Monthly- Archives: September 2015



VINCENT CHANG

 

Jonathan Franzen’s “New York”

 

The United States of America, by its very name, can suggest uniformity. But what unites the States? Although the states do have similarities, with “the same buildings… stores… and songs [played]”, they are not, of course, unvarying in cultural, political, and social outlooks. But according to Matt Weiland, “despite all the books and blog posts, the documentaries and songs, America and the lives lived here remain strangely and surprisingly underdescribed”. Each state has “its dynamism, its variety, [and] its intensity” that is rarely captured on a page; each state is unique culturally, politically, and socially.

As a countermeasure to the Great Depression, Franklin Delano Roosevelt created jobs with the New Deal: the Works Project Administration, one branch of which was the Federal Writer’s Project. In order to capture the distinctiveness of each state, and to put their best talent to work, the Federal Writer’s Project commissioned the American Guide Series, which employed over 6,000 writers, researchers, and archivists during the 1930s, “creating a vivid, detailed and lasting portrait of America”. The Guide Series covered not only the cultural, geographical, social, and economic aspects of the state, but also the idiosyncrasies of each state, culminating in, as Lewis Mumford claims, “the finest contribution to American patriotism”.

State by State: a Panoramic Portrait of America is Matt Weiland and Sean Wilsey’s attempt to create a single book with the same ideals as the original American Guide Series. The book is a collection of fifty essays, each written (or drawn) by an author or artist, handpicked by Weiland and Wilsey, on a given state. The idea came to Weiland when he returned to the States after four years living abroad. He “hit[…] the Americana hard”, reading Moby Dick, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Will Eisner cartoons, etc., as he traveled across the States, fascinated by the variety he found here. Weiland had a hunch that even though “America is growing more homogeneous with each passing year”, that still, the fifty states “stubbornly resist blending into a single undifferentiated whole”. For this project, Weiland and Wilsey understood that State by State would “not be the ‘great storehouse of facts’ that Kazin declared the WPA Guides to be”; they also found the guidebooks from the Series to be “too anonymous, too stiff, and too formulaic for what [they] had in mind”. But they nevertheless wanted an assemblage of stories, albeit “more personal, more eccentric, and more partial” than the original guidebooks, that could be “a road trip in book form”, each essay of which would be “the kind of story… that begins like this: ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but where I come from… ‘”.

South Carolina is split considerably between Charleston and “Upstate”, as described in detail by Jack Hitt. Hitt describes his home state in the words of James Louis Petigru: “South Carolina was too small to be a sovereign nation, and too large to be an insane asylum”, and with a play on Gertrude Stein’s famous insult, “there’s a lot of ‘there’ there”… in the Palmetto State. Hitt captures the dominant defining factor of this coastal southern state, which is the tension between the “aristocrats and the hicks… the bourbons and the rednecks”, in an unceasing list of contrasts. Hitt succeeds in capturing South Carolina’s role in preserving memory of the antebellum South, of Charleston’s being the the southern peak of old gentry (with Virginia forming the northern), along  with a final anecdote about the gentrification of Charleston.

St. Louis, Missouri, today home of the largest Bosnian population outside of Europe, is now becoming reminiscent of its original 43% foreign population in 1851, when it was the fourth largest city in the United States. Jacki Lyden reports on two prominent figures in Missouri: Sukrija “Suki” Dzidzoic and Mark Twain. Suki is the “unofficial spokesman” for the Bosnian population, a former captain of the Yugoslav Peoples Army, and the founder and publisher of the only Bosnian newspaper printed outside of Bosnia, the Sabah. Another newspaperman, Samuel Clemens, grew up in Hannibal, Missouri. Better known as Mark Twain, he began his writing career with his brother who had started the Hannibal Journal, writing a column called “The Rambler”. Lyden, a reporter herself for NPR, distills Missouri’s original, self-making ethos by profiling these two Americans, though they live and wrote a century apart.

