Blood :: essays papers

Blood Parentheses of blood Dramas are classified into four sub-fields: tragedies, comedies, melo-dramas, and satires. Each sub-field has characteristics, which makes it identifiable. It is common to find any combination of the sub-fields within a play. To classify drama one must look at the more prominent theme. This paper is focusing on the drama â€Å"Parentheses of blood†, by playwright Sony Labou Tansi. Tansi was born in Congo in 1947. Of his fifteen plays most were published in French. In 1986 his work was commissioned for English translation. Tansi has lived through Africas period of colonialism and the dictorial governments that followed. Congo was under French colonial rule through his adolescent years. It went through periods of military dictatorship before democratization. Tansi was a member of the opposing party in Congo and won himself a seat in the National assembly in 1993, just two years before his death. Like many others in post-colonial Africa, Tansi felt oppressed and untrusting of government, this is clearly evident in â€Å"Parentheses of blood.† This play is an African Drama. Three-dimensional characters are common in African dramas, this is necessary in order to make the drama believable. Another theme of African plays is the presence of a storteller. This is common because many plays have been passed down through generations by word. A third distinguishing feature is an audience that has an active role within the play. A final identifying source is the presence of song and dance. The characters in Tansi’s play were unquestionably three-dimensional. They all had distinct personalities and body, an essential for making the drama believable. How can the absence of the three remaining elements of African drama be explained? Tansi’s work was done in the post-colonial period. Because of French influence African song and dance became less prominent. It was not totally wiped out, but because of French policy many once common tribal songs and dance became less common among Africans. Writing in a modern period Tansi had no need for a storyteller. This play is a depiction of the way Tansi saw life in Africa from his own point of view. Tansi did not choose to have an active audience. Not all African dramas had this characteristic, but this could be another consequence of the transition to the post-modern literature of Africa.

