Heavy Threads And Thats Don Fey: A Literary Analysis

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I read the entire book that night. Full disclosure: I could not then and do not now read French. J, who grew up in Amsterdam and Paris, read the book in its original French; she gave me the English translation. That edition was called The Wanderer. I have sometimes wondered what it was that made J assert that Le Grand Meaulnes was about us. Was I supposed to be the obsessed boy who nonetheless abandons his beloved? The best friend who watches in misery the disintegration of everyone he loves?

Was J suggesting that she was powerless over the centrifugal pull of her first love? Or that eventually she and I would be reunited in a deeper bond? Or was she just a passionate hothead who loved all the attention and thought she could pull me closer by declaring the book was our story? Eventually, I grew tired of the drama and wandered off toward new romantic adventures. But as in the novel there was yet another act. Years later, when I was a sort of adult, trying to write while living in the cheapest studio apartment in all of Manhattan, J showed up and asked to spend the night with me.

She was just in from Paris, where she was living and still lives, I believe and wanted to tell me all about her life, about her many and varied loves, about our bond. But I had just begun a new romance myself one that would end as badly as it is possible to end…. I told her she could not spend the night. She was despondent. I no longer recall if her incredulous expression gave me a mild frisson of pleasure. There she was, the first great unrequited love of my life, and I could not bring myself to do what I had so yearned to do. I let her store her heavy suitcase beside my bed, and she drifted off, returning only to pick up her bag the next day, and give me a forlorn kiss goodbye.

In Le Grand Meaulnes , when the questing hero finally achieves the goal of reuniting with his lost love, he is upset, restless, unable to grasp the slender ring of happiness he has been tossed. Tonight's dinner is not the usual feast to be looked up to. It is a dinner of "gun wounds", "vegetable blood", "pepper" and "scorpions". It is a landscape devastated by the carnage and despoliation brought about by war. The sombre portrait of a devastated land is reinforced by the fact that it is night, the time of evil, darkness and horror.

The "guests" made reference to may have been partakers of the dinner or Sierra Leonean who came to observe this macabre dinner. As they "look into the ocean of bowls", the horror causes "vegetables die on their tongues". Hence, there are two types of "tongues" - "desert tongues" which could refer to tongues of gunfire and human tongues with which to taste the ghostly dinner. While the combatants and the wounded soldiers are on this table ruing their fate, the guerrillas and the crocodiles the uncaring leaders engage in their favourite pastimes.

The child soldiers whom the poet describes as "children from Alphabeta"participate in the sombre meal. They know not what the cadaverous get together is all about as they arrive "with empty palm". In their eyes is anger, while "their voices" are assailed by silence. The poet-speaker asks : "when the playground is emptied of children's toys who needs roadblocks? The fact is that the children had taken their toys inside, before they and all adult men went to do the fighting. Thus "road blocks" have suddenly become unnecessary. The land has become both sterile and arid occasioned by the destructiveness of war. The dryness steers the necessity for the throat to be assumed of its thirst. But the water has been polluted by "vegetable blood" and "gun wounds".

Hence, the threat of "cholera on cracked lips" is real. However, his "Nile, even without tributaries comes lazy upon its own Nile". The revolutionary to - be has his own problems, namely laziness and indecisiveness. His "Nile The poet returns to what happens at "dinner tonight" which comes with gun wounds". It is a night meant for "lovers of fire". The poet persona is "full with the catch of gun wounds" which reminds one of hunting. The drawbacks, obstacles weigh heavily and probably soaking water on his boots such that they "have suddenly become too reluctant to walk me".

Such is his weariness that the speaker expects the boots to "walk" him rather than the contrary. The poem is the grim experience of death and pain out of gun battles. It is a feast in which the major meal n made tip of gun wounds, pepper and scorpions. War is a leveller; thus the dining table may be an arena for the wounded, created by the levelling effected by gun fire. Faced with sterility and aridity, war has created a desert out of a rainforest zone to which Sierra Leone's vegetation belongs. War brings suffering, and suffering breeds chaos.

And chaos sows no seed but long-time enmity. Youths are known for harboring a revolutionary mind. They pull down imagined structures and think they can do better. However the youth who are willing to offer themselves to purge the land of the ills of those leaders is not always to a position to do so particularly when "my Nile.. The youthful revolutionary comes to the arena of governance with his own faults and pitfalls. He is not only "lazy", lie comes to the ground "full with the catch of gun wounds" and heavy, clogged books.

But that would be to dismiss them as X Meets Y , and with typical Zahn inventiveness, they transcend that pigeonhole. The stories are set in the s. Thirty years before, human space probes discovered a mysterious conduit light-years in length, just outside the orbit of Jupiter: this turns out to be a part of the Quadrail network, the only means of faster-than-light travel known in the galaxy. It's a literal set of rail tracks with a train on them, and no-one except the tactiturn Spiders who run the network know how it works. Several races have used the Quadrail to found colonies and build empires, and humanity has joined them as the youngest.

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