Inheritance

"Arya, what about you? We've only sparred together that one time in Farthen Dur." His grin widened, and he flourished Brisingr. "I've gotten a bit better since then."
"So you have."
"What say you, then?"
She cast a critical glance toward the Varden, then shrugged. "Why not?"
As they walked to the level patch of grass, he said, "You won't be able to best me quite so easily as before."
"I am sure you are right."
...Arya held her ground and made no attempt to evade him. When he was less than four yards away, she smiled at him, a warm, brilliant smile that so enhanced her beauty, Eragon faltered, his thoughts dissolving into a muddle...
Before he could do much more than slow his forward momentum, another impact dashed his sword arm to the side; then a knot of pain formed in his midsection as Arya stabbed him, knocking him to the ground. (from chapter 12, pages 93-94)

This is such a great passage from Christopher Paolini's "Inheritance", the final book in the Eragon series. I love these books, and was super excited when I got the chance to read the final volume. Paolini's writing style, though it is definitely superior, seems similar to mine, and I simply enjoy it. This specific passage made me laugh, as I often do when I read literature like his and Rick Riordan's. As he consistently does, Eragon makes a fool of himself. Although told never to underestimate an elf, regardless of their gender, he makes the fatal mistake time and time again. I laugh at his ignorance, arrogance, and humiliation, though I reckon I do the same thing. Maybe that's why I laugh, because I see myself in him... I think that is the point of most writers though: to develop characters that readers can understand and relate with.

PS: the green highlighted clauses are adverbial.

Angel Levine

Tears blinded the tailor's eyes. Was ever a man so tried? Should he say he believed a half-drunken Negro to be an angel?
The silence turned to stone.
Manischewitz was recalling scenes of his youth, as a wheel in his mind whirred: believe, do not, yes, no, yes, no. The pointer pointed to yes, to between yes and no, to no, not it was yes. He sighed. One had still to make a choice.
"I believe you are also an angel -- from God." He said it simply but in a broken voice. Yet he thoughtm, if you said it it was said If you believed it you must say it. If you believed, you believed.
The hush broke. Everybody talked but the music commenced and they went on dancing. Bella, grown bored, picked up the cards and dealt herself a hand.
Levine burst into tears. "How you have humiliated me."

This passage, from Bernard Malamud's Angel Levine, is the climax of the story. Manischewitz, who had been driven to the point of desperation, finally accepted Alex Levine as a messenger from God. What I think is so intriguing about this scene is how the cabaret changes. They are all staring at the poor old tailor, when he admits the truth, and suddenly nobody knows either of them are there, or ever were present. It is as if Levine as erased the people's memories and made him and Manischewitz invisible. I see the whole thing as a test, which everyone in life is faced with. And the thing about tests is: they always get darker and more macabre before they get better. However, the pay off at the end is worth it, as Manischewitz discovered. Now, whether I would have claimed a drunk Negro was an angel is not important, but many people will do crazy things when they are in desperate need of succor. However, I like the story and believe Malamud structured it masterfully.

PS: the green highlights are the adjectival clauses required. The first is close the beginning of the sentence. The second is at the end.

Homer

"Zeus has torn away my joy.
But there's something else that mortifies me now.
Your way is a far cry from the time-honored way
of suitors locked in rivalry, striving to win
some noble woman, a wealthy man's daughter.
They bring in their own calves and lambs
to feast the friends of the bride-to-be, yes,
and shower her with gleaming gifts as well.
They don't devour the woman's goods scot-free."
Staunch Odysseus glowed with joy to hear all this --
his wife's trickery luring gifts from her suitors now,
enchanting their hearts with suave seductive words
but all the while with something else in mind.
(Homer's 'Odyssey', Book 18, lines 307-318.)