Stefan’s Diaries: Origins Chapter 1

The day my life changed started out like any other. It was a hot August afternoon in 1864, the weather so oppressive that even the flies stopped swarming around the barn. The servants' children, who usually played wild games and shrieked as they ran from one chore to another, were silent. The air was still, as if holding off on a long-awaited thunderstorm. I'd planned to spend a few hours riding my horse, Mezzanotte, into the cool forest on the edge of Veritas Estate–my family home. I'd packed my satchel with a book and was intent on simply escaping. That was what I'd been doing most days that summer. I was seventeen and restless, ready neither to join the war alongside my brother nor to have Father teach me to run the estate. Every afternoon, I had the same hope: that several hours of solitude would help me figure out who I was and what I wanted to become. My time at the Boys Academy had ended last spring, and Father had made me hold off on enrolling at the University of Virginia until the war had ended. Since then, I'd been curiously stuck in the in-between. I was no longer a boy, not quite a man, and utterly unsure of what to do with myself. The worst part was that I had no one to talk to. Damon, my brother, was with General Groom's army down in Atlanta, most of my boyhood friends were either about to be betrothed or on faraway battlefields themselves, and Father was constantly in his study. â€Å"Gonna be a hot one!† our overseer, Robert, yelled from the edge of the barn, where he was watching two stable boys attempt to bridle one of the horses Father had purchased at auction last week. â€Å"Yep,† I grunted. That was another problem: While I yearned for someone to talk with, when presented with a conversation partner, I was never content. What I desperately wanted was to meet someone who could understand me, who could discuss real things like books and life, not just the weather. Robert was nice enough and one of Father's most trusted advisers, but he was so loud and brash that even a ten-minute conversation could leave me exhausted. â€Å"Heard the latest?† Robert asked, abandoning the horse to walk toward me. I groaned inwardly. I shook my head. â€Å"Haven't been reading the papers. What's General Groom doing now?† I asked, even though conversation about the war always left me uneasy. Robert shielded his eyes from the sun as he shook his head. â€Å"No, not the war. The animal attacks. The folks over at Griffin's lost five chickens. All with gashes in their necks.† I paused mid-step, the hairs on the back of my neck rising on end. All summer, reports of strange animal attacks had emerged from neighboring plantations. Usually, the animals were small, mostly chickens or geese, but in the past few weeks someone–probably Robert, after four or five tumblers of whiskey–had begun a rumor that the attacks were the work of demons. I didn't believe that, but it was one more reminder that the world wasn't the same one I'd grown up in. Everything was changing, whether I wanted it to or not. â€Å"Could have been a stray dog that killed them,† I told Robert with an impatient wave of my hand, parroting the words I'd overheard Father say to Robert last week. A breeze picked up, causing the horses to stomp their feet nervously. â€Å"Well, then, I hope one of those stray dogs doesn't find you when you're out riding alone like you do every day.† With that, Robert strode off toward the pasture. I walked into the cool, dark stable. The steady rhythm of the breathing and snorting of the horses relaxed me instantly. I plucked Mezzanotte's brush from the wall and began combing through her smooth, coal-black coat. She whinnied in appreciation. Just then, the stable door creaked open, and Father stepped in. A tall man, Father carried himself with so much force and presence that he easily intimidated those who crossed his path. His face was lined with wrinkles that only added to his authority, and he wore a formal morning coat, despite the heat. â€Å"Stefan?† Father called, glancing around the stalls. Even though he'd lived at Veritas for years, he'd probably only been in the stable a few times, preferring to have his horses prepared and brought straight to the door. I ducked out of Mezzanotte's stall. Father picked his way toward the back of the stable. His eyes flicked over me, and I felt suddenly embarrassed for him to see me caked in sweat and dirt. â€Å"We have stable boys for a reason, son.† â€Å"I know,† I said, feeling as though I'd disappointed him. â€Å"There's a time and a place for having fun with horses. But then there's the point when it's time for a boy to stop playing and become a man.† Father hit Mezzanotte on the flanks, hard. She snorted and took a step back. I clenched my jaw, waiting for him to tell me about how, when he was my age, he'd moved to Virginia from Italy with only the clothes on his back. How he'd fought and bargained to build a tiny, one-acre plot of land into what was now the two hundred acres of Veritas Estate. How he'd named it that because veritas was Latin for truth, because he'd learned that as long as a man because he'd learned that as long as a man searched for truth and fought deception, he didn't need anything else in life. Father leaned against the door of the stall. â€Å"Rosalyn Cartwright just celebrated her sixteenth birthday. She's looking for a husband.† â€Å"Rosalyn Cartwright?† I repeated. When we were twelve, Rosalyn had gone to a finishing school outside of Richmond, and I hadn't seen her in ages. She was a nondescript girl with mousy blond hair and brown eyes; in every memory I held of her, she wore a brown dress. She'd never been sunny and laughing, like Clementine Haverford, or flirty and feisty, like Amelia Hawke, or whip-smart and mischievous, like Sarah Brennan. She was simply a shadow in the background, content to trail along on all our childhood adventures but never to lead them. â€Å"Y Rosalyn Cartwright.† Father gave me one es. of his rare smiles, with the corners of his lips turned so slightly upward, one would think he was sneering if one did not know him well. â€Å"Her father and I have been talking, and it seems the ideal union. She's always been quite fond of you, Stefan.† â€Å"I don't know if Rosalyn Cartwright and I are a match,† I mumbled, feeling as though the cool walls of the stable were closing in on me. Of course Father and Mr. Cartwright had been talking. Mr. Cartwright owned the bank in town; if Father had an alliance with him, it would be easy to expand Veritas even further. And if they'd been talking, it was as good as done that Rosalyn and I were to be man and wife. â€Å"Of course you don't know, boy!† Father guffawed, slapping me on the back. He was in remarkably good spirits. My spirits, however, were sinking lower and lower with each word. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping this was all a bad dream. â€Å"No boy your age knows what's good for him. That's why you need to trust me. I'm arranging a dinner for next week to celebrate the two of you. In the meantime, pay her a call. Get to know her. Compliment her. Let her fall in love with you.† Father finished, taking my hand and pressing a box inside my palm. What about me? What if I don't want her to fall in love with me? I wanted to say. But I didn't. Instead, I shoved the box in my back pocket without glancing at its contents, then went back to attending to Mezzanotte, brushing her so hard, she snorted and stepped back in indignation. â€Å"I'm glad we had this talk, son,† Father said. I waited for him to notice that I'd barely said a word, to realize that it was absurd to ask me to marry a girl I hadn't spoken to in years. â€Å"Father?† I said, hoping he would say something to set me free from the fate he'd laid out for me. â€Å"I think October would be lovely for a wedding,† my father said instead, letting the door bang shut behind him. I clenched my jaw in frustration. I thought back to our childhood, when Rosalyn and I would find ourselves pushed to sit together at Saturday barbecues and church socials. But the forced socialization simply hadn't worked, and as soon as we were old enough to choose our own playmates, Rosalyn and I went our separate ways. Our relationship was going to be just as it was when we were ten years younger–ignoring each other while dutifully making our parents happy. Except now, I realized grimly, we'd be bound together forever.

