Passage Analysis

Pasage:

You’re just the same, Rauf—I don’t know which of you is the most treacherous—except that your guilt is greater because of your intelligence and the past association between us: You pushed me into jail, while you leapt free, into that FOUR

So this is the real Rauf Ilwan, the naked reality—a partial corpse not even decently underground. The other Rauf Ilwan has gone, disappeared, like yesterday, like the first day in the history of man—like Nabawiyya’s love or Ilish’s loyalty. I must not be deceived by appearances. His kind words are cunning, his smiles no more than a curl of the lips, his generosity a defensive flick of the fingers, and only a sense of guilt moved him to let me cross the threshold of his house. You made me and now you reject me: Your ideas create their embodiment in my person and then you simply change them, leaving me lost—rootless, worthless, without hope—a betrayal so vile that if the whole Muqattam hill toppled over and buried it, I still would not be satisfied.

I wonder if you ever admit, even to yourself, that you betrayed me. Maybe you’ve deceived yourself as much as you try to deceive others. Hasn’t your conscience bothered you even in the dark? I wish I could penetrate your soul as easily as I’ve penetrated your house, that house of mirrors and objets d’art, but I suppose I’d find nothing but betrayal there: Nabawiyya disguised as Rauf, Rauf disguised as Nabawiyya, or Ilish Sidra in place of both—and betrayal would cry out to me that it was the lowest crime on earth. Their eyes behind my back must have traded anxious looks throbbing with lust, which carried them in a current crawling like death, like a cat creeping on its belly toward a bewildered sparrow. When their chance came, the last remnants of decency and indecision disappeared, so that in a corner of the lane, even in my own house, Ilish Sidra finally said, “I’ll tell the police. We’ll get rid of him,” and the child’s mother was silent—the tongue that so often and so profusely told me, “I love you, the best man in the world,” was silent. And I found myself surrounded by police in Al-Sayrafi Lane—though until then demons themselves with all their wiles had failed to trap me—their kicks and punches raining down on me.

You’re just the same, Rauf—I don’t know which of you is the most treacherous—except that your guilt is greater because of your intelligence and the past association between us: You pushed me into jail, while you leapt free, into that palace of lights and mirrors. You’ve forgotten your wise sayings about palaces and hovels, haven’t you? I will never forget.

At the Abbas Bridge, sitting on a stone bench, he became aware for the first time of where he was.

“It’s best to do it now,” he said in a loud voice, as if addressing the dark, “before he’s had time to get over the shock.” I can’t hold back, he thought. My profession will always be mine, a just and legitimate trade, especially when it’s directed against its own philosopher. There’ll be space enough in the world to hide after I’ve punished the bastards. If I could live without a past, ignoring Nabawiyya, Ilish, and Rauf, I’d be relieved of a great weight, a burden; I’d feel readier to secure an easy life and a lot further from the rope. But unless I settle my account with them, life will have no taste, because I shall not forget the past. For the simple reason that in my mind it’s not a past, but the here and now. Tonight’s adventure will be the best beginning for my program of action. And it’ll be a rich venture indeed.

The Nile flowed in black waves slashed sidelong by arrows of light from the reflected streetlamps along its banks. The silence was soothing and total.

At the approach of dawn, as the stars drew closer to earth, Said rose from his seat, stretched, and began to walk slowly back along the bank toward the place from which he’d come, avoiding the few still-lit lamps, slowing his steps even more when the house came in sight. Examining the street, the terrain, the walls of the big houses as well as the riverbank, his eyes finally came to rest on the sleeping villa, guarded on all sides by trees like ghostly figures, where treachery dozed in a fine unmerited tranquillity. It’s going to be a rich venture, indeed, and one to give an emphatic reply to the treachery of a lifetime.

He crossed the street casually without a movement to either right or left, without looking wary. Then followed the hedge down a side street, scanning carefully ahead. When he was sure the street was empty he dodged into the hedge, forcing his way in amidst the jasmine and violets, and stood motionless: If there was a dog in the house—other than its owner, of course—it would now fill the universe with barking.