I chose this passage, for it reveals a new side of Penelope's character. Until now she has been pretty passive and lax. She doesn't really seem to be caring about what is going on. She is annoyed with the suitors, and weeps for her husband, but doesn't really do anything. However, in this passage, she decides to trick her cadging suitors, who have been carousing and causing quite a pandemonium. She tells them to start courting her like real men and give her rich gifts, so she will be more inclined to pick a new husband. However, she has no intention of marrying any of them, any time soon. She, like Odysseus, is able to deceive her enemies easily with fanciful fables. Odysseus, disguised as a beggar, hears her and is impressed. He realizes she is much like him, and he is enraptured. He is proud, thinking "yes, that is my wife up there robbing those pernicious suitors blind. Ha, ha." It almost makes me laugh just thinking about it -- the interesting development of Odysseus's wife, Penelope.

Homer

With that promise,
off and away Athena the bright-eyed goddess flew
like a bird in soaring flight
but left his spirit filled with nerve and courage,
charged with his father's memory more than ever now.
He felt his senses quicken, overwhelmed with wonder--
this was a god, he knew it well and made at once
for the suitors, a man like a god himself... (l. 366- 373)
...until discreet Telemachus took command: "You suitors
who plague my mother, you, you insolent, overweening...
for this evening let us dine and take our pleasure,
no more shouting now... But at first light
we all march forth to assembly, take our seats
so I can give my orders and say to you straight out:
You must leave my palace! (l. 422-430)

I loved this passage from Homer's Odyssey. Athena comes to Prince Telemachus, who was feeling like a weak, used boy. However, she strengthens him with words and an intriguing portent, and he watches her fly away in wondrous splendor, frowning and scratching his head. After her visit and warning against the pernicious suitors, he finds that he has the guts to take command, like his father. So, followed by an unseen guard, he approaches the bevy of suitors and orders them out of his palace. They ignore him, but it is still a start. I just love the idea of a weak son of a strong man, finally finding the hidden power inside him to stand up to the bullies. Of course, it always helps when a goddess gives you the words. (The green is the two participial phrases from Kilgallon.)

Theogony

But Rhea was subject in love to Cronos (there is a lot of love in the god's family. I mean that is practically the only thing that gets talked about) and bare splendid children, Hestia, Demeter, and gold-shod Hera and strong Hades, pitiless in heart, who dwells under the earth, and loud-crashing Earth-Shaker (it means Poseidon, but why does it not say his name?), and wise Zeus, father of gods (though he actually was not the father; only the leader) and men, by whose thunder the wide earth is shaken. (It is interesting that Zeus, the aegis-holder, is not The Earth-Shaker, yet he does shake the Earth.) These great Cronos swallowed as each came forth from the womb to his mother's knees (if the "his" is referring to Cronos, then "mother" would be referring to Gaea, right? Meaning the babies came from Rhea and before they touched the Earth, Cronos swallowed them up) with this intent, that no other of the proud sons of Heaven should hold the kingly office amongst the deathless gods. (But this action sealed his fate. If Cronos, "the wily", had raised his sons and daughters like a real dad, would they still have overthrown him?) For he learned from Earth and starry Heaven that he was destined to be overcome by his own son, strong though he was, through the contriving of great Zeus. (This passage was taken from page 12, or ll. 453-491 of Hesoid's Theogony.)

(The blue is my response, and the green is the appositive phrases.)
Verily, the story is as it is. It continues with Cronos, with all his cunning/craftiness and the intelligence of a god, not being able to tell a rock from a baby, and thus allowing Zeus to grow in might and glory, until he was able to slice Cronos into a zillion pieces. That is the great thing about the Greek mythology. It is so messed up, its funny. I mean, its all love and war, none of which is played fairly. Hesoid's Theogony was a bit confusing, but if you are aware of the story of the god it is not that difficult. I thought it was interesting, in the passage which we read, that the twelve Olympians were not really talked about until the last quarter. I thought the mythology was all about them, so it was entertaining to learn different.

Thomas Foster

My main suggestion, though, is to read things you like. You're not stuck with my list. Go to your bookstore or library and find novels, poems, plays, stories that engage your imagination and your intelligence. Read "Great Literature," by all means, but read good writing. Much of what I like best in my reading I've found by accident as I poked around bookshelves. And don't wait for writers to be dead to be read; the living ones can use the money. Your reading should be fun. We only call them literary works. Really, though, it's all a form of play. So play, Dear Reader, play.
And fare thee well. (This passage is from Foster's Envoi from "How to Read Literature like a Professor.)

