In chapter 3 of More Adventure of the Great Brain J.D., his brother, T.D. (the Great Brain) and S.D., and their father, Papa, decide to go on their annual camping trip. When they get to their spot where they always camped and fished, it is crowded because Papa told everyone it was the best place to fish. But then Papa makes a horrible decision to go to an unexplored part of the mountain. While they hike to the unknown part of the mountain, Papa decides to make a shortcut that can endanger all of them because anything could happen: a bear attack, they could get lost, or they could get injured. As they hike along, following the camp wagon and horses, no one notices (but J.D.) that Tom was carving his initials into the trees, so he can prove they were the first ones there. Like T.D states: “Someday they might build a road up this canyon, and I can prove we were the first ones who ever went up here.” This is a very smart idea by the Great Brain because that move could save their lives. To carry all their stuff they brought a few horses but while going uphill it became too steep and the horses are dragged down. While one of the horses, Bess, was okay, the other horse, Dick, broke his leg so they had to shoot him to end the pain. I think their father started getting really nervous and thought it was all his fault when they try making camp after the mess. I think instead of him helping build the camp and think about surviving he sits on a log and almost cries because he thought they were doomed. He believes even if he survived, his wife, J.D’s mom, will kill him for getting the kids lost: “Your mother will never forgive me for trying to take a shortcut and endangering all our lives”. He calms down after hearing that T.D. marked the trails so someone could find the path they took and then find him. “The look of despair on Papa’s face gave way to one of hope.”
After two days, Uncle Mark shows up, but Papa seems to be mad at him. “What in the name of Jupiter took you so long?” After a while though, they both calm down.
Papa’s decision endangered his children and took shortcuts that were also dangerous and led them to being lost, but T.D was smart because even though he marked the trees, (and though he doesn’t say it – was his only motivation for marking the trail to earn his fame for blazing it? Or did he do it out of a sensible maturity and care?) it saved them. If T.D. wasn’t with them they could’ve been lost and maybe have all perished. Because of the Brain, J.D. and his family were saved from being lost in unmarked territory.
John Hodgman’s essay on Massachusetts was quite the pleasure to read.
He writes about his home state, obviously showing a ton of passion and showing us a side of Massachusetts that not even myself knows too well. When people think of the state they either first go to all of the great colleges and schools in the Northeast, the state of sports, or about the history like the Boston Tea Party. Though in this essay, Hodgman hones in the western part of Massachusetts.
Like I said earlier, western Massachusetts is literally no man’s land – I couldn’t tell you more than three towns in the west. I just wracked my brains, and I came up lacking, so none, how’s that? I’ve always thought of it as a plot of land with trees all over and log cabins scattered all around. When Hodgman introduced the West he described “it was not near a town, and not near anything.” Adding to my point it shows just how empty and peaceful that part of the state can be. He also makes it sound a little lonely describing the long drives, silence, and the strange culture out there. It might just be me though, but when I drive out and about… I like to drive by myself in the quiet (not really quiet, music in the background of course), it’s just some time where I can think about the day or life in general with no one to hound me. But I’ve never seen “…cornfields and dairy farms and incongruous fields of shade tobacco for cigar wrappers”. Hodgeman calls it “Masstucky.” I believe that it could refer to the idea that some of Massachusetts isn’t really Massachusetts. It sort of reminds you of Kentucky where it’s less crowded and sort of the Wild West, nonetheless, the complete opposite of Eastern Mass. In contrast, the other side of Massachusetts is an absolute homewreck. If you have ever driven in Boston, you’d know how reckless people are in the car and on the roads. Every two seconds you see people jay walk across the road when the light turns green. Then all of a sudden you hear horns from every direction – your ears will be engulfed in car horns.
If you’re not from Massachusetts I bet you’ve made at least one or two stereotypical jokes about Boston – how they’re either the smartest state with all the elite education we have over here or about how dumb we are, like how we traverse the roads and what horrible drivers we are, or even our accents. Well I can assure you that, that’s all semi true. If you’re ever traversing Boston, you’ll come across a man in some Boston sports attire in his car screaming at the top of his lungs to get off the road in his Bostonian accent. Though, on the other side of the spectrum there are the high tier educated folks that go to Harvard or MIT, I can assure you that I haven’t come across a single student who has been to either school. There’s a small population of people that go to those schools and that small population doesn’t define our state (I mean if you insist, I’ll happily take the compliment of our state being called the smartest one out of fifty).