But not a whisper came out of the silence.

Rauf, your pupil is coming, to relieve you of a few worldly goods.

He climbed the hedge nimbly, his expert limbs agile as an ape’s, undeterred by the thick, intertwining branches, the heavy foliage and flowers. Gripping the railings, he heaved his body up over the sharp-pointed spikes, then lowered himself until his legs caught the branches inside the garden. Here he clung for a while regaining his breath, studying the terrain: a jungle of bushes, trees, and dark shadows. I’ll have to climb up to the roof and find a way to get in and down. I have no tools, no flashlight, no good knowledge of the house: Nabawiyya hasn’t been here before me pretending to work as a washerwoman or a maid; she’s busy now with Ilish Sidra.

Analysis: 

It is evident in this text how the author, Mahfouz, conforms to the tragic hero archetype when writing by creating a character like Mahran that entails hubris and hamartia, meanwhile he deviates by having the peripeteia occur before the start of the story only to unlock it to the audience via flashbacks. Furthermore, the nemesis is vague and debatable, enabling readers to be proactive when reading to come to a final decision.

Initially, the context of this passage is insightful the readers to Mahran’s tragic flaw, his hamartia is a very stubborn character that is invade to change nor come to terms with his past traumas, and thus he doesn’t accept his past mentors helping hand but instead tries to fulfil his insatiable vengeance through planning to rob Rauf of his material goods. This tragic flaw is further characterised and develops Mahran's character through the depiction of his hubris, by which Mahran is definitely arrogant throughout. He can only see himself as justified in his path for revenge. Evident in this statement “You’re just the same, Rauf—I don’t know which of you is the most treacherous—except that your guilt is greater because of your intelligence and the past association between us: You pushed me into jail, while you leapt free, into that FOUR” Mahfouz directly characterises Mahran through his distorted thoughts and psychological state, revealed through the streamline narrative, by which maintains the sensibility of a realistic character. 

Moreover, Mahfouz embodies tension, by rising conflicts and the pacing of the novel. In this passage, it is evident that throughout there is a use of a stream of consciousness narrative. By which interjects the narrative technique of flashbacks, ultimately developing Said’s character through his past, enabling reader's insight on characters behaviour, revealing plot points, which in turn enhances the impacts of actions in the present through contrast. 

In addition to this, there are instances scattered within the novel beyond the exposure that readers are given from the unreliable narrator, causing the readers to be proactive in creating their own more objective timeline. “I have no tools, no flashlight, no good knowledge of the house: Nabawiyya hasn’t been here before me pretending to work as a washerwoman or a maid; she’s busy now with Ilish Sidra.”

These things are all purposely done to connect to the stories larger plot at hand and implicitly mimics and symbolises to the audience the ultimate betrayal and injustice of the political state during the context of reception of The Thief and the Dogs. 

Literature in Translation

Whenever I first found out that people translated texts other than political or religious scriptures, I found it rather odd. I found it particularly bizarre because languages, to me, significantly embody their respective cultures; thus the idea of translation seemed needless because you can't translate culture, can you?

However, after our lesson and our readings, I became aware of the benefits that come with translating literature, as well as the implications that come with the translation process. I came to realise that translating a body of work requires more than literal translations; languages have spices that are almost exclusive to the language itself. By which we would be at a loss if they were to be lost in translation. This, in fact, is what I feared that would come from translating literature, however, through our analysis I concluded translations translate the energy that the language is trying to portray, which is successful to a high degree. 

The first text I tackled really opened my mind up to the possibilities as well as the difficulties that arise with translating a body of text. The translators, in the text, explained the process of translation as well as their opinion on translation. The first statement that resonated with me was the fact that they believed that it was impossible to translate poetry. Having undergone the unit on Sylvia Plath's poetry. I was able to truly connect the proposed reasonings behind this statement to my newfound knowledge about poetry, from both a literary aspect as well as the intentional aspects of poetry. Literary devices such as assonance, alliteration and allegories (and more) are impossible to recreate in different languages. 