I thought Foster did a superb job on this book, though, I was very happy when I read those last four words, "And fare thee well." Throughout his book, Foster, the extremely talented writer and reader, used many examples, from elegiac poems and plays, to world renown novels and stories. He taught me a multitude of techniques. He consistently pointed out that nothing is as it seems, in writing. And I, a young intelligent student, have learned significantly about symbolism and the science of writing. Also, he has inspired me to read more, if that's possible, and to explore writers I had not even heard of before. In conclusion, I believe Foster's book, "How to Read Literature like a Professor" has been very educational, even if some of his explanations are carrying various amounts of in-verisimilitude and irony.

Thomas Foster

We love the plays, the great characters, the fabulous speeches, the witty repartee even in times of duress. I hope never to be mortally stabbed, but if I am, I'd sure like to have the self-possession, when asked if it's bad, to answer, "No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor as wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve," as Mercutio does in Romeo and Juliet. I mean, to be dying and clever at the same time, how can you not love that? Rather than saying it proves you're well read, I think what happens is that writers quote what they've read or heard, and more of them have Shakespeare stuck in their heads than anything else. Except Bugs Bunny, of course. (This passage is from chapter 6 of How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas C. Foster.)

I don't know what else to say except that Foster sure knows how to say what he says. He has a great sense of humor - hilarious - and has so many wonderful examples, similes, and explanations, that makes his book interesting enough. It is both educational as well as funny. What more could you ask for? Besides, Everyone would rather learn from someone who makes jokes ever so often, and yet obviously knows what he is talking about, rather than someone who puts them to sleep. Even though there are parts of Foster's book that aren't so funny or enjoyable, the parts that are make up for it. I love it.

The Chosen

Then he looked back at me, and his voice was gentle as he spoke. "Reuven, I--I ask you to forgive me... my anger... at your father's Zionism. I read his speech... I--I found my own meaning for my... brother's death... for the death of the six million. I found it in God's will... which I did not presume to understand. I did not--I did not find it in a Jewish state that does not follow God and His Torah. My brother... the others... they could not--they could not have died for such a state. Forgive me... your father... it was too much... too much--"
His voice broke. He held himself tightly. His beard moved faintly with the trembling of his lips.
"Daniel," he said brokenly. "Forgive me... for everything... I have done. A--a wiser father... may have done differently. I am not... wise."
He rose slowly, painfully, to his feet. "Today is the--the Festival of Freedom." There was a soft hint of bitterness in his voice. "Today my Daniel is free..."
(This passage was taken from Chapter 18 of Chaim Potok's The Chosen.)

This passage almost made me cry -- for joy. For Danny's whole life, his father had not talked to him -- except to teach a lesson on the Talmud or to explode -- to teach him a lesson on pain and compassion. I cannot imagine that. It would be so awful -- torturous. Then, after years of silence, for his father to come to him -- just before he leaves for college -- and apologize for all those years of harsh raising, it would be like the breaking of a dam. Both father and son cried for joy for the new found freedom and from the pain from those years of separation. Incredible. Unimaginable. I am so glad I did not have to go through anything like that.

The Chosen

Both Reb Saunders and my father were quite ill on the day in May when word finally came that the war in Europe was over.
...And then, together with the official report of the signing of the unconditional surrender on May 7, there came the news, at first somewhat guarded, then, a few days later, clear and outspoken, of the German concentration camps. My father, recuperating slowly and looking worn and weary, sat in his bed propped on pillows, and read the newspaper stories of the horrors that had occurred in those camps. His face was grim and ashen. he seemed unable to believe what he was reading.
It was while my father read to me an account of what had happened at Teresienstadt, where the Germans had imprisoned and incinerated European Jews of culture and learning, that I saw him break down and weep like a child.
(This passage was taken from Chaim Potok's The Chosen, page 190.)