Alison Bechdel, cartoonist, whose play, Fun Home, is currently playing on Broadway, portrays Vermont as a state of unconventional individuals and ideals in her graphic essay, describing Vermont’s nature to be the forefront of change – Vermont was the first state to abolish slavery. Bechdel fell in love “not with [her girlfriend], but with this place” where she could run errands at a “non-chain store… [and then] go to a non-chain theatre for a three-hour foreign film”. Bechdel captures the sheer individuality of Vermont, its nonconformity, along with maps, bits of trivia, and memories of her life there.

Constantine Samuel Rafinesque and John James Audubon, two prominent scientists in the 19th century, traveled and resided in Kentucky. Rafinesque was an autodidactic polymath – interested in, and contributing greatly to, botany, zoology, and North American prehistory – who traveled and taught in Kentucky. Audubon was a prominent ornithologist who created The Birds of America, one of the finest ornithological works ever created. John Jeremiah Sullivan chooses to evoke the wildness of the early frontier as experienced by these 18th and 19th century naturalists, by writing a beautifully rich and detailed description of their friendship.

Of the 50 States, New York has had one of the greatest impacts in the origin and the success of our nation. New York produced the very man who established the WPA, played a significant role as a battleground for much of the Revolutionary War and the French and Indian War, has produced four presidents, and retains distinguishing characteristics. Hyde Park, the childhood home of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, is situated on the Hudson River, one of the nation’s most important waterways. New York was the battleground for many decisive battles during the Revolutionary War, indispensible in forming our nation of distinctive states, which the Writer’s Project sought to capture.  The first of the decisive battles fought in New York was the Battle of Harlem Heights, on September 16, 1776, the first victory of General George Washington. Washington successfully held Manhattan against the British, raising morale among troops, after a succession of defeats at the Battle of Long Island and the Battle of Brooklyn Heights. A year later, on October 7, the Battle of Bemis Heights was fought, the second of two battles in Saratoga County – and it was a decisive victory leading to a British surrender ten days later. The surrender commenced negotiations between Americans and French, concluding in the Franco-American alliance, which diverted British resources towards other French colonies. Major battles were fought and won in New York, some leading to substantial outcomes such as the Franco-American alliance.

As New York recovered from the war, it became one of the most important ports in the newly formed nation. Trade with Europe was restricted to the coastal areas because transportation routes towards the west were unsafe, inefficient, or a combination of both. But in 1817, New York State Legislature approved the 363 mile-long Erie Canal, which, according to NY State’s official website, is the “engineering marvel of the 19th Century”. The canal initiated the major westward expansion beyond the Adirondacks, connecting New York Harbor to the Great Lakes. This boosted New York far above other port cities, allowing it to ship, in total tonnage, more than Boston, Baltimore and New Orleans combined. The canal received successive additions and expansions throughout the 19th and early 20th century, until the competition of trains, highways, and the St. Lawrence Seaway dramatically reduced traffic on the canal.

Modern day New York retains a highly distinctive culture, though parts of the state have blurred borders, overrun with  “bland interstate highways and big-box superstores”. Known as the “melting pot”, New York City is the home to the widest mix of ethnic races in the country, joining less than ten other cities worldwide in its diversity, where roughly 800 languages are spoken. It is the largest city in the United States. New York’s distinctiveness is rather well known – a New Yorker is sometimes thought of as having a fast-paced lifestyle and an assertive, bullying manner. This well-known stereotype presents a complication for Jonathan Franzen, as a character in his own play – he captures New York in an original, captivating manner that showcases the unique traits of the Empire State.

