Poems

The Destruction of Sennacherib
by Lord Byron

The Assyrians came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

I really really like this poem (and this is not even all of it). First of all, it just sounds cool. Secondly, the story is incredible. I mean, a whole army is supernaturally crushed in one night. Also, the techniques and comparisons Byron uses are fascinating. In the first line, Assyrian horde is compared to a pack of savage wolves coming to attack the Israeli people, who we assume are like sheep. That would be an insult to them, except that the Bible consistently matches God to a shepherd -- the protector of the sheep. So, it makes perfect sense when the wolves - even though they number the stars -- are defeated. It continues, saying the "host" numbers the green leaves in a forest; in other words, countless. This massive army suddenly disappears, like leaves in the wind. Just gone. Whoosh! It's like God sneezed or something. Nothing is too big for God. I love it.

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.