Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Divergent

     THERE IS ONE mirror in my house. It is behind a sliding panel in the hallway upstairs. Our faction allows me to stand in front of it on the second day of every third month, the day my mother cuts my hair. I sit on the stool and my mother stands behind m e with the scissors, trimming. The strands fall on the floor in a dull, blond ring. When she finishes, she pulls my hair away from my face and twists it into a knot. I note how calm she looks and how focused she is. She is well-practiced in the art of losing herself. I can’t say the same of myself. I sneak a look at my reflection when she isn’t paying attention—not for the sake of vanity, but out of curiosity. A lot can happen to a person’s appearance in three months. In my reflection, I see a narrow face, wide, round eyes, and a long, thin nose—I still look like a little girl, though sometime in the last few months I turned sixteen. The other factions celebrate birthdays, but we don’t. It would be self-indulgent. “There,” she says when she pins the knot in place. Her eyes catch mine in the mirror. It is too late to look away, but instead of scolding me, she smiles at our reflection.
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Veronica Roth's Divergent, Chapter 1, page 1
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     Beatrice has a discourse with her mother about what is about to happen to her. When she turns sixteen, she will have to commit herself to a faction, and that is always a very stressful decision. She feels some agitation in the matter, because her heart tells her to go to a different faction, but she was raised to be in the faction Abnegation. She is suppose to be selfless, and she greatly struggles with that. She does not want to disgrace her parents in any way, yet she does not feel free. Her garments are dull; she life his dull. She wants something better. She finally decides to go to a faction called Dauntless. There she struggles to find her identity and purpose in life. Thus is the beginning summary of Veronica Roth's book Divergent.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Phantom of the Opera

MY DEAR MANAGERS:
So it is to be war between us?
If you still care for peace, here is my ultimatum. It consists of the four following conditions:
1. You must give me back my private box; and I wish it to be at my free disposal from henceforward.
2. The part of Margarita shall be sung this evening by Christine Daae. Never mind about Carlotta; she will be ill.
3. I absolutely insist upon the good and loyal services of Mme. Giry, my box-keeper, whom you will reinstate in her functions forthwith.
4. Let me know by a letter handed to Mme. Giry, who will see that it reaches me, that you accept, as your predecessors did, the conditions in my memorandum-book relating to my monthly allowance. I will inform you later how you are to pay it to me.
If you refuse, you will give FAUST to-night in a house with a curse upon it.
Take my advice and be warned in time. O. G.
"Look here, I'm getting sick of him, sick of him!" shouted Richard, bringing his fists down on his office-table.
Just then, Mercier, the acting-manager, entered.
"Lachenel would like to see one of you gentlemen," he said. "He says that his business is urgent and he seems quite upset."
"Who's Lachenel?" asked Richard.
"He's your stud-groom."
"What do you mean? My stud-groom?"

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Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera, Chapter 7
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     I cannot believe that after all this time the new managers know so little. Everyone in the theatre knows about the Opera Ghost, how is it that by this time, no one else has told them about it. They seem to not know who anyone is in the theatre either. Why is that? I thought that since they were the managers, they would know everything. They talked to the old managers and were told about the ghost but they did not believe it. Why is it that people in books like this always have to find out the hard way? They see strange things going on, yet they just refuse to believe it. It reminds be on The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Oh well, the two new owners will just have to figure it out difficult way.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Princess Bride

 As to Inigo's personal life, he was always just a trifle hungry, he had no brothers or sisters, and his mother had died in childbirth.
He was fantastically happy.
Because of his father. Domingo Montoya was funny-looking and crotchety and impatient and absent-minded and never smiled.
Inigo loved him. Totally. Don't ask why. There really wasn't any one reason you could put your finger on. Oh, probably Domingo loved him back, but love is many things, none of them logical.
Domingo Montoya made swords. If you wanted a fabulous sword, did you go to Domingo Montoya? If you wanted a great balanced piece of work, did you go to the mountains behind Toledo? If you wanted a masterpiece, a sword for the ages, was it Arabella that your footsteps led you to?
Nope.
You went to Madrid; because Madrid was where lived the famous Yeste, and if you had the money and he had the time, you got your weapon. Yeste was fat and jovial and one of the richest and most honored men in the city. And he should have been. He made wonderful swords, and noblemen bragged to each other when they owned an original Yeste.

    But sometimes—not often, mind you, maybe once a year, maybe less—a request would come in for a weapon that was more than even Yeste could make. when that happened, did Yeste say, alas, I am sorry, I cannot do it? Nope. What he said was, Of course, I'd be delighted...
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    William Goldman's Princess Bride, Chapter 5, page 119
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         I love how casually Goldman speaks. He, the man who wrote one of the best books in the world, is able to put depth and character into his tale even without it sounding boring. The story, which is full of love, death, miracles, revenge, and everything else, has description, but the way the author puts it, it is easy and enjoyable to read. Many modern authors write in a style that is clear and gets what they want to say across, but they lack description. I have found it harder to fall in love with or relate to the characters in books where there are few adjectives. Books like the Hunger Games and Divergent may be popular, but they simply do not give me that satisfaction, excitement, or enticement that every reader should feel while reading a chapter. Goldman,  who clearly has the writing style of one who knows what he is doing, made a masterpiece that truly gives the reader that special feeling. He does not overdo it like G. A. Henty, but he finds the perfect balance. I love the story of the Princess Bride and I have sincerely enjoyed everything I have read from it. I am sure everyone, lover of books or not, will truly love William Goldman's Princess Bride because of his fabulous style of writing.