1. It is set in 1954 but there is also flashbacks in the story. It is set on San Piedro Island in the Puget Sound region of Washington.
2. Carl Heine's boat's name was Susan Marie named after his wife.
3. The name of the sheriff was Art Moran and the deputy, Abel Martinson.
4. Carl's body was found in the netting of his fishing boat in the water and he had a blow to his head.
5. Kabuo's Miyamoto's attorney was Nels Gudmundsson and he was an older, inquistive, well schooled lawyer.
6. Etta Heine was an older woman, Carl's mother. She held grudges and disliked the Japanese and disliked even more that her husband made a deal with them with his land. She was a cold woman and not nice.
7. Zenhichi and Carl Sr. make a deal that the Heines would take his berries and sell them for whatever they are worth.
8. Carl was an unprejudiced man who differed from his wife in the way he thought about other people and how to treat them.
9. After Kabuo returned from the war to the island he discovered that the land his family had bought was sold.
10. Carl Heine Jr. had offered to buy Ole's land when he was selling instead of letting Kabuo buy it even though Kabuo believed it was rightfully his.
12. the Japanese were treated poorly by the Government and their belongiings were forgotten and the men were forced to fight.
13. Fujiko learns about the relationship by reading a letter from Ishmael. She talks to Hatsue about the letter, ordering her never to write or speak to Ishmael again. Hatsue agrees and writes a break-up letter to Ishmael.
14. Ishmael changed and was full of pity for himself because of the break up. He was bitter about it and hates that Hatsue did it.
15. Ishmael goes to the coast guard lighthouse to compare the present blizzard to past winter storms. He finds out that the storm and the waves from the "Corona" caused the death of Carl.
16. Kabuo, in the morning of September 16 and told Hatsue that he saw Carl stranded in his boat and loaned him a battery and after, Carl said to Kabuo that he would sell the land to him for $8,400.
17. Alvin Hooks discredits Hatsue's testimony by saying that Kabuo could have pretended to have an emergency, tied their boats together and he murdered Carl.
18. Kabuo lied to Nels by saying that he had not spoken to Carl on the night of his death even though he had because he didn't want to have anyone accuse him.
19. It takes Ishmael so long to tell of his findings because he was still upset about Hatue and didn't want to help he husband.
20. The death of Carl was actually caused by the wake of the passing freighter knocking Carl off the mast while he was cutting the lantern loose, which would explain the missing knife and lantern.
21. The significance of the novel's last sentence: "accident ruled every corner of the universe except the chambers of the human heart" was that Ishmael realized that even though the truth of Carl's death had been revealed, the truth of Hatue,Ishamel, and Kabuo's heart's will never be revealed.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Chapter 20-32
In this section of the story I discovered the real truth as to what happened in the story. I was shocked and suprised that Carl had fallen to his own death instead of Kabuo killing him. I understood why Ishmael was hesitant to tell Hatsue and Kabuo the real truth as he was still harbouring feelings from long ago.
I think that, on the topic of Ishmael and Hatsue, it must have been really hard to go through that. I can't imagine my mother forbidding me to see my boyfriend or even saying I can't talk to him. I would be angry, appalled and upset but I don't think I would have listened to her like Hatsue did. But, I also think in my head that she was from Japanese origin and they are more focused on family and obeying their parents. In our society the teens are more free spirited and rebellious.
Kabuo, also in this section of chapters, is more recognized individuallyand in a group. I can't imagine the amount of racism that they had in those days. Even today we still have slight racism and negitivity towards different people but increased by 50% or more would be insane. I can't think of people that way, in my opinion we are all the same on the inside and that's what really counts in life.
Ishmael makes a heroic recovery in the end of the book. He steps forward and reveals Kabuo as being innocent. Alexander Van Ness refuses to condemn Kabuo without proof which is also a turning point in the story because it doesn't result in Kabuo being guilty. The town realizes they were wrong because Kabuo is just another Japanese American who works on the sea.
I think that, on the topic of Ishmael and Hatsue, it must have been really hard to go through that. I can't imagine my mother forbidding me to see my boyfriend or even saying I can't talk to him. I would be angry, appalled and upset but I don't think I would have listened to her like Hatsue did. But, I also think in my head that she was from Japanese origin and they are more focused on family and obeying their parents. In our society the teens are more free spirited and rebellious.