This passage, talking about the Holocaust stood out to me. It goes on to talk about how weeks after, as more and more information comes in about the concentration camps, how these two pastors (Reb Saunders and Reuven's father) are suffering for their people -- the six million Jews who had been massacred. How they cry with the slightest upsetting, and one of them even has a stroke. It made me think. This occurrence (the death of millions of innocent people) was so disturbing and had never happened before. It affected so many millions of people... just unbelievable. When I went to the Holocaust Museum in Washington DC, I was speechless (which seems to be a rare occurrence in itself) and at multiple times almost cried. I walked through hall after hall, where the names of hundreds of thousands of the massacred were imprinted. Just seeing so many names (it would be almost impossible to count them without a machine)... and knowing they were all murdered... left an unexplainable knot in my stomach. There are not words to describe how I felt -- though it was almost as if part of me died.

The Chosen

"You certainly have a mean way of pitching." [Danny said]
"How about your hitting? Do you always hit like that, straight to the pitcher?" [I (Reuven) said]
"Yes."
"How'd you ever learn to do that?"
"I can't hit any other way. It's got something to do with my eyesight, and with the way I hold the bat. I don't know."
"That's a pretty murderous way to hit a ball. You almost killed me."
"You were supposed to duck," he said.
"I had no chance to duck."
"Yes you did."
"There wasn't enough time. You hit it so fast."
"There was time for you to bring up your glove."
I considered that for a moment.
"You didn't want to duck."
"That's right," I said, after a while.
"You didn't want to duck any ball that I hit. You had to try and stop it."
"That's right." ...
"Well, you stopped it," Danny Saunders said.
I grinned at him.
"No hard feelings anymore?" he asked me.
"No hard feelings," I said.
(This passage was taken from The Chosen, by Chaim Potok, page 75.)

I loved this scene. I liked both characters from the beginning and was really pleased with this scene, when they finally decided they should be friends. Reuven had to forgive Danny for putting him in the hospital, and Danny had to humble himself enough to ask for forgiveness. Then, they became such great friends. They are perfect friends; they connect really well. And they may never have known each other -- even though they lived down the street from each other -- had it not been for that freak accident. I think their relationship is funny, because they go from wanting to kill each other, to being better friends than brothers. Freak accidents will do that though. It is interesting.

The Great Gatsby

Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes -- a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
(This passage is from the last page in The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.)

The book ends with the narrator, Nick, staring off at the view which Gatsby had stared at for nights on end. The description is fantastic, though it makes me sad. I dislike the end of the book. Nick is rejected by his friends, who I never like in the first place and knew from the start would desert him. Gatsby is wrongfully murdered, and no-one comes to his funeral. How sad is that? I was depressed when I finished the book, to say the least. It goes to show that even if you have as many riches as you could possibly want, a massive house, and countless friends, that does not make you happy. Gatsby had everything except true friends. He was lonely, often depressed, and always thinking on the past. If you live in the past, then you have no future. He should have moved on, but his past was his undoing. The book is definitely well written, but I don't like it when the hero dies, especially for no good reason. Thus, I can not say it was a good book, but it was not bad either.

Humor

When the kid found out we were going to leave him at home he started up a howl like a calliope and fastened himself as tight as a leech to Bill's leg. His father peeled him away gradually, like a porous plaster.
"How long can you hold him?" asks Bill.
"I'm not as strong as I used to be," says old Dorset, "but I think I can promise you ten minutes."
"Enough," says Bill. "In ten minutes I shall cross the Central, Southern and Middle Western States, and be legging it trippingly for the Canadian border."
And, as dark as it was, and as fat as Bill was, and as good a runner as I am, he was a good mile and a half out of Summit before I could catch up with him.
(This passage is from O. Henry's The Ransom of Red Chief.)


I loved this story. I was laughing so hard through the whole thing. The two kidnappers are so stupid, especially Bill, and the kid is so wild and terrifying. I'm not sure what I would have done in their place. Even though they totally deserved what they got, I feel bad for them all the same. O. Henry did a masterful job of telling the story in a short and sweet way, and though it could have been longer, I think it would not have been any better if ii had been longer. It was a great, humorous story. And definitely deserves its status as one of Henry's best. I recommend this story to anyone who wants a good laugh and has a few minutes to spare. Fabulous story.

