An Overview of Structuralist Criticism in Literature
A typical American middle class home is built from a few basic ingredients: wood, nails, miscellaneous wires, pipes, and tubing, wrapped in layers of plaster and paint. But a student of Architecture wouldn’t necessarily be interested in how these ingredients are combined to make one single house. Such a student is more likely to study how these ingredients were used in similar houses within one historical period. In a similar manner, a student of Structural criticism would be interested in the basic ingredients of many stories within the same period, and the similar ways in which these ingredients were used.
However, where Structuralist criticism breaks from this comparison is in use of the term “structure”. A Structuralist isn’t interested in literary structures as physical entities, but studies conceptual frameworks used to organize and understand physical entities. The rules of grammar would be one such conceptual framework; this sort of structure exists to organize, classify, and simplify. The Structuralist might also be interested in the field of semiotics, or the study of linguistic and nonlinguistic signs and how they operate symbolically to convey a message.
It’s easy to see why the relationship between structuralism and the study of literature is important. Since literature is a verbal art based on the manipulation of signs and symbols, structuralism not only seeks to discover a universal meaning to these signs but to understand the framework associated with their meanings. Literature and Structuralism share a common goal; an effective understanding of how these signs and symbols are and can be used.
One major Structuralist theory about these underlying frameworks is Northrop Frye’s “Theory of Myths”, which seeks to understand and classify the underlying structural principles of Western Literature. Frye refers to four narrative patterns which he believes provide the framework of Western Literature: comedy, tragedy, romance, and irony/satire.
A New Criticism View of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
In another age, traveling medicine shows would tout their amazing stars as “The Great” or “The Invincible”. We learned to expect feats of magic and miracle from these men, even if beneath it all we knew they were charlatans. Fitzgerald used this bit of the pop psyche in the title of his novel, “The Great Gatsby”, and as we might expect he delivered a character strikingly similar to these miracle men of old. However, many people believed in these charlatans, even if they wouldn’t say so in public. Their tricks tapped into our desire for magic and wonder; they were men of fantasy and intrigue. In naming his novel “The Great Gatsby”, Fitzgerald stirred the complex reaction America had to all the Great and Invincible of our history, tapping into a rich spring of paradox, irony, ambiguity, and tension.
Fitzgerald drove the reader into his novel with the question of Gatsby’s greatness. We wondered who this man might be. We come with a prejudice from the title, then Fitzgerald further guides us to accept Gatsby’s greatness by showing us his wealth. He has such wealth we are willing to accept the man must be great as well. But an ambiguity exists at the same time; nobody knows where this man came from, where his wealth originated, or indeed what makes him so great. But we believe it just the same. Here we have a man who has wealth and seems willing to share it. He seems well mannered and genteel, yet he reaches down from his pedestal and befriends our narrator, Nick. It seems somewhat a paradox, but real life is full of such opposites that the story only seems more real because of it. Because the paradox seems so real we believe the story, and because we believe the story we commit even deeper to believing the story’s title; the man must indeed be great.
But Fitzgerald also introduces a tension, possibly springing from the sense of ambiguity. As a reader we want to know where Gatsby came from, why he is wealthy, but we are afraid we won’t like the answer. Fitzgerald strings us along then plants little seeds of doubt, and we begin to worry. What if Gatsby is a bootlegger or a gambler, would we be able to reconcile the belief we have already adopted that he is indeed great? We need him to be great, because we already believe he is. Eventually, however, we come to realize Gatsby was not born to greatness nor did he really aspire toward it. Even his schooling is questionable. He does not have any of the sure signs of greatness we have come to expect, yet we realize there is still something great about him. It might simply be that we want to justify the decision we’ve already made about him. We need him to be great because we’ve already made up our minds that he is, but this brings a certain irony into play because we have committed to his greatness even though he isn’t great by the definition we originally would have given the word.
Again, it is like the charlatan who made us believe in snake oil. When the snake oil doesn’t cure baldness or make your hiccups go away, we tell ourselves “The Great and Powerful” charlatan was a great entertainer. He is still great, just not in the way we originally expected him to be. In “The Great Gatsby” Fitzgerald first made us believe Gatsby was great, then left us to justify the reasoning in spite of the evidence. But that is just like real life.