However, when it comes to literature that can be translated, Fahmida Riaz brought up a real-life example, of the Urdu word: sharmana. A word that describes an experience that cannot be translated into an English word, and so instead of settling for words like blushed or embarrassment for the lack of a better word would be the incorrect approach to translation. Instead, translators would opt for explaining the experience to ensure that the authors intended meanings are not lost in translation to the best of their abilities.  

Moreover, text A opened my eyes to the fact that translating text helps dissolve preconceived negative notions that individuals may develop upon other cultures due to the media diverting attention to focusing only on wars, battles and other adverse events. Whereas translating literature invites international readers to understand the culture of the text and challenging incorrect preconceptions. In addition to that, different cultures embody varied and at times contrasting mentalities and thus reading translated books could enable individuals to develop open-mindedness, or even enable them to adopt useful foreign concepts. However, at times, conflict may arise from translations that do not account for cultural sensitivities such as what happened to Feng Tang, an author, that got pulled out of a book fair because his translations were culturally inappropriate and supposedly misinterpreted. 

This entire lesson, as well as the readings provided, opened my eyes to the possibilities that could come with exploring translating literature. 

Parody

"A 20- Year Age Gap Makes No Difference". You can find the original article here.

I have chosen to parody this article from the New York Times written by Lauren Lancaster. The opinion editorial writer explores the relationship between Liz Axelrod and James Olson, which has a 20 year age gap, with a bias towards accepting the age gap. I have decided to parody this article with a satirical tone in order criticise the ideology behind age gaps and the ever so romanticised lolita complex in pop-culture, such as the books/films: Lolita,  Manhattan, American Beauty, Leon: the Professional.

--

It was early 2017 when Mary Bob finally turned 18, not only that but it was the year that she met James Brown at a Manhattan bar. He thought he was cute, and she thought he mature, like cheddar. They kept talking and talking, and they went from one bar onto the next until they eventually found themselves at an around the clock cafe at 12 a.m., but that was when James had to go because he was starting to fall asleep. It wasn't until then that Mary Bob realised that he was 20 years her senior. The conversation unfolded as such:
"Don't be such a grandpa, the night's still young!"
"Well can you blame me, I'm almost forty."
...

"Yes, I was a little shocked. I thought he would be old, but not that old" she confessed during the interview. "Did it put you off?" I asked. "Not at all, I remember thinking we had tons of things in common, but the age difference could be problematic. But then I found out more about him. He's friends with two of my uncles, so I felt really safe. It just felt right. It doesn't bother him, so it doesn't bother me."

As the ever so romantic holiday Valentines day rolled around, James didn't want to make too much of a big deal out of it, "I mean we should celebrate our relationship every day, instead of depending on commercial holidays to do fun things." And that's when they turned to doing their favourite thing, watching their favourite films. However, they do tend to face the complication as all of James' films are on VHS, whereas Mary didn't even have the likes of a cd player. A pirater at best.

Their relationship cemented after they decided to take the next step and get married.

"When my dad and Mary started dating, he was just so happy, I think they have a great connection, and honestly even if she's just a few months older than me, I can't help to find a maternal comfort in her." James' daughter seems to support them truly. Their friend Nolan, from church, that knew them both personally, spoke similarly about the couple, "They fit like a puzzle and they look out for each other, and that's all that really matters."

Royal Beatings IOC

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IOC- Family Furnishings

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Emotional Intelligence

In David Foster Wallace's commencement speech, "This is Water," he develops his thesis through making very relevant and relatable examples. Ones that everyone in our modern world could relate to. This is comparable to the likes of Alice Munro's style of writing. To understand this comparison, both concepts need to be trickled down to their intentions and impacts.