Franzen (born on August 17, 1959, in Western Springs, Illinois) grew up in Webster Groves, Missouri, (hometown also to Vincent Price) graduated from Swarthmore College with a degree in German in 1981, and studied at Freie Universitat Berlin on a Fulbright Scholarship. Franzen moved to Boston after graduating, hoping to pursue a career as a novelist. Unsuccessful, he moved to New York in 1987 and has lived there since. Franzen writes both as an insider and an outsider on New York; in Missouri, his parents “went through life apologizing and feeling the opposite of entitled”, and yet he has lived in New York City since age 29, when he was first successful with his book The Twenty-Seventh City, examining St. Louis’s fall from its “fourth city” status. For State by State, he writes a play featuring New York State officials. The only play in the collection, his New York contrasts and reflects well with the personal narrative, the biographical, the reportorial angles and the graphic depictions that the other authors employ. Franzen decides to personify New York State, featuring a series of important elected and appointed officials. Franzen’s play incorporates his experience both as a stranger and resident.

Franzen casts himself as interviewer, visiting officials in Manhattan. The play begins with the New York State Publicist apologizing for shortening the interview, halving the initially designated hour to thirty minutes without Franzen’s input or approval. The Publicist goes on to interrogate Franzen about the “travel guide” he is writing, and subsequently attempts to persuade him to ask Weiland and Wilsey to shorten State by State to a “Top Five States of the Union” or a “Top Ten Most Important States, and then… in the appendix… some other states”. Franzen is then ushered to the office of the New York State’s Personal Attorney to have his questions vetted, where he is warned to avoid “the wild and crazy years… roughly from ’65 to ‘85”. The Attorney speaks in tangents about his own experiences, occasionally interrupting Franzen and generally treating him with a demeaning attitude. Upon mentioning the “wild and crazy years”, the Attorney labels the people who pursue that era as “deadbeats and failed artists… [who think] they know the ‘real’ New York State.” When Franzen notes, “I guess this puts me in the company of the deadbeats and failed artists”, the Attorney does not deny the assertion, only replying, “… Hey, you were young”. The Attorney enjoys making light of others, implying, and then stating outright, that Franzen is not hip because he does not live in Brooklyn. “All the great writers [live] in Brooklyn.” Fully aware of the State Historian’s methods, the Attorney passes Franzen along to an old, rambling man well versed in New York’s antiquity. The Historian overwhelms Franzen with an unending torrent of history, interrupts all of Franzen’s questions, and awes the reader with the extensive history of New York. The Historian’s forceful style of presentation is efficacious in transmitting information, but does not engage Franzen.

Saved by the State Geologist, Franzen escapes from the Historian and receives a chance to express his own experience in encountering the Empire State. Franzen takes this opportunity to recount his first impression of New York City as a teenager, emphasizing his awe for the “entitlement” that he witnessed; he first experienced New York City with his cousin Martha and the three girls she babysat. Although Martha lived in Westport, Connecticut, to Franzen, she was his “exciting New York cousin”.   The trip involved driving to New York City, dropping the three girls off at their grandmother’s, wandering around the city, changing a flat tire, and … falling in love with New York. Of the three girls Martha babysat, the middle of the three created a lasting impression on Franzen by going to the city barefoot – he had “never seen entitlement like this, never even imagined it”. His day in New York, witnessing what was “beyond [his] ken and totally intoxicating”, along with spending the day with Martha “wandering the streets… [having] dinner like two adults, and [going] to a free concert in the park”, allowed him to see a self that he “recognized only because [he’d] longed it for so long… I met, in myself, on my first day in New York City, the person I wanted to become”. Franzen describes the connection between New York and the Midwest as yin and yang, which he employs to explain the self he had longed for:

“New York’s like the beady eye of yang at the center of the Midwest’s unentitled, self-effacing plains of yin. And the Midwest is like the dewy, romantic, hopeful eye of yin at the center of New York’s brutal, grasping yang. A certain kind of Midwesterner comes east to be completed. Just as a certain kind of New York native goes to the Midwest to be renewed”.

On the drive back to Westport, Franzen had a “clinching vision” as he crossed the Whitestone Bridge – he fell in love with New York at the sight of Co-Op City. The “huge towers of habitation” were “otherworldly… unknowably and excitingly vast”. But his rich memories are cut short when the Publicist adjourns the discussion between Franzen and the Geologist, making a shouting entrance.

