Ender's Game

This book... wow. I know it's been said before but I'll say it again: Ender's Game is easily one of the best science fiction novels ever written.
I had tried to read it a few years ago, but I think I was too young to fully grasp the concepts discussed in the novel or to appreciate its complexity... which is why I didn't like it the first time around. This time I had a much different experience.
The novel is set sometime in Earth's future, in which humanity has survived two violent encounters with an alien race, the Buggers. Now, on the brink of a third encounter, young, talented children are being trained, going through different levels of schooling, in order to find future commanders to lead starships in a battle against the Buggers. Ender is among these children.
When summarized, this plot seems relatively simple, however, it is anything but. Orson Scott Card manages to beautifully and complexly illustrate Ender's experiences in Battle School in space, while also describing his sister, Valentine's, experiences on Earth as she deals with the looming of another World War and the violent, murderous tendencies of her older brother, Peter. One might ask: "How old exactly are these children?" At the beginning of the novel, Ender is only six years old, Valentine, eight, and Peter, ten. However, to call these young men and women "children" is a gross understatement. Had their ages not been mentioned, a reader could easily picture them to be twenty or thirty year olds, in that their conversations, actions, and thoughts are so mature, even more so than those of the actual adults around them.
In this way, Card creates an incredible story, commenting on the underestimation of children's abilities, the world's potentially negative reaction to the discovery of extraterrestrial life, as well as humanity's own instability within itself, while also throwing in a few twists and turns that will shock the reader, and shocked me. After reading Ender's Game, it immediately shot up to the top of my favorite books list. This thought-provoking novel will keep you on the edge of your seat and is definitely worth reading.

(The above image can be found on the artist's site here: http://sampaints.com/2010/04/enders-game/)

The Thin Red Line

As a first year student at Allegheny College, I was required to take a Freshmen Seminar, or FS this semester. Mine is called "Film & Philosophy." So far, we had read journals by Plato, Heidegger and Nietzsche, watched multiple movies including The Truman Show and The Thin Red Line, and had many in-class discussions focusing on film, philosophy, and the human condition in general. Of all the texts we had studied, however, The Thin Red Line hit me the hardest. Directed by Terrence Malick, this movie illustrates the WWII Battle of Guadacanal... but this is no typical war film. (I truly believe that this may be one of the greatest war films of all time, although I cannot profess to be any sort of expert on the matter.) In response to The Thin Red Line, my professors requested that we answer a question and post our answers onto a website forum. The question asked, simply: "Regarding the film, The Thin Red Line, what did reviewers miss?" I would like to share with you my answer:

"Generally highly rated, The Thin Red Line, directed by Terrence Malick, is called poetic, unique and beautiful, garnering praise for its exquisite cinematography and haunting soundtrack. Reviewers fail, however, to understand or appreciate the magnitude of the film's message. Roger Ebert of The Chicago Sun Times states, "The movie's schizophrenia keeps it from greatness (this film has no firm idea of what it is about)." In Ebert's criticism of The Thin Red Line, he claims that "schizophrenia" inhibits the film. Contrastingly, I believe that this quality of uncertainness is actually what makes this film great. The Thin Red Line begins by focussing in on two AWOL soldiers living in an idyllic island society, and from there jumps around in time between battle scenes, memories, past, and future events. Additionally, throughout the film, the audience is allowed into the soldiers' heads to hear their thoughts: "This great evil, where does it come from...love, where does it come from?" The audience is sort of thrown into the film, unsure of who the disembodied thoughts belong to, what the ultimate objective of the battle in hills is, or even what the opposing side looks like; in fact, the face of the enemy is not even shown until halfway through this three hour film. These elements, combined with seemingly haphazard nature shots, despite reviewers' opinions, are not in fact random, but act together to achieve a particular purpose: To mimic the weight, confusion and despair felt by the soldiers and to project those feelings onto the audience, which it accomplishes disturbingly well. In one scene for instance, the camera takes the point of view of a soldier, so the audience sees the battle through the soldier's eyes, as he, the audience, is about to kill his enemy. Aside from the disembodied narrating voices, this film is shockingly real. There is no illusion, no happy ending, and no ultimate objective except violence, just as with war. However, this film is not exclusively striving to illustrate the evils of war, nor is it solely using war as a metaphor for the human condition, at large. It is doing both."

(The above image can be found here: http://www.moviegoods.com/movie_poster/the_thin_red_line_1999.htm)

Coffee and Kindness

Over winter break, I took a long 9-hour journey by train and bus to San Francisco to visit my friends from camp. There, I rode in the Westin St. Francis glass elevator, visited City Lights Books (amazing!), toured a wax museum, took more modes of transportation then I even knew existed, and ultimately, had a great experience. The colorful old buildings, shiny trolly cars, and fashionable hipsters are only a few of the reasons why San Francisco is my favorite city. However, the majesty of the city couldn't prevent me from noticing the surprisingly large number of homeless people in San Francisco: sleeping bags on the streets, signs asking for money, or help, or beer, backpacks left momentarily while their owners wander, and hungry dogs tied to street lamps. One evening, while on Haight Street, my friend and I passed a man who couldn't have been older than 25. He was sitting on the sidewalk with a guitar on his left, a sign asking for money or a cup of coffee on his right, and a book in his hand. As we passed, I got that gut-wrenching feeling of guilt and wishfulness that I could help. I was wearing a sweater and a coat and I was freezing, I couldn't even imagine how much colder the air must have felt to him, in ragged clothes desperately in need of a washing. I took a look at my friend and could tell that she was thinking the same thing. Wordlessly, it was decided that we would both chip in and buy him a large mocha latte... extra hot. After stopping in a small cafe, we walked quickly back to the spot where the man had been sitting, hoping that he would still be there. He was! We walked up and said hello and I handed him the cup. He looked down at us with a look of shock on his face, as if it was the first time in a while that someone had showed him some kindness. He then said, "Thank you... I just got this guitar; I'm really happy about it," and smiled. After chatting for a minute or two, my friend and I left and continued to look around, stopping at a few stores and eventually turned around to catch the train back to her house. On the way, we walked past the man again. He was now quietly strumming his guitar with our coffee cup in front of him, with a smile on his face. I guess what I took from this experience, was the impact that a bit of humanity can have on someone else's day, or life. Although the homeless man's sign asked for a cup of coffee, all he really wanted was someone to recognize him, to treat him like a human being, to maybe give him a smile, instead of passing him by. I think that is all anyone wants, really... to be shown some kindness.

(The image above can be found here: http://wvs.topleftpixel.com/05/05/22/)

New Beginnings

“I am no prophet–and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.”
- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock T.S. Eliot

Although, like Mr. Prufrock, I am no prophet, and in many ways I am afraid, I do not believe I have “seen the moment of my greatness flicker…” at least not yet. For that reason, here, I plan on documenting my experiences as an English major at a tiny college in Pennsylvania, commenting on the world around me, while occasionally throwing in a book review or two. In many ways, this is simply my attempt to shout out to the world (the virtual one at least): “Here I am! I exist! And, I have things to say!”