Beauty After Death

"But they also knew that everything would be different from then on, that their houses would have wider doors, higher ceilings, and stronger floors so that Esteban's memory could go everywhere..."

In Gabriel García Márquez's The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World, we are introduced to a small community who has just discovered an unusually tall, and large man washed up at shore. Upon first glance, the community is able to recognize that the man was indeed a stranger, but what they unmasked thereafter is what made the story truly unique. At first his size is what was intriguing considering that his height elevated above ceilings and his overall size outweighed a common man even being compared to that of a horse. But what captured the attention of the village's women was the handsome face he carried. 

As the story continued to describe how well he was treated because of how handsome he was, it made me consider life. When the man was alive, he was impossibly tall and large. The story notes that he likely often criticized for it despite everything else he may have possessed. As the women of the village cleaned him up and saw him as beautiful, it made me consider how often this gesture is repeated today. When a person is alive, all of his/her faults and imperfections are not only sought by others, but they are scrutinized. We tend to judge just based on size, shape, and all of the superficial aspects of a person. But if you notice, once a person dies, all of that fades away. Surviving individuals then take the time out to highlight all of the good attributes of the deceased and find the best words to say about those who have passed. 

It's unfortunate that it takes death for us to see the beauty in a person. Some people, if you consider them closely, have the ability to make a very real difference in society just being who they are. You noticed that Estaban's very existence changed the outlook of the entire community and even shaped it differently from what it used to be. Often times, we all encompass this power. The problem is, we are backwards. We scrape to find the good in a person, whether it be stranger or friend, once he/she is dead, but when we are alive--judgement ensues and we become dismantling boulders to one another. It's unfortunate, but Marquez's story reveals this truth both subtly and beautifully.

Tim Parrish Visits

  I read Red Stick Men with a certain voice—my voice. Yes, the author’s tone was clearly evident throughout each short story, and yes the style was just as established. Still, I read the story with my voice. I heard the words playback with a familiar sound, and for some odd reason, it never once varied as I read. I understood that the book was based on Southern reality and life within the late 60s-early 70s, I understood the accents placed subtly throughout each story, I even understood what the author was going for—what he was trying to convey. But still, I read it with the voice I’ve grown accustomed to hearing over the past 23 years.

  It wasn’t until Tim Parrish, the author of Red Stick Men, came to read using the voice I’d overlooked that I realized I was reading his stories all wrong. He began with a satirical introduction, very humorous yet humble about the stories he has created. My mind automatically recounted the photo I had seen of him, the one plastered behind a display of his books on an image-projected screen. Wow, he’s a tall dude, I thought as I watched him adjust the microphone to accommodate his height. As he spoke with his Southern accent I had failed to mimic whenreading, I realized just how talented he is. Sure, evidence of this can be found in his book, but hearing it aloud as it was intended to be received made a world of difference.

  Parrish offered different versions to stories he’s personally experienced, scenes straight from his memoir and re-read his story Bonnie Ledet—a story I read, but didn’t quite hear until Parrish recited it aloud. After listening to his responses during the Q & A portion of his visit, I became more hopeful in my craft. I’ve learned that writing a book can literally take years, so I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. I’ve learned that personal experiences are conveyed best in literature, and that as a serious writer it’s important to not take oneself so seriously. If writing is what you love to do, never let it become work. Treat it as the friend it has always been. In any friendship, work and life circumstances don’t always allow friends to interact as often as they would like, but once the moment is there, it’s important to get to work! Catch up! Get it all out!

It was a pleasure to experience this visit. 

Ok so maybe not....

**So, after listening to some discussions, I found that maybe Julian isn't all I thought he was. I think I observed him in contrast to his mother on a very superficial level instead of really looking deeply. Yes, I hold opposing views from my parents and I'm always pushing myself, but there is a very REAL difference between Julian and I. Julian just might be racist, and of course, I am not. I identified with him  and his need to prove himself, but not the subject matter he is trying to prove himself in. 

There are also other elements of the story I overlooked until just now, but I realize that this was the brunt of what I felt was worth duscussing.**

I AM JULIAN

    "The further irony of all this was that in spite of her, he had turned out so well. In spite of going to only a third-rate college, he had, on his own initiative, come out with a first-rate education; in spite of growing up dominated by a small mind, he had ended up with a large one; in spite of all her foolish views, he was free of prejudice and unafraid to face facts. Most miraculous of all, instead of being blinded by love for her as she was for him, he had cut himself emotionally free of her and could see her with complete objectivity. He was not dominated by his mother."

**Can I just say, I love this story and furthermore, I think Julian is a great person despite his mother and the death he may have/have not caused. Now, with that having been said, I'm moving on to my analysis. 

In Flannery O' Connor's Everything that Rises Must Converge, we meet an aspiring writer who just graduated from College. His name was Julian. Opposite of who he was, was his prejudice mother. Now to be fair, this was a time when integration of Caucasian Americans and African Americans was first established. It seems because Julian's mother grew so accustomed to the way things were, she let fear of the unknown progress into full-blown ignorance. What I found refreshing was that Julian remained his own person despite his upbringing. When a child, or a person, acts recklessly in public or conversely very well-mannered in public--that individual's upbringing/parents are automatically either blamed or praised. 

Julian was determined to be his own person despite all of the disadvantages his mother afforded him. He, himself, was not racist and his mind was not only opened to change--it welcomed it. The irony is that as much as he didn't hate his mother, he still wanted to be the one to teach her a lesson on the way things are now. The quote above sums up the dynamic between Julian and his mother in two simple sentences. The fact that he was not dominated by her views, it made him free to be whoever he wanted to be. 