On her tardiness, the Publicist tells him: “I’m sorry, but hiding back here with Hal [the Geologist], you do bear a certain amount of responsibility”, and to further shift the blame, she tells the Geologist that he “[needs] to install escape-path lighting or something” for her own incompetence. She drags Franzen away from the Geologist, bringing him to his interview with New York State Herself, while she informs Franzen that he should be “content… with fifteen minutes”, once again shortening Franzen’s interview, against his will. Franzen’s meeting with New York State is repetitious of his meetings with the other state officials: Franzen speaks in short succinct sentences, generally to answer a question, and is heavily dismissed. New York State’s demeaning attitude – her successive rejections of Franzen’s reminiscences, by changing the topic back to her recent achievements – is the final example of Franzen’s Midwestern inferiority complex. Although Franzen’s complete interview is not transcribed in the play, he is able to convey the necessary elements to exhibit the aspects of New York that he considers vital to its identity.

Weiland and Wilsey wanted the essayists to capture a given state so as to exhibit its unique traits. Franzen successfully begins achieving his goal when he immediately focuses on one of the most notable aspects of New York – the rush, the sensation of limited time – at the beginning of the play. The Publicist acts as Franzen’s emissary for the message on time, she shortens Franzen’s interview multiple times and is constantly in a rush, epitomizing the assertiveness, and possessing the character traits that are necessary for ascension in the perceived social hierarchy. She attempts to conceal her behavior with superficial apologies and by shifting responsibility to others. The Attorney’s arrogance is apparent in his insincerity; he disparages Franzen indirectly and does not express regret for his strong words. The State Historian is overwhelming and self-assured; he does not pause and refuses to be interrupted. New York State herself is demeaning. Contrary to the rest, the Geologist remains amicable towards Franzen; he rescues him from the Historian and is attentive. Is it redemption for the state that the Geologist reminds the reader of an older, or more permanent New York?

In the illustrated Oregon, Joe Sacco captures his own emotional yin and yang, from living in the Beaver State. Like the Publicist, he is often rushed – but it is to find “a break in the clouds that might last 20 minutes” just to walk the “awful, embarrassing creature” that is his girlfriend’s corgi. His walks with his girlfriend in the rain are also calculated for proximity to the nearest drink. Sacco’s character traits differ from a New Yorker’s, especially in their feeling of assertiveness and purpose. Many of his actions are dictated by the wishes of his girlfriend: he goes on walks in the rain, joins her in wine tasting (he likes beer). To further amplify his reserved character, Sacco states that he feels “superfluous, like [he is] only taking up sacred space” as he appreciates a friend’s paintings of Oregon’s landscape. The oppositions between the attitudes and composure of Sacco and of the New York State officials is yet another highlight to State by State: A Panoramic Portrait of America, whose subtitle reads: Take Pride in Your Country!

 

 

 



NATASHA NG

The Frog and the Man

I pulled the control stick up, but it still wouldn’t budge. The sky was getting dark, and I had no idea where I was. “Mayday! Mayday! Little man is crashing. I repeat! Little man can’t get out of cabin and is crashing!” I shouted at the transmitter, hoping someone would hear me. The reply was unclear, and then, the smoke came closer to me. I inhaled my last breath, felt my last heartbeat knocking in my chest, and I started to feel very dizzy. Then, I felt my eyes close, and I fainted.

 

I woke up in the middle of the desert, with my head bandaged, and my fighter pilot’s leather jacket still on. The sun was right above my head, and I saw my canteen laying beside me. The cap was open, and some water dripped out. But as soon as it did, it evaporated in the hot air, as if you were pouring oil onto a frying pan. I stood up, and grabbed my canteen. I thirstily tried to drink the leftovers, but there was no more. I knew I wouldn’t survive out here, so I went back to my plane, resigned to die… but then, I saw a frog sitting on my seat, croaking.