The Creative Mind Behind Flee Fly Flew - 2012 Words

Every individual encounters periods in their life that threaten their security, livelihood and overall well being. How one deals with these tough situations and perceives the lessons brought forth by their perils shapes who they ultimately become. Janet Hepburn and Russell Thornton have their fair share of differences as creatives in literature, however, their adverse experiences have shaped the way they create their art, and its subject matter. From a young age, Thornton experienced the absence of a father figure in his life and the topic of fatherhood is a reoccurring theme in much of his work, including Sirens. Similarly, Janet Hepburn, the creative mind behind Flee Fly Flown also experienced the absence of a parent; she lost her mother†¦show more content†¦Lillian comes to term with the reality of who she has become. As she analyzes her physically appearance, she is also reflecting on both her mental and physical health. Since being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, Lil lian body has drastically changed – both inside and out. Her view of life has also been altered. Lillian has learned to have a sense of humour about her condition, put a positive spin on all the hardships she endures, but to also view her situation in life realistically. Lillian is well aware that there is no going back to who she used to be, no matter how hard she tries, there are memories she has lost that can never be regained. However, she does not let that hold her back. She accepts her reality and continues to venture on in life, constantly seeking a thrilling adventure. Her tragic reality drives her to pursue excitement, happiness and a sense of freedom that was taken away by her diagnosis. In Siren’s, the narrator experiences similar introspective processes that allow him to accept his reality and express his desire for a better life. He states that â€Å"I am no brave, strong, wise Odysseus. I am a man in an old apartment paying bills, rent, electricity, food , to keep my son, his sisters, his mother and me merely afloat† (Thornton). His point of view on life is similar to that of Lillian’s; they both come to terms with their reality and are very realistic. He is aware of hisShow MoreRelated Flight in Song of Solomon, Native Son, A Worn Path, Sad Sweet Story of Sugar Lips Shinehot, and Por5690 Words   |  23 Pagesand Land First Eagle Story Since the beginning of time all human beings have had a fascination with human flight. Watching a bird soar through the air, one cannot help but desire the same capabilities. Imagine the point of view of the bird that flies high above the trees, among the mountains, over the ocean, and high in the air, far away from the clamor of everyday life on the ground. To have the freedom and power to release ones self from the tribulations experienced with two feet on the groundRead MoreImpact of Science on Society38427 Words   |  154 Pageschemist, was trying to be the young science hero who would save the great British empire by discovering the way to make artificial quinine chemically. You see, 9 The Impact of Science on Society our administration and army chaps were dropping like flies out in the Far Eastern colonies because of malaria, and artificial quinine would have fixed things up right. Besides that, we were having to buy natural quinine from the Dutch in Java, and they charged an outrageous price for it. So that great motivatorRead MoreImpact of Science on Society38421 Words   |  154 Pageswas trying to be the young science hero who would save the great British empire by discovering the way to make artificial quinine chemically. You see, 9 The Impact of Science on Society our administration and army chaps were dropping like flies out in the Far Eastern colonies because of malaria, and artificial quinine would have fixed things up right. Besides that, we were having to buy natural quinine from the Dutch in Java, and they charged an outrageous price for it. So that great motivatorRead MoreMarketing Mistakes and Successes175322 Words   |  702 Pagesof San Francisco. There Brin and Page developed a work environment practically unprecedented. See the following Information Box for some examples of this culture that was designed to cultivate strong loyalty and job satisfaction and to foster a creative, playful environment where Google’s employees, mostly young and single, would be willing to spend their waking hours. By early 2001, Google was recording 100 million searches per day. It was also entering the dictionary as a verb, as for example