In the story, his mother says "if you know who you are, you can go anywhere." This is very true. Julian knew who he was and it made him free to talk to anyone, go anywhere and be the best person he wanted to be. He reminds me of myself. I, myself have opposing beliefs from my parents, but I'm still who I am. Not one person may understand that, but not one person can change that. Despite any disadvantages I've been afforded, I'm still going to get to where I am going. I'm a writer just the same. "Selling type-writers" won't cut it, just like Julian knew within himself. Julian wanted to write, Julian would fall back into his own world and invite no one to join him, Julian had cut himself emotionally from the perceptions that would fail him--I am Julian. 

Omitting all of the racial prejudices, Flannery O' Connor inadvertently wrote a story about me. It was nice to see it written down. 

The Voorman Problem

"I created your memories when I created you."

In the oscar-nominated short film The Voorman Problem, I found myself having to detach myself from my own personal morals and Christian beliefs to stumble upon an objective analysis and interpretation of this film. Within this post, I will discuss both perspectives. I will analyze the overall concept of the film from an impartial standpoint and then compare these observations to the religious themes/ideas they stem from. 

In the Voorman Problem we find a psychologist evaluating a prisoner who maintains the he is a god. He also asserts that he created the universe 9 days prior to that evaluation and his only job now has been to maintain it. He finds amusement in humans and war because he is a self-proclaimed "bored god." When challenged that evidence proves that the world existed long before he claims to have created it, he assures Dr. Williams that he created the evidence. He also asserts that the memories caried of times before are memories he created when he established the universe and each being within it. Now, the idea is clever. It can very well make one think, and I see how this would be very persuasive. If the memories I carry are apart of a grand design created, let's say for this hypothetical instance, one day ago, this means all I believe and even the individuals of this world are merely puppets of an illusion-a figment of a grand imagination.

The movie plot and overall idea bases it's ideas on existing religion, however. In Christian doctrine, the world was built by God in 7 days (well, rested on the 7th); Voorman maintains he created the world 9 days prior. 9 flipped upside down, of course is the number 6. I believe this plays on the idea that God created man (and the knowledge he holds) on the sixth day of creation. Also, all evidence of how the world came to be, for us Christians and similar religions, come from the Bible. A book that man wrote, yes, by the knowledge given to them from God. All knowledge of this, comes from evidence provided by God. If knowledge is obtained from God, memories are just the same. By the end of the movie, I found that without existing religious precepts, the ideas used to make this film clever to me and persuasive to some would fail to be conceived to begin with. 

Complicity

"When she handed me my glass, I saw a thin bruise on her wrist."- Complicity, Tom Parrish

In Tom Parrish's contemporary story, Complicity, we find racial tension and abused authority come to life. In the story, it seems that Mr. Parks, a police officer was always on the lookout for anyone he could hunt down, anyone he could reprimand. Jeb and Ricky frequently disputed both physically and verbally. Despite the fact that Rick, Parks's son, would provoke Jeb, Parks would still regularly threaten Jeb for doing so. I could tell then that he had a serious anger issue that was ready to be released on any and everyone.  

As the story continues, we find Mrs. Parks was tied up by who they said to be a black man, and was "roughed up." I knew something was up just based on who Mr Parks is. If he terrorizes even his neighbors, nonetheless black civilians, who on earth would try to avenge him? After Jeb tells Bob that he heard arguing and "sounds" that included the voice of Mr. Parks during the night of the break-in, my suspicions sky-rocketed. Once I saw Mr. Parks kept inquiring about what Jeb seen or heard, I knew that he was somehow involved. 

The quote provided completely reaffirmed my suspicions and shed light on the abusive husband that Mr. Parks is. With all the growing tension that was in the south at that time, it was ironic that someone who was supposed to be enforcing the law was part of a hidden problem. Domestic violence roared on by his hands in his own household, but he diligently roamed the streets to hunt down that particular violence. To cover his own tracks, he even went as far as to camp out with a shotgun right on his lawn. He'd rather do the unnecessary to avoid facing himself. It's remarkable how ugly the truth can be when your own mirror reveals it. 

Apathetic Time

"There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,/And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;/And frogs in the pools singing at night,/And wild plum trees in tremulous white;/Robins will wear their feathery fire,/Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;/And not one will know of the war, not one/Will care at last when it is done./Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,/If mankind perished utterly;/And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn/Would scarcely know that we were gone." Sara Teasdale's There Will Come Soft Rains as featured in Ray Bradbury's August 2026

 

This poem eloquently describes a future that not many of us take the time to consider. Still, on a smaller scale we see evidence of time's apathy everyday. There Will Come Soft Rains forces me to consider the idea that time ages and moves on despite death, despite destruction, and despite loss. Notice when a celebrity or even a loved one dies, the loss is typically discussed and mourned for some time after. Legacies are remembered and achievements are commemorated, but slowly but surely, time plays it's part to move us forward. Life continues despite that loss. 

August 2026 allows me to consider the idea that technology just may live on without us. When time and destruction annihilates us, all that is left will continue to function. As described, the birds will continue to fly, trees will be left to bloom and all the advances we have killed ourselves to invent will turn around and proceed in this life without us. As the seasons change, not one of them, not even beautiful spring will remember us. They'll change until the world ceases altogether (or until God himself finishes it all). Not one other living creature will care if mankind perished. They will continue just the same. As shown in the story, domesticated animals will rot, but those that can survive ultimately will. 

The story merely illustrated the poem in a way that was more evident. If one is forgotten by mankind after the apathetic hands of time heals enough to destroy grief, why wouldn't the existing life that surround us move on just the same? A thought-provoking concept well conveyed.