And the winner is......

Upon completion of Toni Morrison's 1977 novel Song of Solomon, I present to her the coveted "Best Coming of Age Novel" award. Winner of both the Nobel Prize and Pulitzer Prize, Morrison continues to receive great acclaim for her novels' timeless themes. Within Song of Solomon, the novelist narrates the journey of the complex character Milkman Dead, and his flight too manhood. His ultimate success leads me to present Morrison with yet another award to rest on her trophy shelf. Apart from the story's many motifs, including race, judgement, women's rights and family plight, Milkman's transformation from a naive boy to a mature adult exists as the major conflict. Growing up with wealth and a respectable family name, Dead's "hero worship... blinded him" (276). The protagonist's seemingly sublime lifestyle ends up acting as his enemy, separating himself from reality. Milkman's indirect characterization as pompous underscores Morrison's claim that he possesses an unhealthy amount of self-pride and importance. Dead's assumed invincibility results in his inability to take responsibility for his actions. He then proclaims he did "nothing to deserve" his family's recriminations (276). Morrison includes the repetition of "deserve" seven times to emphasize Milkman's pride and incapability to recognize his own mistakes. He continually loathes others for his own internal conflicts, despite the few family troubles that are out of his control. The protagonist serves as a synecdoche for those who can not distinguish themselves and their actions from those of others, and Morrison's ability to change this outlook truly justifies my decision to applaud her "coming of age" novel. After an isolating hunting trip forces Milkman to evaluate himself, he transforms from a confused, naive person into a confident, independent man, After years of self-deprecation, Dead takes "a living breath this time" (279). This single moment of realization represents Milkman's newfound confidence in himself. His indirect characterization as alive presents situational irony, contrasting the connotations surrounding his last name. Nonetheless, this characterization foils his previous, insecure self and his present, responsible nature. He abandons his self-pity, and judges both life and himself fairly. This self-assessment allows Dead to walk on Earth "like he belonged on it," creating the most significant and memorable moment in the novel (281). Morrison's display of Milkman's independence juxtaposes his his past habits of relying on and blaming others. The protagonist's indirect characterization as confident reveals his new sense of honesty in both the world and himself. The author's success in creating an autonomous character from one who moped in self-pity makes one of the best personal transfiguration novels of all time. Morrison utilizes this story to reveal the normality in a person's lack of personal fulfillment. Similar to the author, I encourage those who lack confidence in themselves and their actions to strive for self-acceptance.   Congratulations, Toni! I now award to you the "Best Coming of Age Novel" prize.

Milkman Dead: Friend or Foe?

Would I befriend Milkman Dead? The question tempts me from both shoulders; one convincing me to go for it, and the other laughing at me for even asking. Author and Professor Toni Morrison makes this simple question difficult to answer within her 1977 coming-of-age novel Song of Solomon. A little off center, protagonist Milkman Dead avoids popularity and holds no more than a few, close friends. However, these relationships seem to slip through Milkman's fingers quicker than he can grasp them. Morrison admits, "He avoided commitment" (180). Although Dead's indirect characterization as unreliable waves like a red flag in terms of friendship, his ephemeral bonds most likely stem from experiencing his own parents' unhealthy marriage and lack of loyalty. Fear of commitment naturally adds a level of difficulty while forming friendships, but pathos evoked from Milkman's absence of consistent relationships prompts me to consider. However, Milkman's sister Lena eradicates all or any vestiges of my optimism when she refers to him as a '''selfish, hateful man''' (216). Lena's direct characterization of her brother as "selfish" and "hateful" forces me to take a step back and question any possible friendship between the two of us. Her vitriolic tone created by the harsh diction of "hateful" allows Morrison to expose the contempt felt by others towards Milkman, and his displeasing effect on people. Instead of using my own discretion to judge Dead's character and actions, his sister does so for me. Ultimately, I value her opinion because of her kinship, and her bitter opinion unnerves me. Just when the devil on my shoulder seems to have my attention, Morrison's "coming of age" theme prevails with Milkman's newfound moral fiber. Upon realization that his best friend belongs to a dangerous, secret society, Dead exposes '''I'm scared for you''' (161). Milkman's direct characterization as "scared" proves that he can show concern for others, and not just himself. His genuine and serious comment not only reveals his friend's stupidity, but Milkman's own ability to separate right from wrong. The protagonist serves as a synecdoche for those who express interest in a friend's well-being, transforming our friendship from the spark of an idea, to a definite possibility. Still, far from perfect, Morrison reveals "Shame stuck to his [Milkman's] skin" after making selfish decisions (209). Milkman clearly understands his responsibility within his wrongdoings, and his embarrassment indirectly characterizes him as morally keen. His shame only heightens my desire to befriend the confused fellow. Instead of resenting the protagonist, Morrison encourages me, as well as those who do not approve of his actions, to sympathize with Dead and embrace his imperfections. Finally, the little angel on my shoulder out sings the devil, and triumphs in my decision that Milkman would make a suitable friend. Most definitely not a "BFF," but a suitable friend indeed.