Kabuo, also in this section of chapters, is more recognized individuallyand in a group. I can't imagine the amount of racism that they had in those days. Even today we still have slight racism and negitivity towards different people but increased by 50% or more would be insane. I can't think of people that way, in my opinion we are all the same on the inside and that's what really counts in life.
Ishmael makes a heroic recovery in the end of the book. He steps forward and reveals Kabuo as being innocent. Alexander Van Ness refuses to condemn Kabuo without proof which is also a turning point in the story because it doesn't result in Kabuo being guilty. The town realizes they were wrong because Kabuo is just another Japanese American who works on the sea.
Final Post
This story really made me think and ponder about what really goes on in people's hearts and heads. It was a emotion filled story that had love, envy, hatred, prejudice, sorrow and many other emotions. It was like a drama because of the lost love between Ishmael and Hatsue and Kabuo and Hatsue. I liked the story but I wished it had turned out differently with Ishmael and Hatsue. I think they were good together because they grew up and had a good amount of time together when they were young.
I was apalled at the amount of racism that occurred in this time period. I wonder if my viewpoints about prejudice would have been different if racism was still as strong today as it was then. I might have been one of those fisherman's wives who agreed with their racist husband that "Japs" were bad and different. Or, I might have been like Ishmael who, even though Hatsue was Japanese, still liked her. I don't know how I would have acted but for my sake, hopefully I would've been unracist.
The mood's in this story were very unsubtle. I found that when I was reading I felt some of the characters emotions and could feel the mood. When Horace was performing the autopsy I felt as though I was in the room with him, standing by his side, my stomach churning. I could feel Susan Marie's pain when she heard of her husbands death and acknowledge the awkwardness Art Moran had when he told her. When Carl's mother gave Kabuo mean glares I understood his discomfort.
This story was full of drama, mystery and forbidden love. I thought it was very well written and in the future when I go to the library I will definetaly see if there is any other books by this author. David Guterson made this story believable and realistic. My favorite part of this story is when Ishmael told the jury of the evidence to prove Kabuo was innocent. I think that gave an excellent example of heroicness.
I was apalled at the amount of racism that occurred in this time period. I wonder if my viewpoints about prejudice would have been different if racism was still as strong today as it was then. I might have been one of those fisherman's wives who agreed with their racist husband that "Japs" were bad and different. Or, I might have been like Ishmael who, even though Hatsue was Japanese, still liked her. I don't know how I would have acted but for my sake, hopefully I would've been unracist.
The mood's in this story were very unsubtle. I found that when I was reading I felt some of the characters emotions and could feel the mood. When Horace was performing the autopsy I felt as though I was in the room with him, standing by his side, my stomach churning. I could feel Susan Marie's pain when she heard of her husbands death and acknowledge the awkwardness Art Moran had when he told her. When Carl's mother gave Kabuo mean glares I understood his discomfort.
This story was full of drama, mystery and forbidden love. I thought it was very well written and in the future when I go to the library I will definetaly see if there is any other books by this author. David Guterson made this story believable and realistic. My favorite part of this story is when Ishmael told the jury of the evidence to prove Kabuo was innocent. I think that gave an excellent example of heroicness.
January 6, Discussion
Today in class we discussed racism and read a short article about Rosa Parks. I find her to be very inspirational and a good motivation in my own life when people push me to give up. She stood up to someone who was thought to be superior to her, and that take a lot of guts and courage. She changed the way black people were treated and for that I am sure many people are thankful. Rosa Parks is and was and will forever be an ambition to black people everywhere.
The discussion about Rosa Parks really made me think. I blocked out the sound of my classmates, of Kaitlin laughing, of Brett making smartass remarks and imagined how tough that would be to be black in that point of time. I would have to forget my freedom of speech, forget having a nice place to sit on the bus, and forget my rights as a citizen. I probably wouldn't have such a variety of friends that I do and they would most likely call me meaner names than "Barsby".
I am pretty optimistic and I believe everything works out for good but constant racism and bullying would change my thoughts and opinions for the worse and my optimism would turn to constant grief. Many people know about the Black racism and segregation but they don't realize how big of an impact it really had on our planet and how it will always be a dark spot on our timeline.
The discussion about Rosa Parks really made me think. I blocked out the sound of my classmates, of Kaitlin laughing, of Brett making smartass remarks and imagined how tough that would be to be black in that point of time. I would have to forget my freedom of speech, forget having a nice place to sit on the bus, and forget my rights as a citizen. I probably wouldn't have such a variety of friends that I do and they would most likely call me meaner names than "Barsby".