A Feminist Critique of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
Even if they disagree about other issues, all feminists believe patriarchal ideology works to keep men and women confined to traditional gender roles so male dominance may be maintained. Utilizing the precepts of Feminist criticism, it could be argued “The Great Gatsby” promotes a thinly veiled patriarchal agenda. Through Fitzgerald’s treatment of the three women in “Gatsby”, as well as masking the possible homosexuality of a central character, the novel seems to promote only the traditional gender roles, swaying uncomfortably from any possible variance. This hidden agenda may be uncovered using common tools of Feminist criticism, primarily through the use of psychoanalytic theory, but with elements of Marxist theory and deconstructionism as well.
Psychologically, Daisy, Jordan, and Myrtle are obviously quite different from each other. In fact, it could be said they are like three corners of a triangle, supporting each others’ role in the story but entirely separate at the same time. Daisy is portrayed as a classic beauty who uses an innate sex appeal to gather some amount of control over her surroundings. As an athlete Jordan might carry the greatest potential to stray from a typical gender role; she could easily have been characterized as a lesbian because of her detachment from men, her self-centered lifestyle, and her unexplained connection to Daisy. Myrtle seems to be a more earthy woman, possibly possessing a raw sexual energy, but Fitzgerald stops short of portraying her as an independent, sexual being, empowered to pursue her own sexual experiences. In many respects these characters could have been deeper had Fitzgerald felt free to expound upon these possibilities; it seems the story would only have been enriched if he had explored these women deeper. However, the fact that Fitzgerald was not willing to fill out these women to their potential could indicate a desire, either of his own or one he felt society had placed upon him, to keep them within the expected stereotypes of their gender.
A similar opportunity showed itself within the characterization of his narrator, Nick. Nick’s reluctance to enter into a relationship with Jordan was not sufficiently justified by the ol’ “girl back home” routine. No attempt at all was made to explain why Nick found himself at the bedside of an effeminate man, who was in his underwear. Nor did Fitzgerald explore Nick’s admiration for Gatsby on what seemed to be a more physical basis than of friendship; Nick made frequent schoolgirl-like references to Gatsby, but there didn’t seem to be much reason for a friendship. Gatsby’s motivation was clearly to make contact with Daisy, but why did Nick want to be close to Gatsby? These issues could have easily led to some discussion or admittance that Nick might have been gay or at least questioning his gender role. But the author’s unwillingness to breach these subjects seems to indicate he had made himself subject to the established patriarchy. By not saying anything against it, Fitzgerald inadvertently spoke in favor of the established order.
From a purely economic standpoint, the patriarchal agenda is evident in how all three of the major female characters are dependent to varied degrees upon the men in their lives. Even Jordan has some need for a man. Daisy and Myrtle are more obviously and traditionally dependent. The patriarchal agenda is also supported in the way men do “business” and women sit around and gossip. Even Nick, who in some ways is portrayed in a traditionally feminine role because of his financial dependence upon his family, is given a nice “man’s” job in the stock market to remove any anti-patriarchal doubts. Simultaneously, a deconstructionistic dichotomy exists within the novel; the characters live in the decadent and supposedly “free” Jazz age, but at the same time seem unwilling or unable to free themselves from the patriarchal elements of society.
Overall, a Feminist criticism of this novel allows the reader to understand how subtle and pervasive the patriarchal influences are within our society. Through the questions Feminists ask of the text we are able to see a possibility for deeper characterization and a more enriched human experience without the shackles of patriarchal tyranny.
Snow White and the Seven Outsourcing Dwarfs
A long time ago in a far away land there lived a wicked Internet Marketing Queen and her lovely stepdaughter, Snow White. The Queen had significant control issues and treated her large staff of trolls and wicked elves quite poorly; they endured unreasonable deadlines and expectations, and often the Queen simply discarded their work proclaiming, “I’ll just do it myself.”
The Queen realized Snow White’s marketing talents far surpassed her own, and it really got on her nerves. The Queen practiced daily visualization exercises, looking in an enchanted mirror and asking if she was the best Internet Marketer in the land. Being an enchanted but not necessarily honest mirror, it always covered its glass and stroked the Queen’s fragile self esteem.
But one day the enchanted mirror had enough brown nosing and answered the Queen, “Sure you’re one hot Internet Marketing goddess, but that stepdaughter of yours is a real smart cookie.” As you might imagine this infuriated the vain Queen, so she summoned her most loyal troll.
