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Literary analysis on trifles
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A Prequel to Susan Glaspell's Short Story, "Trifles"
Minnie Foster was once described as the belle of the ball. To look at her tonight for the first time you could see why. She carried herself with both an air of confidence and modesty at the same time. Her small eyes dominated her face. They did not look directly at you anymore though. Still, they seemed all knowing and experienced as if they were able to see and know secrets about you that you wish no one knew. Her slender peaked nose was no match for the full lips she had, lips that never uttered a sound and which have become as pale as her knuckles. Her lips were pierced shut protecting the thoughts in her head from falling out one by one to the hard flooring.
This morning Minnie felt a little different. No one was home. No one was there to bother her. Why then, did she feel the need to continue on like a caged animal within her own home? She cautiously continued down from the upstairs.
Minnie’s right foot led the way and paused on each step. Like a young child first learning to master the staircase she would wait for her left foot to catch up before leading again with her right. Her feet glided lightly across the wooden steps and only the dust particles felt her movement. She seemed to have a pillow of air floating underneath her. Quite ironically, with each descending stride her body took, her hand would tightly grip the banister until her veins were crushed against her tightened skin with no way out.
Gliding over to the kitchen, Minnie continued with her everyday tasks. She began by clearing the table, a task that should have been completed the night before but was left untouched. She put things away one by one and in a quiet manner. She lightly opened and shut the cupboards, placing pots and pans where they belonged, one by one, straight from the table to under the sink. It was cold in that kitchen. Minnie looked out the window to her neighbor’s house. Perhaps today she would go visit; perhaps today she would not.
Minnie is a half Caucasian and half Asian, an active child who may be a bit too hyper, yet she charges into a situation without observing as Billy had. Minnie connects more with her father and because of this the mother often feels left out and jealous. Minnie is the difficult child and the section I relate to most.
Conclusion – That is a few theories about the zodiac killer. The reason this matters is because he was a famous killer who was never caught and he taunted police. If we found out his identity, it would make people stop making fake theories about who he was and it would be good for the families of the victims. Yes, I think it will get solved in the future but it will be too late because he is already dead or will be dead. What theory do you think is the most likely to be
October 12, 1933- The U.S. Justice Department officially acquired Alcatraz from the military with plans to incorporate Alcatraz into the Bureau of Prisons.
The Zodiac Killer is a serial killer who was linked to five killings in the Northern California area in 1968 and 1969. Although he claims he killed thirty-seven people, he can only directly linked to five deaths and two injuries. He targeted three women and four men between the ages of sixteen and twenty-nine. The Zodiac Killer taunted the police and made threats through the letter sent to Bay Area newspapers from 1969 to 1974. These letters written by the Zodiac Killer contained many ciphers, only one of them has been solved to this day. There have been many suspects in this case yet law enforcement has still not made an arrest connected to the case. Currently, this case remains “inactive” and the identity of the Zodiac Killer is still a mystery.
The late 1960’s and early 1970’s were a time of great change in America. The Vietnam War, the civil rights movement and the sexual revolution were just some of the issues on the evening news in American households. For citizens of the San Francisco Bay area, as well as the rest of California, the late 60’s early 70’represented terror, fear and death. “The bizarre and theatrical and still unresolved serial murders by real-life ghoul who called himself Zodiac, who claimed in letters to have killed 37 people (though police have focused on five homicides and two attempted murders in the greater Bay Area in 1968 and 1969” (Booth,2) have intrigued people for nearly four decades. How has Zodiac remained so elusive? What started out as a random homicide in October 1966 turned into one of the greatest cold cases in history.
As the cold waters rush into the San Francisco Bay, they crash up against an island standing in the strait. This rock is hidden by the fog and isolated by the chilling waters of the Pacific that flow in and out every day. It has a gloom that hangs about its rocky face most know it as Alcatraz but the men who experienced this island, referred to her as “The Rock”. To the men confined there, it is not only the ultimate in isolation but the most ironic because they are there in the midst of the activity of a busy harbor with small craft darting to and from San Francisco, Oakland, Alameda, Berkeley, Richmond, and Sausalito; within sound of the honking horns of a ceaseless procession of automobiles crossing the bridges; within sight of ocean liners as they glide through the Golden Gate to far away ports in the vast Pacific, and within sight and sound of air clippers and their buzzing motors, all reminding them that life is near but freedom is so far. James A. Johnston Alcatraz was the dreaded prison of all criminals.