Its head slowly turned towards my direction, still croaking, and stared at me directly in the eye. It seemed to have hypnotized me.

“Come closer…” he said. Staggered and staggering, I moved back instead of moving forward.

“Y-y-you ca-a-aaan taa-aallk?” I asked, stumbling over my words. Suddenly, he leapt off the seat and started towards me.

“Yes I can,” he replied, his triangular mouth shaping human words.

***

He provided food and shelter for me. The days were not as hot as the first day, but the nights were as cold as being in a freezer. At that time, mysteriously, he found warm blankets for the night, and light clothing to change into at daybreak. I had many conversations with him through the nights that we spent together, as I was unable to sleep, and it seemed to me, that he never slept.

I remember one of them went like this:

“Where am I?” I asked him.

“You’re in a desert.” He had an old and croaky voice, which sounded like he hadn’t been drinking water for days, er … decades. But I was really curious to know what made his voice so enchanting.

“Which desert? And how can I get back home?”

“You don’t…”

“Then…”

“Yes,” he sighed.

Then, he told me a story about his life: “I have been living here since from the early Middle Ages. And now I am very old. I can talk, because I used to be a human. But King Arthur banished me from his castle in Wales, and now I am in the desert. I lived for many centuries, and I finally found hope.”

By hope, I thought he meant the plane. But he later explained that he meant me. I didn’t know what to do, or how to act, so I just repaired to my plane and stayed by his side.

“You have to do something for me and for yourself,” he said one day. “Go to the end of the desert and find the well. Inside the well there is a magical stone. Climb into the bucket and go down. Then, after you go down, you will see a golden and shining object. Retrieve the stone and come back up. Come back and you will see me… as an old man.”

“That sounds easy,” I muttered.

“Yes indeed, but it’s not. Now, come back before Friday night. Now it’s Monday night. Don’t forget.”

***

I started on Tuesday morning, with a bottle of water, and nothing else and walked for over four hours. Not even a compass, as my airplane’s had burned up and the frog didn’t have one. So, just a bottle of water. I followed his instructions and tried to find the “end”. But where was it? I searched for an appropriate place to sit down and rest after the five-hour walk. But suddenly, I stood up and saw a huge amount of sand rushing towards me. I blinked again, and there was nothing different, only the wind getting stronger, choking me with sand. Sandstorm! I lay down as quickly as I could…

The sand was choking me so hard, I couldn’t even breathe. So, this journey is indeed harder than had I thought it would be. Sandstorms, probably a snake later, and perhaps I would not even be able to retrieve the stone!

After the long suffocating sandstorm, my vision finally started to clear, and I was up and walking again. I walked for about two more hours, if you could say that, and then took another brief rest. This time, the sand was soft and smooth, unlike the choking sandstorm.

After a while, the sun went down. Tuesday night, I thought to myself. I found some rocks and wood, and built a simple yet delightful shelter. There, I didn’t sleep soundly. Tossing and turning, I thought of what other dangers would occur the next day.

Then, I simply closed my eyes and counted numbers and sheep that flowed through my mind. The next thing I knew, I was asleep, snoring and dreaming of happy things.

The next morning I woke up by the growling of my stomach. I was as hungry as a bear, which would gobble up anything in its way, even trees, or branches, or leaves. (Or maybe even bugs. YUCK! Even though they have protein.)

I woke up and walked. Suddenly, I saw a well, made of yellow brick. It was about one meter high, and the hole, from this distance, seemed unpleasantly small. Maybe it was the “end” of the desert, where I would recover the stone. How hard could this mission actually be then?

I saw a figure near the well. The figure was tall and skinny, with gleaming white eyes. He wore a very long gown with a hood, and he seemed to be staring at me. His gown was black, and even though the hood didn’t cover his whole face, what I could see also seemed black too. I went near the creepy figure, and then I narrowed my eyes. He was holding something that was gleaming gold.  I snatched the golden and gleaming thing from the figure, but terrifying and eerie figure quickly vanished.