I am pretty optimistic and I believe everything works out for good but constant racism and bullying would change my thoughts and opinions for the worse and my optimism would turn to constant grief. Many people know about the Black racism and segregation but they don't realize how big of an impact it really had on our planet and how it will always be a dark spot on our timeline.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
B) Create your own Short Story about war, racism, unrequited love or lost love. 500-750 words
Marjorie Rose
Marjorie Rose stared at her body in the dusty, full length mirror in the corner of her small room. Her skin, the color of chocolate and brownies, seemed as dull and ugly to her as the blackboard in her schoolroom or the tar spread on the road to shut the cracks and holes. Sadly, that was all she felt she was worth, a covering of the cracks and holes in the world, an example that her town wasn't all white; it had her family.
The kids in her class were all that white color that Marjorie Rose craved. She longed to have that creamy white skin that was never made fun of like hers was. As she thought about the names she was called and the hatred directed towards her and her family, she grabbed the rusty razorblade hidden behind the mirror. She cut herself again and again over the maze of healed and half-healed scars on her inner thighs and arms. Marjorie welcomed the pain, a release for her and her pent up emotions. As she cut herself, she cried and begged God to let her die, she couldn't take the hatred anymore.
The next morning Marjorie Rose awoke like she did every day; her legs and arms hurting from the night before. Longing to beg her mother to keep her from school, she got on the hard, yellow school bus. As she sat in her seat in the back of the bus she wondered why God would be so cruel as to place her in this world of hurt and pain; she would be a good angel, even a servant in heaven, she was sure of it. The other kids on the bus, oblivious to her daydreaming, started throwing big, juicy fruit towards her section of the bus. Only when she was soaked head to toe from the rain of fruit did they stop, only to laugh at her some more.
When she was in school, instead of being hit by fruit, her tight black curls and her dark neck were hit by paper airplanes and pieces of erasers. This day was different though, Marjorie was starting to give up, to let it happen. A couple months before she would have fought back and yelled at her childish enemies but, she had grown weak and let it happen. The time went by slow, as it always seemed to do, and in a period of a couple long hours it was time for recess. This was her favorite time of day because she could hide from her bullies. She usually went to the library, in the stacks of books where the encyclopedias and dictionaries were; no one looked for her there.
This section of books was her sanctuary and her safe haven from all the bullies, monsters and white people and it wasn’t long before she fell asleep; her dreams were always nightmares of her running, each time faster and faster. All of a sudden she awoke to the sound of her mother whispering in her ear, “Come now child, our time has come for us to escape from this hell-hole. Come now; wake up my dear, wake up.”
Marjorie awoke and looked in her mother’s black-brown eyes. All she could see was the tears rolling down her wrinkled face and she knew this was indeed the time. She got up and, with her mother, ran. They ran the seventeen blocks to their house, hand in hand, tears flying off from the wind blowing in their face. When they got to their house, Marjorie Rose noticed once again their van, ugly with spray-paint that had accumulated from the time they had lived in this neighborhood. How, she pondered could anyone, white, black or any other color of the rainbow, be so heartless? This was their chance, they were going to escape!
They barely saw the car as it came around the corner, four young, white men inside. In their hands they held guns and in those guns the bullets that would take life away. The drive-by seemed, for Marjorie Rose, to happen in slow motion. One by one the bullets were shot and one by one her family dropped. She was the last to be hit but the first to go, for the entirety of her died as she saw her mother, father and younger brother drop before her. Marjorie Rose didn’t die that day physically, but emotionally she was deader than a rock. She was brought to a hospital and when she recovered she went back to her home town in Juba, Sudan with the money that her parents had when they died.
The people in her town were shocked at the racism in her old neighborhood and vowed never to go there themselves. An elder in her town named Abdulla took her in and raised her. Seven years later it was Abdulla’s time to go. She called Marjorie Rose in before she left and said to her that it was okay to cry but to be happy, because she’s going to heaven and she’d see Marjorie’s parents. This comforted her a little but the greatest words Abdulla said, in her dying breaths were these; “Those that cover the cracks and holes in the world hold the greatest power, for without them the world would crumble apart.” From that day forth Marjorie held her head high with the pride that she had being the color of chocolate and brownies.
