcy singing The Lass of Aughrim, an Irish ballad about a girl whose lover deserts her. She becomes very still as she remembers Michael Furey, now dead but her first, and only, true love. He has long since died, but his life, but more importantly his death, is still affecting Gretta. Just from a mere reminder of him, Gretta’s whole demeanor changes and she becomes pensive and quiet.

Eventually, we learn why Michael has so much influence on her. Gretta believes that he died for her. He loved her so much that he stood out in the rain just for the chance to see her before she left, even though he was very ill and knew it could kill him. This realization brings Gretta to tears that even her living husband cannot stop. Michael has more influence on Gretta than the husband right at her side.

Eventually Gretta confesses all that happened to her husband, and naturally this shocks him. It causes him to not only reevaluate his marriage, but also his entire life. He discovers that compared to the undying love of Michael had for Gretta he never really loved. Michael then spurs Gabriel’s epiphany that everyone is dead or dying.

While Michael never physically manifests like the spirits in Lord of the Rings did, he had just as much of an effect on Gretta’s and Gabriel’s lives as they did. From the grave Michael single-handedly brought a women to tears, initiated a man’s midlife crisis, and fundamentally changed their marriage.

The thing is, Michael Furey is not in anomaly. Grieving families will take timeout of their busy days to visit the graves of their loved ones. Children go out of their way to fulfill their late parents’ last wishes. Holiday’s become a sad time as people remember all the times they had spent with the now dead person. The dead never really leave, they linger in the world influencing the ones that are still here.

When I sat down to write this blog about Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, I started out by brainstorming ideas. I listed possible thematic topics and the main things I remembered about the story, just like we always do in class. Here is my list of things that I remembered.

• “His jaw was in his throat, his eye was a star-shaped hole.”
• The sucking noise as Kiowa is pulled under the shit field
• “Mellow man. We got ourselves a nice mellow war today”
• The pantyhose of Norman Baker’s girlfriend that he tied around his neck as a good luck charm
• Someone singing “Lemon Tree” as as they were throwing Curt Lemon’s body parts to the ground
• Rat calling his dead best friend’s sister a dumb cooze

I tried to remember what I considered the really important quotations. These really important quotations were specific statements about stories because I recalled Wasowski saying that storytelling was the main theme of this novel. The only one I could think of, however, was from the last chapter that I had just read. It was something about stories keeping the dead alive, and ultimately unhelpful.

I was stumped. None of the things on my list related to a specific thematic topic, and all of them seemed completely unrelated and unimportant. They were just things that I had found interesting and that my brain decided to randomly store away. I sighed and looked at my list again, closer and more critically this time, and I almost laughed at the irony of it. My list illustrates the same exact things about memory, purpose, war, and stories that O’Brien is trying to say throughout the entire novel.

To begin with, this list is full of embellishments and inaccuracies. I have no idea why I thought it was Norman Baker who carried his girlfriend’s pantyhose, but it was not him; it was Henry Dobbins. Maybe it was because I imagine someone with the name Norman Baker to be a gentle and sentimental, the very type of person who would carry his girlfriend’s pantyhose across the world to war. Additionally though, Rat Kiley never called his best friend’s sister a dumb cooze. It was the O’Brien who expressed this, Rat was just sad and angry. Finally, never was the noise described when Kiowa was pulled under the shit field. The narrator described the rain, the mud, the stench, the way the earth seemed to just swallow Kiowa, but never the sound. I was the one who added that extra detail, and it was this detail that was never really there that stuck with me.

While all these things technically are not true, they are what I remember the story as. They were the “truth” of the story for me, and if anyone had asked me what The Things They Carried was about, those are things I would have told them. The thing is (besides just blatantly naming the wrong character) none of these inaccuracies or embellishments really detract from the story; in fact they add to it. By having it be Rat who called the sister a dumb cooze, the reader can more easily comprehend the depth of his anger toward her for never writing back after pouring his heart out to her. Emphasizing the sound of the earth sucking Kiowa into it conveys the horror and helplessness everyone involved would have felt. Just like O’Brien, I unconsciously “wanted to heat up the truth, to make it burn so hot that you would fell exactly what he felt.”