***

I was desperate for the stone.

I decided to go down the well, deeply sighing, and as I climbed into the bucket, I had a terrible thought: what if the figure cut the rope – then I would get trapped in the well, suffering all by myself.

I broke into a cold sweat, and little shivers rumbled down my spinal column. I lowered myself until I was touching the still water, and then I saw my reflection. I was full of dirt and my face was covered with sand. I made myself get out of the well, so I tugged the rope, and I went back to the surface. This is hopeless, I told myself.

I wanted to give up: I was through with this. I found myself turning around and trying to walk back to the frog. No, I mustn’t give up. I forced myself back into the well, and then lowered myself down, again. This time at the bottom, the water was not still. Instead, it had tiny wrinkles. After a devastating stay in the bucket with the water wrinkling by itself, I decided to get out and explore. I had a feeling that something in the water was calling me to go deeper. I closed my eyes and held my breath. Then, I leaped off the bucket. I felt something wrap around my leg, and it pulled me down. Strangely, I relaxed. This could be leading me towards my way back home, or to a death so horrible, no one would ever want to imagine it, I thought.

***

 

I coughed out the water that was stuck in my lungs. A few dragon-people were surrounding me, murmuring and then looking at each other. I sat up, and all the dragon-people backed away. One asked me this, which I didn’t understand:

“Kabooshka weore canka?”

I stared at him. Another one who looked smarter translated for me, but his accent was really strong.

“He said, ‘Where are you from’?” the smarter dragon-person stated. 

I replied with hesitation, “Umm… The United States of America…?” The dragon-people had heads of different colors, and they all wore traditional Chinese clothing. Many scales covered their faces and they all wore a crown. And then the first dragon-like thing asked me something.

“Kashoofs flakeos jakske?”

“Um… How did you know about dis prace?” the other dragon translated in a, what I call, very Chinese accent.

“I didn’t. I just jumped down the well,” I said nervously.

“Wrksdjfh fjsdkfj iaejhdkajdsfh adsjeudna ufhuwuan ifna ehaufna eifha fha ekelf,” he said again.

The translator then rolled his eyes impatiently and said, “He reads minds, and so he read that you, you ah… need a magical stone, right?”

I stared at him disbelievingly. “Y-y-ess. I need a stone!” I shouted. The first dragon, the Dragon King, pointed towards a door hidden behind a curtain and said, “Haija qurano fajf asj stoine.” After a while, a few dragon-people fetched a golden, gleaming object. Thinking about the deadline, I asked the dragon-people, “What day is it?”

They answered politely: “Thursday night.”

Oh gosh. I took three days to go from the other “end” to here. “Is this da object dat you were looking for?” the translator added, again with a Chinese accent.

“Uh… Yes I think.” I stared at all of them while mumbling.

They whispered to each other and then the translator said, “Your name is Jacky Anderson, right? We’ve waited a long time for you.”

“Yes! And how did you know?”

“Okay. No more questions. Get this stone and step onto da transporter,” he indicated.

I quickly got hold of the stone and then stepped into the green transporter. Then the same dragon told me, “Say fanks to da frog man.”

Before I could react, there was a sudden beam of light, and then all the dragon-people disappeared. Before I knew it, I was back to where I started, because I approached an airplane, and an old man with a very wrinkled and bearded face. I blinked and saw a man smiling at me, and then he said, “Thanks Jacky.”

“Umm… No problem.” I faked a smile. “Oh, and a dragon-headed person said thanks to you? Did you do anything for him?”

“Well, yes.” He said while narrowing his eyes and trying to recall. “I’ve done something very important for him – getting rid of this stone – just now.”

“What? Why?” I asked.

“The dragon-people didn’t like this stone,” he said. “They said that it haunted them for many decades, and wanted me to get it, for I was a wizard that could make things disappear.

“Disappear? To where?”