Marjorie Rose stared at her body in the dusty, full length mirror in the corner of her small room. Her skin, the color of chocolate and brownies, seemed as dull and ugly to her as the blackboard in her schoolroom or the tar spread on the road to shut the cracks and holes. Sadly, that was all she felt she was worth, a covering of the cracks and holes in the world, an example that her town wasn't all white; it had her family.
The kids in her class were all that white color that Marjorie Rose craved. She longed to have that creamy white skin that was never made fun of like hers was. As she thought about the names she was called and the hatred directed towards her and her family, she grabbed the rusty razorblade hidden behind the mirror. She cut herself again and again over the maze of healed and half-healed scars on her inner thighs and arms. Marjorie welcomed the pain, a release for her and her pent up emotions. As she cut herself, she cried and begged God to let her die, she couldn't take the hatred anymore.
The next morning Marjorie Rose awoke like she did every day; her legs and arms hurting from the night before. Longing to beg her mother to keep her from school, she got on the hard, yellow school bus. As she sat in her seat in the back of the bus she wondered why God would be so cruel as to place her in this world of hurt and pain; she would be a good angel, even a servant in heaven, she was sure of it. The other kids on the bus, oblivious to her daydreaming, started throwing big, juicy fruit towards her section of the bus. Only when she was soaked head to toe from the rain of fruit did they stop, only to laugh at her some more.
When she was in school, instead of being hit by fruit, her tight black curls and her dark neck were hit by paper airplanes and pieces of erasers. This day was different though, Marjorie was starting to give up, to let it happen. A couple months before she would have fought back and yelled at her childish enemies but, she had grown weak and let it happen. The time went by slow, as it always seemed to do, and in a period of a couple long hours it was time for recess. This was her favorite time of day because she could hide from her bullies. She usually went to the library, in the stacks of books where the encyclopedias and dictionaries were; no one looked for her there.
This section of books was her sanctuary and her safe haven from all the bullies, monsters and white people and it wasn’t long before she fell asleep; her dreams were always nightmares of her running, each time faster and faster. All of a sudden she awoke to the sound of her mother whispering in her ear, “Come now child, our time has come for us to escape from this hell-hole. Come now; wake up my dear, wake up.”
Marjorie awoke and looked in her mother’s black-brown eyes. All she could see was the tears rolling down her wrinkled face and she knew this was indeed the time. She got up and, with her mother, ran. They ran the seventeen blocks to their house, hand in hand, tears flying off from the wind blowing in their face. When they got to their house, Marjorie Rose noticed once again their van, ugly with spray-paint that had accumulated from the time they had lived in this neighborhood. How, she pondered could anyone, white, black or any other color of the rainbow, be so heartless? This was their chance, they were going to escape!
They barely saw the car as it came around the corner, four young, white men inside. In their hands they held guns and in those guns the bullets that would take life away. The drive-by seemed, for Marjorie Rose, to happen in slow motion. One by one the bullets were shot and one by one her family dropped. She was the last to be hit but the first to go, for the entirety of her died as she saw her mother, father and younger brother drop before her. Marjorie Rose didn’t die that day physically, but emotionally she was deader than a rock. She was brought to a hospital and when she recovered she went back to her home town in Juba, Sudan with the money that her parents had when they died.
The people in her town were shocked at the racism in her old neighborhood and vowed never to go there themselves. An elder in her town named Abdulla took her in and raised her. Seven years later it was Abdulla’s time to go. She called Marjorie Rose in before she left and said to her that it was okay to cry but to be happy, because she’s going to heaven and she’d see Marjorie’s parents. This comforted her a little but the greatest words Abdulla said, in her dying breaths were these; “Those that cover the cracks and holes in the world hold the greatest power, for without them the world would crumble apart.” From that day forth Marjorie held her head high with the pride that she had being the color of chocolate and brownies.
A) Analyze 2 Short Stories which deal with a theme of either war, racism, unrequited love or lost love. 500-750 words
Analogy
I read two stories called Identities by W.D. Valgardson and Totem by Thomas King. They were both about racism; Identities towards African American people and Totem about First Nations people. I found that Identity was about a white man in a black town trying to figure out his life. In Totem I discovered the way people view First Nations people and how they act in response to them. These stories most definitely relate to what goes on in our world today and in this analysis I will relate the two stories to reality and to eachother.