Red Badge of Courage

He had taken up a first position behind the little tree, with a direct determination to hold it against the world. He had not deemed it possible that his army could that day succeed, and from this he felt the ability to fight harder. But the throng had surged in all ways, until he lost directions and locations, save that he knew where lay the enemy.
The flames bit him, and the hot smoke broiled his skin. His rifle barrel grew so hot that ordinarily he could not have borne it upon his palms; but he kept on stuffing cartridges into it, and pounding them with his clanking, bending ramrod. If he aimed at some changing form through the smoke, he pulled his trigger with a fierce grunt, as if he were dealing a blow of the fist with all his strength. (This passage is taken from chapter 17 of The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane.)


I thought this section of the passage was both inspiring and disturbing. Crane does such a good job with his battle and death scenes that it sometimes makes me sick. At another time, Stephan describes one of the youth's friends in a detailed three page death scene. His battle episodes are descriptive and realistic and I find them gruesome and jumbled messes. This specific scene caught my interest because the main character had finally decided that he is going to stand and fight regardless of the consequences. He stakes out his territory and will not allow any enemy to get near. He fights with all that is in him -- allowing his feelings to govern his actions. He is so consumed with firing at the enemy that he does not even realize that they have retreated until it is brought to his attention by his commanding officer. The officer then complements the youth saying that he wish he had more men like him and if he did he could whip the rebels in minutes. This is part of a turning point inside the youth as he realizes that he can do something courageous.

C. S. Lewis

Every visible creature in the grove had risen to its feet and was standing, more hushed than ever, with its head bowed; and Ransom saw (if it could be called seeing) that Oyarsa was coming up between the long line of sculptured stones. Partly he knew it from the faces of the Malacandrians as their lord passed them; partly he saw -- he could not deny that he saw -- Oyarsa himself. He never could say what is was like. The merest whisper of light -- no, less than that, the smallest diminution of shadow -- was traveling along the uneven surface of the ground-weed; or rather some difference in the look of the ground, too slight to be named in the language of the five senses, moved slowly towards him. (This passage was taken from C. S. Lewis's Out of the Silent Planet.)


All the people at the presentation were now standing like statues and staring, completely dumbstruck, with huge bulb-like eyes; but Shaun disappeared into the crowd so that the police had to fight their way through the thick mob-like group of onlookers. Shaun knew from the reflexes of the police and bystanders he would escape them again. He thought it unusual that it had been so easy. He could not say how or why. There had been no challenge to it -- he had walked up, pulled out the pistol, and fired into the charismatic-like form -- and no one had seen or was trying to stop him; or was there something irregular about the formation of the police -- it had been too soon to know -- and he now saw he was surrounded by security and caught.

Bedford

Were it not for a web-footed rodent and a haberdashery fad in the eighteenth-century Europe, Minnesota might be a Canadian province today. The beaver, almost as much as the horse, helped shaped the course of early American history. Some Mayflower colonists paid their passage with beaver pelts... But even more influential were the trappers and fur trappers penetrating the great Northern wilderness between the Mississippi River and the Rocky Mountains, since it was their presence that helped hold the Near West against British expansion from the north... These men, by making pelts the currency of the wilds, laid the base for a new economy that quickly overwhelmed the old. And all because European men of mode simply had to wear a beaver hat.

Imitation on another small cause producing a large effect:
Were it not for a certain uneducated boy from Illinois, the United States of America would not exist. Abraham Lincoln had such a profound effect on our country and guided her through so much, if he had not been there, America would be split into two or more countries. He was a mostly unknown lawyer from Springfield before he started into politics. He lost many times before becoming the 16th President of the US. He saved the United States from a major disaster. and even though thousands of lives were lost, the slaves were freed and the US was united once again. And all because of a simple self-educated boy from the back-woods of Illinois.