“To anywhere it wanted to go, but not back to the original place. Anyway… they told me that in my dreams, that I was a special one, and I had a feeling it was real, and it is real. But after King Arthur turned me into a frog, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get rid of it for them. And then, in my frog dream, they said that the stone could turn me back into a human. But I knew that I couldn’t do what I was told. Fortunately for me, I found you.”

“So can you send me home? I’m desperate to find my family.”

“Your wish shall be obeyed.”

He chanted in ancient tongue. I closed my eyes. Abruptly, I think I was transferred into the military base I was working in, because I heard many people crying, and many people laughing, as if the sounds were coming through a long metallic tube. This lasted for what seemed weeks. I learned slowly that I was awake, and then it seemed like it took another month to open my eyes.

One day, they finally opened. I saw that I was in a hospital. Then, I heard a voice beside my ear. Some whispering was going on. I opened my eyes slowly, only to see a plump and rosy nurse beside me.

 

“Welcome back,” the nurse said. “You fought in the World War I. Your plane crashed in a desert, but then a scout plane saw that you were alive, so they took you back here. You have been in a coma for two years already. And there was something about you and a frog.” She paused.

I smiled at her. Yes, the frog journey, I recalled. I will always remember that.



JASON XU

 

 

 

Gandalf’s Departure

 

 

 

“’O good-bye and go away!’ grunted the dwarves, all the more angry because they were filled with dismay at losing him. Now began the most dangerous part of their journey.” Page 138, The Hobbit

 

 

 

Just as Bilbo thought that their journey couldn’t possibly get any worse, he was proved wrong. He had avoided dangers such as being stranded on trees as the woods around them burned, then was saved, carried by an eagle, and flown across the sky, holding on for dear life, but what they were about to experience hit them the hardest. Right when they left Beorn’s home, Gandalf had to bid them farewell. Gandalf was the instrumental and guiding force in their journey. He recruited Bilbo and posed this adventure to him in the first place, he showed them the path to get to the treasure. What were Bilbo and company going to do without a leader, the one who they relied on to save them at every danger? What would’ve happened if Gandalf stayed until they reached the treasure?

 

This past summer, I went through one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life. It was the third day of my second week at camp. This week was completely different from the last, for only one reason: my brother was not there. Having an introverted personality, it was difficult for me to interact with strangers who lived in a completely different environment then me. In the first week I would just stand next to my brother for the hour-long break, not even considering interacting with other people. But as the 2nd week came around, I was alone. After 2 days of staring absentmindedly at the skies and ground, I decided to do something I would have never done if my brother were there. I decided to go play Ultimate Frisbee with seven complete strangers. 20 minutes in I dislocated my knee. Laying down in the middle of the field as the sun shone down on me only increased the pain. I was lying on my side, yet my kneecap was positioned straight, parallel to the ground. I kept my eyes forward, hoping that the ambulance would arrive quickly. The painful 30 minutes and 11 week recovery process has been nothing but informative. If my brother had stayed for the 2nd week, I would not have adventured off to play, I would not have learned valuable life lessons like patience, self discipline and how you can not improve without experiencing pain.  But I also may have been spared tremendous pain. How does continuing on without a leader increase your chances to develop?

 

When Bilbo suddenly realizes who Gandalf is, one of the things he says is, “Not the Gandalf who was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the Blue for mad adventures.” Gandalf has a reputation for sending people off on adventures. He doesn’t accompany them; he only sets them up. In the beginning, the dwarves were stubborn, not being able to trust Gandalf. After he left, they realized Bilbo’s importance, how his ingenuity saved them. In the beginning, Bilbo was someone who disliked change and always relied on other people to make decisions for him. 

 ABOVE DRAWING, J.R.R. TOLKIEN

To understand Gandalf’s reasoning for his departure, we have to understand more about the relationship between Bilbo and Gandalf. When Gandalf first showed up at Bilbo’s door with his offer to join a company of dwarves in a quest, he immediately refused. “I should [not] think so – in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can’t think what anybody sees in them.” Of course the Hobbit who enjoyed the same predictable routine every day of the year would decline, at first. But, after much convincing by Gandalf and company, as well as an early-in-the-day reversal of mood, Bilbo decided to go on the journey he would later regret many times.