Furthermore, this list is also not super connected, and does not seem to have a theme or purpose connecting it. Sure all of them can be traced to the death of someone, but this is a book about the Vietnam War, everything can be traced to someone’s death. This lack of connection and purpose is the whole point of the novel though. War does not have a moral or a purpose; it is senseless. The things we remember from do not have rhyme or reason. They represent what we felt and what influenced us the most. “There’s nothing much to say about a true war story, except maybe ‘Oh.'” It does not need to make sense. It does not need to have a purpose because war does not.

O’Brien’s stories are not super important stories about big battles and life-changing events. They are small, seemingly unimportant, and probably inaccurate and embellished upon, but they are the essence of what Vietnam was for Tim O’Brien, just like how my inaccurate and arbitrary list is the essence of what The Things They Carried meant to me.

The words “I love you” are often the defining part of a relationship. In movies they are spoken at the climax. The couple will kiss and they will live happily ever after. Love is supposed to mean that you will cherish each other no matter the mistakes or the circumstances, so the words, “I love you,” are seen as the ultimate medicine for any relationship. A couple is arguing. “I love you.” The argument fizzles out. All too often, however, these words are simply a pretty bandage to cover the wound festering beneath it.

In Phillip Roth’s Goodbye, Columbus Neil and Brenda begin to date each other, and their attraction to each other is clear. Their relationship is going fairly well when Brenda asks the big question: “Do you love me, Neil?” It is an uncomfortable moment as Neil tries to evade answering , and they have a small argument. Afterwards she states to Neil that “when you love me there will be nothing to worry about.” As part of a game, Brenda disappears for awhile, and Neil fears that she will never come back, and when she does he clings to her and finally says “I love you.”

When Neil says these word I truly believe he means them, but they hide the problems in this situation. And while I do not think she meant it to be, there is something very manipulative about how Brenda gets Neil admit his love for her.

Then there is the whole situation with the diaphragm. Neil basically demands that she get one even when it is clear she abhors the idea, and he goes all the way to calling her a “selfish egotistical bitch” when she refuses. Here is the thing he deceives himself into thinking that he is doing this because he loves her, because he is not confident enough to ask her to marry her, but is it really love that this demand comes from? In reality it is his own selfishness and fear of losing Brenda that drives this demand. He rescinds his request eventually, albeit very passive aggressively, but to please the man she loves Brenda has gets the diaphragm anyway.

This summer fling ends not because of a long-distance relationship, not because of Brenda’s parents discovering that they had been sleeping together, but because they both realize they do not love each other anymore. The illusion of their love had been stripped away revealing all the faults in their relationship. Those faults had always been there. Neil had always been insecure, manipulative, and selfish. Brenda had always been spoiled, guileful, and competitive.

If the words, “I love you,” had never been spoken, if they had not clung to the false hope that their relationship would work because of the magic of “I love you,” their relationship would had ended long before it had.

Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.

— Oscar Wilde.

This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

You’re going to publish a post today. Don’t worry about how your blog looks. Don’t worry if you haven’t given it a name yet, or you’re feeling overwhelmed. Just click the “New Post” button, and tell us why you’re here.

Why do this?

• Because it gives new readers context. What are you about? Why should they read your blog?
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The post can be short or long, a personal intro to your life or a bloggy mission statement, a manifesto for the future or a simple outline of your the types of things you hope to publish.

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• Why are you blogging publicly, rather than keeping a personal journal?
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You’re not locked into any of this; one of the wonderful things about blogs is how they constantly evolve as we learn, grow, and interact with one another — but it’s good to know where and why you started, and articulating your goals may just give you a few other post ideas.

Can’t think how to get started? Just write the first thing that pops into your head. Anne Lamott, author of a book on writing we love, says that you need to give yourself permission to write a “crappy first draft”. Anne makes a great point — just start writing, and worry about editing it later.

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