In Identities we see the way a wealthier white man views the town of a black man. He sees the run down buildings and in a way that is how not only black people but any people live when they don't have the means for a more tasteful home. This man though, sees only this town this way and doesn't, through his accostomed racist eyes see any good. The police in that town see it the same way because they are trained to see unshaven black men in jeans as crooks. In this story i was suprised to see that the white man had no fear of the police. Most people who I know would be a little scared if a police man came up behind them with a gun but this man was relieved because he knew that he was white and the police officer would see him as innocent. It is hard to believe that anyone could be so arrogant about their race as to see it as "superior".
In the short story called Totem the setting was in a museum. The people there viewed the totem pole in the exhibit wrong, ugly, and wierd. They said it didn't fit in and when they tried to remove it because they thought it was annoying, it came back. Nothing they did removed the Totem pole. They tried to find a temporary place for it but it came back to sit in the open in the exhibit. This Totem pole is a metaphor for First Nations people and the people in the museum are an example of the people in our world who are racist towards First Nations. The art in the exhibit represents our Canadian culture. I really understood where this story was going. Trying to find a temporary place for it is like giving First Nations reserves and making them settle for second best. The people in the museum learned to igore the totem pole but sometimes it wo9uld get on their nerves. An example of what this may represent is that in 1990 with the armed confrontation between Mohawk warriors and the police in the town of Oka, Quebec. This storty really made an impact on how I understand racism towards First Nations people.
These stories both were thinkers; they gave me something important, realistic and critical to ponder about. My aspiration for this world is that one day there will be no prejudice at all but sadly I can't see that happening. People are born sinful but one of their greatist sins, in my opinion, is selfishness. Selfishness is why we have racism; it comes from people wanting to be the best and to be the best other people have to be worse. Apparently, these people think that because colored and different looking people are those "worse" humans and to win the role of "superiority" they put them down. My aspiration that comes from this analogy is probably never going to happen but this is how I relate to the reality of this world. The reality sucks but maybe if more stories like Identities and Totem get published, the world will be a less selfish place.
I read two stories called Identities by W.D. Valgardson and Totem by Thomas King. They were both about racism; Identities towards African American people and Totem about First Nations people. I found that Identity was about a white man in a black town trying to figure out his life. In Totem I discovered the way people view First Nations people and how they act in response to them. These stories most definitely relate to what goes on in our world today and in this analysis I will relate the two stories to reality and to eachother.
In Identities we see the way a wealthier white man views the town of a black man. He sees the run down buildings and in a way that is how not only black people but any people live when they don't have the means for a more tasteful home. This man though, sees only this town this way and doesn't, through his accostomed racist eyes see any good. The police in that town see it the same way because they are trained to see unshaven black men in jeans as crooks. In this story i was suprised to see that the white man had no fear of the police. Most people who I know would be a little scared if a police man came up behind them with a gun but this man was relieved because he knew that he was white and the police officer would see him as innocent. It is hard to believe that anyone could be so arrogant about their race as to see it as "superior".
In the short story called Totem the setting was in a museum. The people there viewed the totem pole in the exhibit wrong, ugly, and wierd. They said it didn't fit in and when they tried to remove it because they thought it was annoying, it came back. Nothing they did removed the Totem pole. They tried to find a temporary place for it but it came back to sit in the open in the exhibit. This Totem pole is a metaphor for First Nations people and the people in the museum are an example of the people in our world who are racist towards First Nations. The art in the exhibit represents our Canadian culture. I really understood where this story was going. Trying to find a temporary place for it is like giving First Nations reserves and making them settle for second best. The people in the museum learned to igore the totem pole but sometimes it wo9uld get on their nerves. An example of what this may represent is that in 1990 with the armed confrontation between Mohawk warriors and the police in the town of Oka, Quebec. This storty really made an impact on how I understand racism towards First Nations people.
These stories both were thinkers; they gave me something important, realistic and critical to ponder about. My aspiration for this world is that one day there will be no prejudice at all but sadly I can't see that happening. People are born sinful but one of their greatist sins, in my opinion, is selfishness. Selfishness is why we have racism; it comes from people wanting to be the best and to be the best other people have to be worse. Apparently, these people think that because colored and different looking people are those "worse" humans and to win the role of "superiority" they put them down. My aspiration that comes from this analogy is probably never going to happen but this is how I relate to the reality of this world. The reality sucks but maybe if more stories like Identities and Totem get published, the world will be a less selfish place.
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