Everyone has one: those actions, words, personalities, or items that bug someone to no end. These are called pet peeves, and I, for one, have many. But I have to say at the top if my list would have to be people who believe they're entitled, blatant rudeness or disrespect for others, and rumors. These three things irk me to the point where my skin crawls.
Susan Glaspell’s play, Trifles, seems to describe the ultimate women’s suffrage story. No longer will men have an upper hand against women after reading this story. Cleverness will be the key to retaining power from the men in this story. The one thing that woman are criticized for, the idea that women tend to look at the ‘little picture’ instead of the ‘whole picture’, will be there path to victory. Two stories of revenge are told in this story, the revenge of suppression and revenge of being portrayed as ‘unsophisticated, unintelligent’ women. First we have the story of Mrs. Wright and the struggles with her husband, John. Married women throughout history have been portrayed and played the role as being inferior to the husband in marriage. This seems to be the case with Mrs. Wright. Even though John’s public image was somewhat respectable, it was obvious that behind close doors the story was different. There is evidence of abuse in this marriage. First, the discovery of the broken door leads me to conclude that John was very physical and anguished. Second, it is assumed that Mrs. Wrights husband had broke her canary’s neck. The canary, which of course had to be caged, was represented as the old Minnie Foster herself. The canary is a beautiful, free spirited bird that had a sweet voice, as Minnie had at one time. This was the end of the line and ‘Minnie Foster’ was about to be reborn. She would stand up for all those abused and suppressed house wives across the world and makes the first ‘final’ decision she had ever been allowed to make. The bird’s cage was her jail. The bird’s death was her freedom for the fate of the bird was the fate of her husband. John was discovered with a rope tied around his neck, the freedom of a women who could no longer be held down. This was the first implementation of women’s power in the story. The women at Mrs. Wright’s home played an important role in the story as well. The ‘professional’ detectives were busy about the house finding clues to indict Mrs. Wright in the murder case. They ridiculed the women in the house by ‘putting them in their place’ as typical ladies, so worried about small things and useless ordeals. Mrs. Hale noted the stitches in the quilt to be erratically stitched as if something were wrong.
On June 11, 1962 three offenders crawled through a break in the wall they had chiseled through using sharpened forks and spoons. Using dummy heads to fool the guards, Frank Morris and the Anglin brothers climbed to the roof of The Rock, leaving Allen West behind, after he failed to get out of his cell. Escaping down the pillars of the five story building, the three men avoided the night watchers. Once making it to the San Francisco bay, their last freezing obstacle to freedom, the men inflated a homemade raft made of old rubber and
To begin, the Zodiac Killer declared to have killed thirty seven people, but only seven were connected to him. Known victims are David Faraday, Betty Lou Jensen, Darlene Ferrin, Mike Mageau, Cecelia Shepard, Bryan Hartnell, and Paul Stine. David was seventeen and Betty Lou was sixteen, both were shot in 1968 and died instantly. Darlene Ferrin, eighteen, and Mike Mageau, sixteen, were also shot in 1966 at an isolated parking lot, but Mageau survived. In 1991, Mageau identified Arthur Lee Allen was the killer. The police officer that showed Mageau the lineup asked why he had never identified Allen as the killer in the twenty years he was a suspect. Mageau replied that h...
“OH MY GOD! THE WAFFLES ARE ON FIRE... AHHH!” I run back to the door to find no fire but Sans shoving my waffles in his face
attempts. The evidence for this was that the inmates were never found, there was a body sighting
Marianne’s brand of free expression sometimes has little else to recommend it (Intro, I). What is true of Marianne’s classification system is true of her manners in general: In her refusal to place social decorum and propriety above her own impulses and desires, she is absolutely unbending (Intro, II). Marianne is also characterized as being very charming. For example, she believes her poetic effusions to be striking in themselves as well as accurate expressions of her inner life (Intro, VII).
The dark and dingy room swayed before his bloodshot eyes, he had not been sleeping for days. The trees outside shook in the strong wind as though their arms were waving helplessly. The cracked glass in the window was razor sharp: daring somebody to come and test its sharpness. The sofa was black with grime and incredibly sunk in; the putrid smell that wafted in the air was almost unbearable, the wallpaper was peeling off the walls at every corner. The one light in the room flickered on and off feebly. There were cracks in the ceiling and the walls alike but for Travers this shack was his home.
Along the way, she carefully eyed her surroundings, trying to make sure there isn’t any wolf passing by and stalking her. She used to being read stories by her mother a lot when she was still little, and one of them somehow coincidentally matched with her condition right now. Yeah you know what story did I mean, right?