After reading The Rescuers by Margery Sharp, I watched the movie on Disney+, and it was enjoyable. But there are many differences, especially the plot and how Miss Bianca in the film is not how I thought she was portrayed in the book. She is elegant yet proud, perhaps a little spoiled especially at first, but she also has a true and kind heart. Miss Bianca in the film is much sweeter and cheerful. She still has the heart to help others, but the film shows her more as a sidekick to Bernard, the janitor mouse, more than as an elegant ambassador mouse who comes from such a lovely place, as she was shown in the book.
I liked both Biancas in the book and movie, but I missed some of the elegance about Miss Bianca in the book. The biggest difference was the plot. The plot in the book involved the rescue of a Norwegian poet from a prison and had more to do with the peril of sneaking into a place with humans and their guard dog. In the book, Miss Bianca and Bernard are on a mission to rescue a Norwegian poet from a prison. It’s a quiet and careful mission with sneaking, and thinking, and lots of danger. In the movie, they are trying to rescue a little girl named Penny from a villainess named Madame Medusa, who is forcing her to find a diamond in a dangerous cave. That made the movie feel more exciting and put more action in the movie.
Miss Bianca in the movie is sweet and brave, but she’s not as fancy as in the book. In the book, I pictured her as very proper and royal. In the movie, she’s kinder and more cheerful, and works well with Bernard. Bernard is also more nervous in the movie, which made him funny. I liked how their friendship grew stronger. I felt bad for Penny in the movie. One of my favorite parts was when Bernard and Bianca flew on the back of Orville the albatross: it was funny. Even though the plot changed a lot, the movie still was similar to the book The Rescuers. I enjoyed both the book and the movie, and I think that in the movie they added more characters for it to be more enjoyable.
The ending of Book Four (The Two Towers) is abrupt and somewhat of a cliff-hanger. I think it’s kind of sad that Gollum didn’t have a better character development. I expected him to change into a better person because of Frodo’s kindness, but after all, he’s been wretched and wicked for quite a long time for a hobbit’s lifespan. When he agreed to help Frodo out and to never harm him, you would think he actually did it out of kindness when it was a trap all along. I feel like his evilness is partly because of his nature and partly because of having possession of the Ring for so long; he is not strong enough to resist and stay pure like Frodo – which is kind of pitiful.
Meanwhile, Sam’s character development is much better, as in the most life threatening moments he is willing to sacrifice his own life for Frodo. And almost all throughout the book he is always following Frodo’s choices, occasionally pitching in his own opinion, but never really making real decisions, as he isn’t really good at them. But in the last chapter, when he sees Frodo lying unconscious, he grits his teeth and takes on the burden of the Ring, which isn’t an easy task or an easy decision to make. “‘But what can I do? Not leave Mr. Frodo dead, unburied on the top of the mountains, and go home? Or go on? Go on?’ he repeated, and for a moment doubt and fear shook him. ‘Go on? Is that what I’ve got to do? And leave him?’” (Tolkien, page 714). This is a huge moment for Sam, as he has to step up and use the power he now has in his hands. It’s nice to see Sam showing courage to go on without his master, since he truly believed Frodo was dead and that he had to face the terrifying journey ahead alone. Speaking of which, when Tolkien wrote that Frodo was dead, I almost didn’t believe it, because he’s the main character, and there’s still The Return of the King before the series ends, so I thought there even if Frodo was dead for now, there’s going to be a way he would come back alive later. Nevertheless, I was still relieved when I found out that Frodo wasn’t actually dead, it was just the effect of Shelob’s poison. Yet I think this once again shows how skilled Tolkien is in plotting his tales, because this was a perfect chance to let Sam grow.
Melody has just begun Intro to Rhetoric and is succeeding with her quick analyses of various state essays. Having read the preface by Matt Weiland, she understands the purpose of the book, and we can see here that she is responding to the standard set out by Weiland with brief reviews.
