Reflection 5

The first book cover that instantly comes to my mind is the edition of "The Catcher in the Rye" that's famously bloated with some of the most intense motifs from the novel itself. The reason that I find it so memorable isn’t because it necessarily popped out when I first saw it, but because of how cleverly designed it seemed after reading through the book and identifying the individual parts of the cover. What originally seemed to be a few colorful images of menial objects in the book turned out to be a much more significant illustration of some of the book’s most prominent themes, linked together in one image.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that all book covers need to borrow from this business model; book covers follow very few specific credentials, and leave so much room for the artists to get as creative as they want. It doesn’t need to be fraught with the book’s most important symbolic imagery, and in most cases it’s probably better not to, because few will understand it. A visual representation of a single scene can do a book just as much justice as the cover of the Catcher in the Rye, so long as it’s designed to draw people to look at the back. The Catcher's cover designed to be memorable, not to pop out like most covers should.  

Reflection 4 - Film adaptions

Movie adaptions of books have always been subject to much scrutiny to fans of the original novel, as well as critics. The transition from a piece of work that relies largely upon an individual's own interpretation of the story to a piece of work that relies solely upon one person's interpretation is difficult to create, but there has been several note-worthy adaptions that are all deserving of much praise:

1) Fight Club
2) Jarhead
3) The Green Mile
4) Silence of the Lambs
5) The Shining

The reason these five movies have done so well has little to do with the content of the original book. We've seen books that are widely accepted as genius fail as they're turned into film, but the reason for this isn't because the material they were working with was sub-par, it's the fault of the director and the actors. A key component of the movie industry revolves around the originality of a film-- this is absent in adaptions. The plot, the characters, the setting, and key events have all already been imagined and published, but it's the job of the director and the actors to turn this into something else; this has, so to speak, spawned another movie industry, which revolves completely around the abilities of the actors, and the imagination of the director.

These five films did more than re-enact the book, they added another layer to it, something that was impossible to find in the original books. They played the scenes you're familiar with (and occasionally new ones), but they added emotion and new depth in that couldn't have been done without the aid of the director's own immagination and the talent of the actors involved. An old saying exists that says "a picture paints a thousand words", and this is a true statement; the challenge with making an adaption, though, is that these thousand words need to offer a unique and well-crafted prospective of the events that we read.
 

Review #2 - Slaughterhouse 5

                As described by the author of Slaughter House 5, Kurt Vonnegut, the protagonist of the novel—Billy—is “stuck in time.” When we’re first introduced to him, a concise and cleverly written backstory is included which details his experiences with being abducted by aliens and having come “unstuck” in time. This bit of his life is detailed right after it’s revealed that he was in a horrible plane crash and almost certainly suffered powerful brain damage.

                What’s interesting, though, is the unique point of view that the story of the protagonist is told in. Despite the introduction to the story, which is told in first person from the eyes of Kurt Vonnegut himself, it’s incorrect to call this story first person. We’re led to believe that there’s two protagonists in the novel—Billy, and the author himself, who acts as a tangible, omniscient entity narrating the extraordinary life of Billy. It’s difficult to define the unique formula at work, but the most accurate explanation that one might be able to give is that it’s a first person story, that’s also third person limited as well as omniscient—all of which clash at the same time.

                This set up makes for many interesting scenes, most of which stem from the central theme of Billy being “stuck in time.” We’re made well aware by the voice telling this story that Billy’s brain doesn’t function right—it probably never has, even prior to his crash. The pair of eyes that also the story, though, would seem to contradict this fact; if Billy’s encounter with the aliens was fictional, like the author has implied, why is that what happens? The same author who has made it clear that it never happened is also telling us that it has happened, and goes so far as to detail the champagne that he drinks just before this.

                Scenes like this manage to break the cliché very well, because while we have seen stories told like this before, we’ve never seen them told in such a radically different way which makes all the difference. This gives a very refreshing and innovative taste to every scene that is retold as Billy travels through phases of being “stuck” and then “unstuck” in time.  It’s not only Billy’s character that is developed by these experiences, but it’s also possible to see similar development—if not subtle—in the author as well.  

