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Society of captives: a maximum security prison
The Society of Captives: A Study of a Maximum Security Prison Gresham M. Sykes
A narrative of captivity analysis
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When Fantasy Becomes Reality
2000 years of captivity in the Mika penitentiary. Separated from my friends and relatives 2000 years ago, separated from my kingdom and separated from liberty. I never liked the prison. There wasn't any light, any breath of fresh air and no craving for food. 2000 years of lonesomeness and boredom will never ever be forgotten.
24 hrs and 30 minutes till my freedom. I couldn't wait any longer. I was set free finally. I was drained and starving. There was a nearby river called the 'MIYA RIVER'. I washed myself for a while and hunt some fishes. It was a cold and silent day. The sky was completely white and snow poured calmly to the ground. And of course, I was freezing
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An old man with a wooden stick approached us, together with his pet dog.
"Sano, is that really you?" He said with a subtle voice.
"Grandpa Yuren?" It was my Grandfather on my mom's side, the chief of the village, Miihen. I remembered him when I was little. He used to call me stupid names like crybaby and little rascal. It was fun to be with him, but I was stunned for one moment. I couldn't believe my eyes that my grandfather was still alive and active. Gou wasn't surprised. I didn't know why. It had been a long time since I met my grandfather and Gou. I was just confused. Well Grandfather Yuren took us back to his small house. Nothing had changed. It was all the same just like 2000 years ago. We had tea and a little discussion.
"Yuren, the eidolon, Ramuh, is still alive. I thought we took care of it a long time ago. I thought the summoner killed it." Gou uttered.
"Yes. Ramuh died a long time ago. It's body died. But its spirit lived. The spirit will obtain a body of any human." Yuren replied.
"Not to interrupt or anything, I just want to know more about this eidolon…where did it come from?" I told Grandfather
Reality is Like A Dream in Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been by Joyce Carol Oates
Latin American author Elena Garro wrote works such as "Recuerdos del porvenir," "Andamos huyendo Lola," "Testimonios sobre Mariana," and "The Day We Were Dogs." The short story "The Day We Were Dogs" (1964) uses events that are questionable to the reader even though the characters do not question. Because these events are questioned by the reader, it is not a Magical Realist story. This story might have been miss identified because it was written by a Latin author.
Louise Erdrich’s stories combine wildly dynamic characters with metaphoric language and elements of the supernatural to create tales that challenge the demarcations of cultural reality. In her stories “Plunge of the Brave,” “Scales,” and “Fleur,” Erdrich utilizes magical realism to help mystic elements seem more relatable to readers. The short stories, while otherwise straight-forward, are infused with touches of colorful language and mystic descriptions that, many critics claim, classifies Erdrich as a magical realist author. She uses magical realism in her stories to encourage readers to reconsider perceived ideas and question the determined realities of ethnic or cultural groups. By adding a few elements of the supernatural, Erdrich is actually inviting readers to expand their knowledge of different cultures and perceptions of the world.
There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled ...
stopped. . . I saw the sky. I saw the things that I love in this world. The work and the food and
It is a long and unusual journey. I still wonder what it really is. I read the selections of four wonderful authors and I am still a little confused about the real history and theory of magical realism. I do know that before a person gets into this idea of magical realism, he or she really has to have a big imagination and willingness to learn about it. I guess what I am trying to say is that magical realism depends on who a person is and what a person is willing to believe.
Frances Scott Fitzgerald’s novel, The Great Gatsby, is written in the 1920’s setting and focuses on the American Dream. Gatsby, the protagonist, strives to make his American Dream, the achievement of wealth, social status, and family a reality but fails by paying the ultimate sacrifice—his life. Today, many people believe in coming to America to pursue the American Dream, yet they do not realize they are pursuing an inexistent achievement. People pay a high price as well because they spend so much of their lives working on achieving their dream and when they fail, it is as if they wasted their entire life. Similar to Gatsby’s efforts, today’s society defines the American Dream in the same way as Gatsby, causing people to sacrifice their morals, friendships, and lives in their journey towards this unattainable dream.
Select one essay topic. Do not write about the Victorian poems and novels studied in Weeks 1-3.
The idea of a genre of art that is called magical realism is less a trend than a tradition, an evolving genre that has its waxings and wanings, where each evolving form expresses an idea that may overlap another, yet at the same time branches off and creates something very different. What began in the visual arts has become a contemporary literary genre due to divergences. Contemporary Latin American writers of this mode include Alejo Carpentier, Jorge Luis Borges, Isabel Allende, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Octavio Paz, Pablo Neruda, and Majorie Agosin. At the same time there are many writers of the genre world wide, though every form may take one new meaning. The magical realist does not depend on the natural or physical laws or on the usual conception of the real in Western culture, and at the same time it uses these aspects to disrupt reality, to create a disproportionate view (Zamora 146-148). While the mode is one of disruption, a disruption within its own development is also present.
A calm crisp breeze circled my body as I sat emerged in my thoughts, hopes, and memories. The rough bark on which I sat reminded me of the rough road many people have traveled, only to end with something no one in human form can contemplate.
You’re asleep and falling into a dream, a dream that seems to be blended with reality, details of it so vivid that it seems to be real. First, you’re running freely through a field full of wild flowers with a gentle breeze blowing through your hair and then all of a sudden the sun moves away, dark gray clouds start to cluster together. BOOM! Thunder comes along, suddenly it becomes your worst nightmare with you running away from something, crying, sweating, screaming then BLINK, you open your eyes to see that you are safe in your own bed hugging your pillow and what you just experienced was the works of your mere mind.
Each of us human is alone in our hearts. It is the only place that we are afraid of letting anybody in. We rarely break through the ultimate solitude, but only to reach out to the miracles beyond our world of living, to find out that the strength of love and hope have not abandoned us. Writing about the spectacularity event of life, Marquez could not help stepping in between the magical world and the reality to tell us a tale about “The handsomest drowned man in the world”- the tale of a coastal village interrupted by a man washed up to the shore.
Magical realism, the term in itself is a contradiction. When you think of real, magic does not normally come to mind. It is a literary style that dances on the boundaries of reality and a whole other world. We see extraordinary things, but in completely ordinary settings. Magical realism is a metaphor because it is associating the word magical, with something as non-magical as realism. It causes us to wonder what reality actually is, we are exposed to something so completely foreign, and we must make something of it. Thus, magical realism.
A smile crept across my face as I turned around and watched the land get smaller and further away. The vast ocean lay before us with promises of a whole week with gorgeous views, interesting people, terrific food and freedom. This...is heaven.
It was a calm, overcast day, and I found myself resting at the side of a large oak tree, admiring the beauty of the woods that surrounded me.