In the commencement speech, Wallace reminds his audience of graduates the purpose of education. "I have come gradually to understand that the liberal-arts cliche about "teaching you how to think" is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: "Learning how to think" really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think."

This awareness allows for the generation of a greater emotional intellect, although emotional intelligence can't be measured with a score, it is instead assessed by the ability to empathize with the human experience. Wallace expresses his opinions by immersing his audience through a detailed experience, one that was explored enough for his audience to be taken on a trip once hearing it, he then introduces the idea of a having a choice, which is very eye-opening for people who are in fact not self-aware.

His thesis entails that education is about experience and awareness. By which he displays through the stylistic choice of taking his audience through the experience before providing them with his argument and coming full circle to the concept of "this is water." Literature such as this, literature that is deeply immersed in the human experience, is something that is actually relevant and relatable to audiences no matter their sociocultural contexts. This is where a bridge between the commencement speech can draw to Munro's short stories.

Literary fiction can develop empathy and emotional intelligence, this is heavily emphasized in the New York Times article "For Better Social Skills, Scientists Recommend a Little Chekhov." The "theory of mind" explores the concept of what humans read can influence their social and emotional skills. Experts were able to experiment and conclude that people can be primed for empathy and other social skills. "Reading sensitive and lengthy explorations of people's lives, that kind of fiction is literally putting yourself into another person's position- lives that could be more difficult, more complex, more than what you might be used to in popular fiction. It makes sense that they will find that, yea, that can lead to more empathy and understanding of other lives".

In Munro's fiction, along with many other literary fictions, nothing is arbitrary. Word choice, characterization, figurative language, everything down to the smallest of details are written with intention. The display of shared humanity transcends contexts and allows readers to develop emotional responses to the stories at hand. Humans learn to strengthen their emotional intelligence through the means of their emotional experiences, and these literary fictions allow their audience to undergo experiences that they otherwise would never undergo. Readers have to participate which allows for this emotional growth to occur. Through increasing our attention and education systems attention to such literary fiction, humans can increasingly develop emotionally which at times can be argued more important than developing academically. These audiences, with greater social skills and empathy, are able to competently assess their surroundings and themselves. Which takes us back to Wallace's thesis from his commencement speech, the real value of education being just that.

This is water.

Summer Holiday Blogpost # 2

Summer holiday and languages

At the beginning of the summer, I feared that this would happen again. Every single summer that I have ever encountered causes me to lose the ease of speaking in my second language, English, as I would if I were to be in school. This doesn't mean I lose fluency or sense of grammar, but instead, I lose the ability to quickly debate and encounter long-winded conversations that required a lot of academic terminologies.  Where finding the specific words that enhance my dialogue that I usually practice in school, becomes harder.
"For lack of a better term" Becomes my go-to-sentence when explaining, describing or analysing during those conversations. 
Now at first, I thought this meant that I was at a loss during my summer break, but the distance I get from the use of the English language as an academic medium allows a particular spark to rise and causes me to become more interested in reading. I was always a bookworm growing up, always jumping from one story to the other, however since starting my tenth year in school and analyses began to get increasingly complex, I tend to gain a distaste for reading for pleasure. This is because once I'm in what I like to call the analytical IB Language and Literature zone, it becomes difficult for me to read without questioning everything and ACTS analysing everything. Whether it be the author's intentions with character and plot development, or trying to gain context of the story and so on and so forth. Not to mention my increasingly high standards in reading where I can't read stories that I take as underdeveloped or be lacking (whether it lacks substance, character arcs, plot development, etc.). 
Yet in the summer, I get to step out of my IB Language and Literature zone after a few weeks of relaxing I can finally begin to read for the sake of reading. I was able to explore scripts, novels, and the short stories. This is something that always takes me back to what I like to describe as the equivalent of comfort food. Reading for pleasure is like comfort food; all sorts of positive vibrations.
August 1st, marks the day I stepped back into my IB Language and Literature zone and began to finally read the inevitable Alice Munro (long) short stories.