The End...

We finish blogging with a final post about The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. This will be the last blog in the last week of class of my last year of college. It's a week of a lot of "lasts", and yet as cliche as it sounds, I know this ending is really a beginning. I'm moving to Nashville to start a new life there, and I'm excited, though nervous at the same time. Aren't these the same emotions the characters in the books experienced as they "grew up"? It's the tension of closing a door on childhood and opening one into adulthood, all part of the process we've labeled "coming of age", and it's time to continue this process in my own life.

The Alchemist is a good novel to end on, and I say that not because I adore it like so many others seem to. Maybe that's part of the reason I don't like it: I want to go against the bandwagon; the novel receives such high acclaim that I become suspicious. What I do mean is that it is good to end on because it is so obviously a bildungsroman, with the idea of the personal legend so closely tied to coming of age. As we talked about in class, childhood is, in so many ways, about innocence and dreaming. At that point in life, we lack the ability to see the big picture and to know what we're called to do, so we latch on to what looks nice and fun. There must be a process of bridging the gap between this innocence in order to cross into informed, productive adulthood. The tension is in finding a balance: continuing to dream big, while applying the tools we've learned along the way in order to do so. Santiago's journey to find himself and his purpose mark in a simple but profound way the process that I've been caught up in and that we've been describing all semester.

Weird

I tried to think of a way to positively write about The Alchemist, but the truth is I don't really like this book. While it's interesting and has a good mix of adventure, romance, contemplation, etc., I can't get past the weirdness of the language. All the talk of the "Soul of the World" and the "Language of the World" is too new-agey for me, and it bugs me that Paulo Coehlo mixes biblical truths with that stuff and other religious jargon. He gives the side dishes of the gospel without the main course, Jesus, and that's just no good. I'm so sick of the postmodern "tolerance gospel" that seems to aim at keeping people comfortable rather than leading them to God and changing them into His image. Yeah, that's all I have to say. Maybe I'll have a change of heart after talking about it in class, but right now, I don't really like it.

Journey of growing up

The House on Mango Street is another easy one to point to as a bildungsroman novel. By giving us a snapshot of Esperanza's life in a pivotal year for her, we see the beginning of a process for her to change from a little girl to a young woman. She must confront certain realities in new ways: death, love and sexuality, friendship, family life, the workplace. She also gains a new perspective for her own life and her community, realizing the ways she is held down and stimulating a desire to leave the place she's in. I love her determination to break the cycle and go on, and the book illustrates how important it is that parents allow their children to "fly free," as we talked about last class. Through both good and bad experiences, we see the journey of growing up Esperanza is on, and though we're left to wonder what happens, the glimpses given are enough to highlight important aspects of that journey, for her and for all of us.

Kin to Esperanza

Harry Potter, Huck Finn, Lucy Honeychurch, Janie, Isaac, Paul Berlin, Pi. Of these characters, who relates most to Esperanza in The House on Mango Street? It's difficult to say, since there are similarities among many of them, but after thinking about it, I'm going to still say Janie from Their Eyes Were Watching God. As we discussed in class, there are ways that these two respond very differently to the oppression they experience as minority women, but I have a hard time putting Esperanza with someone who hasn't experienced that shame and the struggle to get free of it. It colors someone's life so drastically that it's hard to — and really, I wouldn't want to — separate it out in order to compare with someone like Lucy Honeychurch, from a wealthier family and society. Both Janie and Esperanza look to defy social standards in their own ways and to find true happiness, not just settle for what others expect of them. Janie does this by searching for true love in a husband, Esperanza by rejecting the abusive men in her culture and choosing independence. Because of these similarities in overcoming challenges of race and gender discrimination, I choose Janie as Esperanza's "closest kin."