Father v. Son

The father-son relationship often serves as a paragon for manhood and bonding: a share of insight and experience from one generation to the next. However, the relationship between Macon Dead Sr. and Macon 'Milkman' Dead Jr. within the novel Song of Solomon seems more strained than relaxed. Contrary to the positive bond she shared with her own compassionate father, author Toni Morrison narrates the conflict between the two kin living in the 1950's racially insecure south. In addition to the inevitable inferiority he felt because of his color, Macon Dead also suffered from the 'disappointment he felt' for his three children, including Milkman (10). Father's unnecessary contempt prompted me to side with his son, the recipient of the disappointment. Morrison does not provide the reader with an explanation for Macon's cold demeanor, which evokes pathos and sympathy from those who share a healthy relationship with their father, including myself. In response to the lack of his father's acceptance, Milkman 'feared his father, respected him' (63). The son's indirect characterization as fearful further develops the novel's main conflict: an intimidating father versus his insecure son. Macon's unraveled source of disappointment heightens my own frustration towards him, forcing me to side with Milkman. Despite the fear, Milkman's ultimate respect for Macon underscores Morrison's assertion that young men constantly try to pursue pride from their fathers. Macon Jr. appears to struggle for his dad's acceptance, classifying him as the protagonist within this external conflict. However, as the novel progresses, Macon's resurfacing past provides a marginal amount of reason for the wall he builds between himself and his family. His own sister, who he deems as unkempt and inferior, revealed to Milkman that 'Macon was a nice boy' (40). The father's direct characterization as 'nice' foils all the previous, negative characterizations made by the reader. His sister's words provide possible pathos for Macon, and suggest that some sort of past hardship transformed the kind man into a troubled father. Suddenly, my anger towards Macon progresses into curiosity, eager to understand the background behind his hatred. After an emotional encounter between the father and son, a series of disturbing anecdotes surrounding Milkman's mother's promiscuous behavior frees Macon of his questionable behavior. The conflict between a harsh father and his desperate son soon transforms into a conflict between a man and his past secrets 'that all came back' (52). Although I disagree with the way Macon manifested his troubling memories into an aggressive personality, I now understand the source of stress between himself and his son. Morrison explores this struggling bond between Macon and Milkman to expose the imperfections within family relationships. Those who experience these family flaws should understand the normality of tension, and use it as an opportunity to mend broken bonds. 

An insightful novel makes for an insightful post.

My completion of the novel Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter resulted in a personal insight on human habits and life's path. Author Tom Franklin, also a professor at the University of Mississippi, utilizes his intelligence and addresses a multitude of life's inevitable challenges and mysteries. Larry's ostracism and Silas's hidden secrets both serve as pivotal focal points in the novel, addressing the themes of judgement and redemption. To begin, my own sympathy for 'Scary Larry' reminded me of the dangers of judgement. After waking up (more than once) to a demolished mailbox, Larry realized: "he alone had been targeted" (231). As if the vandalism itself did not already cause enough grief, Larry's acknowledgement that the punks directed their prank directly at him heightens the intensity of the situation. The victim's misfortune creates pathos, which evokes emotion from both sides of the judgement spectrum. Franklin uses this sympathy to display his assertion that many misjudge 'different' for 'weird.' Larry's broken property symbolizes the emotional damage that results from unfair societal exclusion. This exclusion intensified Larry's responsibility within the murder mysteries, in which many of Chabot's resident blamed him by "cashing in on Larry's reputation" (224). The act of taking advantage of one's vulnerable reputation reminded me, again, of the consequences of exiling others. Living in Chagrin Falls, I tend to believe everything I hear. However, Franklins assertion encourages me to avoid automatic categorization and preconceived notions. Another insight I gained upon completion of the book was the past's responsibility for the future. Past mistakes "always seem to come back" repeatedly throughout the novel, particularly Silas's secrets (215). Silas's chance for redemption underscores Franklins assertion that the past proves inescapable and shapes the future. However, Silas's decision to free himself of guilt by resurfacing the past revealed to me the positive effects of previous wrongdoings. Franklin aims his universal themes to those across globe, and encourages them to think twice before making assumptions about others. Similarly, Franklin addresses all humankind to remind us all of the power of the past. He has certainly shaped my own views on human tendencies, making the novel worthwhile and insightful. 