Review #1 - Slaughterhouse 5

It’s difficult to decipher the true intentions of Kurt Vonnegut’s writing in this novel. He’s never completely straightforward; every recollection, every conversation, every event was crafted with an addition purpose in mind. The underlying meaning is never obvious, and I’ve found myself questioning whether or not he intended for this novel to be a “story” on numerous occasions.  This isn’t to say that Slaughterhouse Five is, by any means, an essay, but it’s not quite a conventional story either.

There’s one scene in particular that got me to think: the author is recalling a time when he contacted an old friend from war, wishing to consult him with writing his novel. He meets his old friend’s wife for the first time, who seems subtly distasteful of his presence. She eventually reveals the reason for this; Mary, his friend’s wife, feels as though war is glorified—sometimes unintentionally—every time a story is written about it. This isn’t because she hates war per se, it’s because the authors don’t acknowledge that they were only “babies” back then, similar to her own children. But it isn’t written like this, it’s written as if the soldiers were actually “men”. He vows to call it “The Children’s Crusade,” and Mary becomes his friend after that.

Scenes like this are frequent, where we can almost feel the fourth wall somehow break and are exposed to not only the author’s 2 cents, but also some food for thought. Scenes like the one described above, and his signature “So it goes” death motif seem to define the true substance of Vonnegut’s writing. He’s not simply here to recite a compelling tale, but to also outline his thoughts on war itself—not explicitly the war he participated in (WWII), but the age-old sport of war.

Reflection 3

A book is an entity of its own, characterized by far too many distinct traits to be accurately described by only one word. The credentials are loose but there are specific and defined margins to them. Many of them concern the barrier created by the lack of animation and often the lack of illustrations as well, and how stark text is perceived by the mind. Like Joe Meno states, books are very different from other pieces of media like films or plays, in that the perspective of the creator is plainly laid out for us to admire.

Unlike this, books are more about creating your own artistic vision with the tools provided by the author. We’re left to make many of our own interpretations due to the lack of visual elements, creating something of our own piece to admire. As opposed to being  an average individual who is visiting an art gallery and inspecting the work of others, when reading a book you’re given a set of brushes and a rough outline of what the final piece should resemble, and then left to your own devices to paint your own perception to admire. The final product is meant to contain a certain amount of rhythm and color to it, and that is the distinction between a book and an essay; because, in the latter, the goal of the author is to convince you to see things from his perspective, whilst the goal of a book’s author is to help you craft your own.  

Reflection 2

                Reading classic pieces of literature is an integral part of any educational structure. It doesn’t just teach kids new words, or how to read “better”; it introduces them to various styles of writing and gives them insight into the mind of the author.  It’s not something that can be removed from the curriculum, but forcing kids to read against their will can be detrimental as well. There’s a correct way to teach kids using reading, a way that won’t plant the seeds of Readicide in reluctant kids.

                When you give children more freedom with their reading options, they’ll feel more comfortable actually reading. This doesn’t mean give them the option of reading Twilight instead of Of Mice and Men, they won’t learn anything then. The point of reading in school is for kids to learn, giving them too much freedom with their novel choices will result in a generation of idiots completely unfamiliar with anything from a decade ago. Giving them the option of reading between several specific novels of varying genres can be done correctly if each choice will expose them to styles that are somehow similar, instead of two wildly different books that will teach them nothing.  They’ll enjoy reading the book that they picked out, and they’ll be learning the same information more enthusiastically than if they were forced to read a book and given no alternatives that they would better enjoy.  

               

Reflection 1

People like to label best sellers as inferior and inane compared to their own par of literary work.  It’s an elitist and cynical attitude that stems from the stereotype that the best seller lists are fraught with only Twilight-esque novels. A best seller, in my opinion, is nothing more than what that achievement implies; it sold well. Simply because something is popular doesn’t make it inferior to other pieces of work, but it makes it superior either. As subjective as the two terms are, there’s still distinct characteristics that can define whether a book is “good” or not, but none of those are how well it’s sold.

You’ll find pieces that are commonly accepted as genius on best seller lists, and you’ll also find novels that are regarded as garbage by many. The only common quality in best sellers is that they’ve sold well and were popular at one point—this is a neutral thing in relevance to the actual quality of the novel, because popularity and quality are only occasionally related.  This is why not every book to appear on a best seller list will receive an award, because it doesn’t hint at the actual quality of the novel.