Poor Minority Women

A major theme in The House on Mango Street is oppression, whether among the poor, the minorities or women. As in Their Eyes Were Watching God, the ones who fit all three categories have little hope. Rafaela isn't allowed to come out because her husband deems her too beautiful. Sally, also because of beauty, is beaten and held back from her dreams. These two women (and others in the story) represent two generations, showing the cycle of oppression in this culture. It's a heartbreaking reality. Esperanza dreams of leaving it all behind, but how realistic is that dream? She allows seems to have harden her heart toward all men because so much of the oppression for women comes from the men in their lives. But can she keep her distance — and her independence — forever?

Dr. Osler

By the way, the little "speech" you gave to class at the end of our last discussion was beautiful and inspiring. I really appreciated you taking us back to what you called a "superficial" look at the novel. Maybe it is superficial but I do not think it is unimportant in the least! It blessed me; I needed to be reminded to be more optimistic. So thanks. :)

Yes, but so much more, too

A bildungsroman, I've concluded, is rarely just a coming-of-age novel. Perhaps sometimes it is so focused on a character's development and maturity that this is the case, but I believe in all the books we've read so far, they've had so much more to them. Life of Pi especially is about faith, the need for love, survival, animal-human relationships, etc. I almost concluded that it wasn't a bildungsroman for this reason, but I decided that it still is because it focuses so exclusively on the one character, Pi, and of course a young boy who wages for his life at sea for 227 days is going to change drastically. However, this is only part of a wonderful story that has so much to offer in so many ways.

I want to be in on the Better Story

First of all, let me say that I love how Yann Martel writes: the flow of his language, the use of just enough imagery (but not too much so as to become flowery) , his down-to-earth voice that's still lofty enough to respect. I found a series of short stories by him at Hastings for less than a dollar one time and immediately bought it. Someone greatly under-appreciates this man's work and skill as a writer. For anyone interested, the short story compilation is called The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios.

The passage in Chapter 22 well illustrates the beauty of Martel's writing. I also love the three-word phrase he uses at the end: the better story. The short chapter describes Pi's imagining of the death of an atheist and the death of an agnostic. While I do not esteem atheists to the same degree Pi does because I believe everyone should believe in God and can love Jesus, I do still respect them more than the agnostic; the description of an agnostic's reasoning as "dry, yeast-less factuality" is fitting, indeed. And that three-word phrase, the better story, signifies that there is something to live for in this life, something worth our efforts and time, fitting of the term "better." He refers to the life of faith; I have tasted of it, but I want to see much more than I have what it really means to live for it.  

One Road

When I first read this book two summers ago, I was reading part of it to a 14-year-old boy as we sat on the playground. There wasn't much going on, so he asked me to read aloud. I was at the part where Piscine is exploring all the different religions, and as I read, I could tell that my friend, who had grown up in a pretty sheltered Christian environment, was uncomfortable. I stopped, and as we talked, he was wrestling with the way it seemed the author believed all roads lead to God. I told him that I also did not like this viewpoint but that I was still able to read the book and enjoy it, even though I didn't agree. I realized that day that a 14-year-old is not mature enough to read critically in this way.

If all roads lead to God and Piscine can expect to choose any one or a combination of them all, then Jesus' work on the cross is nullified, His resurrection has no meaning, and we can have no confidence in the faith we profess.

Going After Cacciato, a Bildungsroman

Yes, I believe Going After Cacciato is a Bildungsroman, because Paul Berlin is on a journey to "find himself," to grow up, to come to terms with a reality he before was scared to death of. I hesitated to answer this way because in some ways, it doesn't seem like our main character changes that much; the book ends with him wetting his pants in fear of what he's had to do in the war. Yet, I have to say he has still grown and changed, and enough to call the book a bildungsroman. One instance that shows this change is when he is, at the end of the book, given the opportunity to leave by Oscar Murphy and he doesn't. Oscar challenges him, tells him he doesn't think he can or should do it, but Paul Berlin stays. Sure, he still wets his pants, but he stayed and fought, without escaping even by means of imagination.