The thirteen dwarves, hobbit and wizard (the Company), travel overland towards the Lonely Mountain, encountering trolls, and then goblins, who capture them and take them into the bowels of the Misty Mountains. Bilbo separates from the group under the mountain. When he is on his way to reuniting with the Company, he overhears Gandalf  saying, “I brought him, and I don’t bring things that are of no use. Either you help me to look for him, or I go and leave you here to get out of the mess as best you can yourselves. If we can only find him again, you will thank me before all is over.” Gandalf’s secret tone is very interesting, as he never explains why he brought Bilbo along. Bilbo was not just tagging along as a freeloader, but rather is an important asset whom the group will appreciate after Gandalf left. Somehow Gandalf sees that Bilbo will be indispensable to the Company. He isn’t in it for the fortune, but rather to help change the course for Middle Earth.

The first challenge the Company faces, without Gandalf, is the river crossing.  Beorn has warned them not to touch the water. Bilbo spots a boat. With many attempts to hook the boat, using their rope, they finally get on it. However, as they slowly haul it over, Bombur falls into the mysterious water. With the dwarves’ quick thinking, they are able to save him just in time, without the wizard’s help.

Letting go of Gandalf is the same as Bilbo and the dwarves stepping into a type of adulthood. No longer having Gandalf as a support system forces them to solve problems, improvise solutions. Gandalf was the teacher who gave them an opportunity to test themselves. If Gandalf gave them all the answers, then they would only be given the satisfaction of a meaningless pass to the next challenge. Instead, Gandalf gave directions,   and clues, allowing them to answer their own questions.

 

If Gandalf had stayed with them, Bilbo would have most likely not taken the Arkenstone, which would result in Thorin becoming devoured by greed. Bilbo would’ve continued to be the non-adventurous hobbit he was in the beginning, the dwarves would continue being selfish and be too blinded by treasure to not be able to see the bigger picture.

 

As I grow older, my mom has been giving me fewer answers. I frequently encounter technology problems. It is my instinct to immediately seek help from her. Now, 99% of the time I receive the reply: “Figure it out yourself!” When I go back and try to solve it myself, it takes hours. Using troubleshooting techniques, I only become frustrated every time I get the error message. But when I find it working, I experience a rush, a sense of accomplishment, thousands of times greater I would if I sought the answer from somebody else. I now realize that my mom isn’t just too lazy to help, but she is rather, facilitating my growth.

 

Now I have grown smarter; if I asked for help, my mom couldn’t help me even if she tried. I now have to watch videos to learn things, or sometimes just teach myself.

 

If Gandalf didn’t leave, I would’ve viewed the story differently. I would think that the only thing Bilbo and everybody else would gain from this adventure was money, but really they learn many things worth much more than money, and the book rises above many others in its character lessons.

 

In The Fellowship of the Ring, Bilbo is a an older hobbit. 59 years has passed since he came back from his first adventure. After he mysteriously disappears from his eleventy-first (111st) birthday, he sets off on another adventure back to the mountains. On this adventure, he is traveling all by his lonesome and plans on never returning. Having become more independent since Gandalf first arrived at his door, he is now a thoroughly changed hobbit.

 

This year, on my first day of high school, I suddenly realized something. When I was on the bus back home, I fell asleep like I did every day last year. But this time, instead of walking up moments before getting off the bus, I woke up to see an empty bus entering an unknown parking lot. Even though my brother was on the bus, he had not bothered to wake me up. At this moment, I felt invisible, almost as if where I was sitting was just an empty seat to everybody else. I learned that I couldn’t depend on others; I learned how to adventure on through life on my own. How did I get home? Ask Gandalf!