Scary Larry: Not so scary?

While reading the second third of Tom Franklin's fictional crime novel *Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter*, Larry Ott's reputation as a malicious women-killer angered me. Ott experiences a shunned entrapment by his intolerant small town, similar to that of the author's upbringing in rural Alabama. Growing up in Chagrin Falls, my own experience with the whispers of tight communities can barely compare to the ostracism imposed on Larry. Many of Chabot's residents have dubbed Ott as "Scary Larry," a nickname commonly used by those who have never even looked Larry in the eye (145). Larry's direct characterization as 'scary' truly reveals his town's ability to categorize and judge. Although the townspeople rightfully pair together Larry's 'date' with Cindy Walker and her disappearance, the reader knows his innocence in the case. This dramatic irony directly results in my frustration, knowing that Larry receives wrongful accusations and rejection. Wallace, his own friend, believes Ott "'did away with that girl,"' with which Larry responds by "'looking down at his feet"' (164). Larry's 'friend' serves as a synecdoche, representing the mass of people who charge Larry as guilty. On a larger scale, Wallace's accusation underscores Franklin's assertion that humans tend to have preconceived notions of others. As if Wallace's audacity did not evoke enough indignance from me, Larry's lack of defense presents a bigger problem. Ott continually displays an indifferent, and almost casual demeanor to Chabot's allegations. Instead of trying to convince Wallace of his innocence, Larry pleads, "'Help Wallace, God. Please"' (182). Ott's desire to help his naysayers indirectly characterizes him as selfless, further heightening my contempt towards his violent reputation. "Scary Larry" possesses no mean bone in his body, yet a whole town successfully believes in his responsibility for the death of two young women. Franklin narrates this miscommunication to connect with those who judge others, and encourage them to refrain from making assumptions. After reading of Larry's struggle with the suspicion of his community, I encourage victims of judgement to separate themselves from the rumors and persevere.

Forgive or Forget?

Most people struggle with the emotional and daunting task of forgiveness, a seemingly simple act from the surface. Author Tom Franklin explores this theme and the conflicts surrounding it within the characters from his fictional crime novel Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter. Franklin narrates the unlikely friendship between Larry Ott, a white, middle-class child, and Silas Jones, the son of a single black mother in 1970's rural Mississippi. However, this era's racial tensions led to the demise of the two boys' bond, after Larry's exchange of a discriminating insult. I highly advise Silas to forgive Larry's mistake, and rekindle the connection they once shared. Larry's unrevealed affiliation with a past missing persons case has fostered suspicion and hostility from many townspeople, including chief investigator Roy French who characterized Ott as an "'unusual fellow'" (64). The investigator serves as a synecdoche for those who do not tolerate nor understand Larry's reserved disposition. Silas's hesitance towards forgiving Larry most likely results from fear of judgement from men like French. Similarly, Larry's direct characterization as 'unusual' reveals the negative sentiment felt towards him within his community, Silas included. However, Jones's past experiences with Ott include memories that rise above suspicions of violent behavior. As a child, Larry introduced Silas to a gun and encouraged him to "'Go on, keep it"' (54). Larry's offer indirectly characterizes himself as generous, juxtaposing the townspeople's views towards him as malevolent and abnormal. Silas's positive, personal experiences with the shunned man should overcome his hesitance and eventually lead to forgiveness. I believe Jones, one of the few people who shares a genuine connection with Larry, should take advantage of this connection and free Ott of his ostracism. Although Larry made a discriminatory and patronizing comment to Silas as a child, Franklin reveals '"the memory shamed him"' (50). Larry's indirect characterization as guilty further defends my belief that Larry deserves to repent. The pathos created by Ott's shame evokes sympathy from those who seek redemption, and underscores Franklin's assertion that past mistakes should be forgiven. Although Silas experienced inevitable anger in response to the  insult, only he can free Larry of his embarrassment. The shunned man himself reached out in hopes of closure, and pleaded for Silas to contact him '"even if it's late'" (69). Larry's determination to speak to Silas illustrates his vulnerability and overwhelming guilt. Dramatic irony results from the readers knowledge of Larry's precarious injury, and that Silas possesses a small margin of opportunity to redeem his childhood friend. In my opinion, Jones should respond to Ott's persistence and absolve him of his derogatory comment. Although Franklin does not expose Larry's actual responsibly behind the community's suspicion, character development forces sympathy upon Ott. I highly encourage Silas to offer forgiveness, which will ultimately manifest itself in the heal of a broken bond, and insight into the crimes involving the missing women. 

this person serves as a... synecdoche

future AP Englishers...