Bechdel arranges her essay in a way that very much aligns with my expectations for State by State—mixing cultural and historical anecdotes about the state with the authors’ experience in a personal narrative. She opens with a bold anecdote about impulsively moving to Vermont to be with her girlfriend after only three months, only to later come to the realization that she had fallen in love with “the state, and not the person.” This initial rash decision contrasts with her slower, more introspective analysis of what exactly it is that she loves about Vermont. She speculates on several possibilities: the fact that “there’s always somewhere to go,” the insignificance she feels when standing on a summit, or even a genetic connection, as she recalls her grandfather herding goats in the Austrian Alps.
Bechdel’s essay matches the goal that Weiland and Wilsey set for State by State: using personal moments to immerse the reader while tying them to broader cultural and historical contexts. Her seemingly unrelated reflections—such as her grandfather taking her to see The Sound of Music, which then leads her to describe Vermont as “absen[t] of Nazis, presen[t] of hills”—are all linked by a common idea: Vermont’s identity as a place of contradiction and independence. She critiques the state’s political landscape in a satirical tone, acknowledging the presence of right-wing Vermonters who discriminate against people like her, while also pointing out the left-wing “freak show” she belongs to, a category that includes “homosexuals, land conservationists, egalitarian school funding, [our] socialist congressman, and Ben & Jerry’s.” This humorous yet biting critique reinforces Vermont’s oxymoronic nature—both fiercely conservative and radically progressive.
Bechdel also dives into Vermont’s historical significance, emphasizing its role as the first state to abolish slavery and the impact of Ethan Allen, “Vermont’s founding hero,” who is claimed by both liberals and conservatives. On page 465, she satirically critiques Vermont’s obsession with independence through snarky references to the “independent bookstore,” the “independent hardware store,” and the “independent stationery store,” emphasizing the state’s deeply ingrained self-perception as a sovereign nation—something rooted in its history as an independent republic for fourteen years. She extends this commentary on page 466 with an observation about the “non-chain theatre” audience, describing them as “graying, erudite back-to-the-landers,” further illustrating Vermont’s distinct cultural character.
In terms of impact, Bechdel’s essay exceeded my expectations. The preface and introduction to State by State suggested that each essay would serve as a personally yet insightful view of a state, and Bechdel achieves this with humor, irony, and clear analysis. While I anticipated a blend of memoir and state commentary, I didn’t expect her approach to be so fluid and conversational—almost like following the natural progression of her thoughts rather than reading a structured essay. Comparing Vermont to Oregon, I felt that Oregon was way different from my expectations, a lot of jumping back and forth in time and pessimistic attitude which covered up more about the historical impacts of the state (I thought he might talk about the Oregon Trail, but I guess not).
Alaska
Greenberg arranges his essay, Alaska, by capturing the state through a personal, yet fragmented reflection on their identity and isolation. Rather than offering a usual travelogue or historical overview, like Vermont, he arranges Alaska in short vignettes and anecdotes, mirroring the unpredictability of the Alaskan landscape, and maybe his own fragmented connection to it as well.
On page 21, Greenberg really delivers a sense of tension between wilderness and the self. “We stayed in a friend’s cabin, no plumbing, wood stove, outhouse…” where he compares the domestic routines with the rawness of nature, while quietly hinting at a deeper internal desolation. Each memory feels like a quiet confession, bringing the reader’s attention to how Alaska’s not just “USA’s own third world country” but really a space where people are stripped to their barest selves. Greenberg’s essay succeeds in the goal that Weiland and Wilsey set for State by State: using the tiny anecdotes to break down stereotypes and deliver a more intimate portrayal of Alaska. Rather than reinforcing the “final frontier” image of Alaska, Greenberg complicates it. He acknowledges the grandeur of the state but centers the essay on human vulnerability instead. What I was not expecting was his subtle, sparse storytelling, rather than something more scenic or bold in tone. Obviously, in a state like Alaska, it looks a lot different than the heart of New York City, so effective imagery is extremely helpful in terms of context for its landscape and culture. His sparse and disjointed storytelling makes the reader a little lost, often wondering where and when he has moved onto, and how it’s connected to the story he’s sharing.