“Bring me the heart of Snow White,” she said.
The troll bowed and left the palace, but he felt really conflicted because he and Snow White sent text messages back and forth all the time. So he pulled out his cell phone and sent her a text.
“OMG QWN H8S U”
“WTF?”
“HED 4 WUDS”
“L8R”
“BFFL”
“BFF”
Then Snow White headed out for the deepest and darkest section of the woods because she heard the Wi-Fi signal was great out there.
Upon arriving in the darkest part of the woods she found a friendly looking cottage. Over the door a sign read “Fairyland Outsourcing”. Snow White knocked at the door, but nobody was home so she went inside.
Inside she found tiny furniture, dishes, and clothing strewn about. Snow White didn’t form any height-related prejudices against whoever might live in the cottage because she deeply believed the vertically challenged should be empowered against oppressive cultural stereotypes, but she did think they were slobs. She swept the floor, washed the dishes, and defragged the seven laptops she found in the back office.
When the seven inhabitants of the cottage returned home they were happy to see Snow White had tidied up after them. They also told her it was fine to refer to them as dwarfs because they didn’t feel their smallness should be an issue and anyway they were proud of their cultural heritage.
Snow White recognized the opportunity she had stumbled upon to move forward on a product idea she had been formulating. Although she was an exceptionally talented marketer herself, she believed in the power of synergy and knew outsourcing the details would leave her free to give the project her personal best. So before the end of the day Snow White and the seven outsourcing dwarfs had entered into a JV and set a launch date.
It wasn’t long before the Queen heard the buzz about Snow White’s new product. She knew it had the potential to really dominate her niche, and she got really jealous. She was also pretty ticked because the troll hadn’t killed Snow White so she fired her entire staff saying, “If you want something done right you have to do it yourself.”
The Queen disguised herself as an old crone and had no trouble finding the little cottage in the dark woods. The dwarfs still had day jobs working for a large entertainment conglomerate, so Snow White was home alone.
“Buy an apple from a poor old woman?” she croaked when Snow White answered the door.
Although Snow White was trying to cut back on carbs, she justified the apple on the grounds of the old woman’s distressed economic state and obvious need of a more brand-conscious mentor such as herself. But when she bit into the apple, Snow White instantly fell into a deep, deep sleep.
When the seven dwarfs returned home and found Snow White laid out like she was dead they went right to work. They Googled a freelance prince who came and broke the spell in exchange for a backlink to one of their PR6 blogs.
The Queen was so angry when she heard what happened she started a comment spam campaign to undermine Snow White’s online authority, but got her own domain blacklisted instead. She also resorted to some black hat SEO tricks to steal Snow White’s traffic, but before long the Queen’s website disappeared forever in the Google sandbox.
All this publicity increased the buzz about Snow White’s new product and her launch was a big success. Soon the seven dwarfs were able to quit their day jobs and Snow White became a regular speaker on the Internet Marketing seminar circuit. So of course everyone lived happily ever after.
Goldilocks and the Three Copywriters
Once upon a time there was an up-and-coming Internet Marketer named Goldilocks. One bright morning she ventured into the deep dark woods to peddle her wares. Goldilocks had written her own sales copy already but after walking around in the woods awhile she became tired of her copy’s low conversion rates and decided to have some new copywriting done.
Just when the hot afternoon sun started making her tired, Goldilocks came across a cottage with a large sign hanging over the door. The sign read “Copywriters for Hire” so she decided to knock on the door. But nobody was home.
“I am very sleepy,” she thought. “I’m sure nobody will mind if I wait inside. Perhaps I could take a nap.”
Inside the cottage, Goldilocks noticed there were three of nearly everything. One big. One medium-sized. And one small.
“How odd,” she said. However, Goldilocks was very tired and decided to take a rest in the biggest chair.
But as soon as she sat down loud music started playing and a voice came over a loudspeaker. “Buy, buy, buy!” it yelled loudly. “Limited quantities, and the price will be going up, up, up!” Goldilocks jumped up from the chair.
“Oh my goodness!” she cried. “That’s the biggest bunch of hype and hoopla I ever did hear!”
Goldilocks took a seat on the middle-sized chair to catch her breath. But somewhat to her disappointment, nothing happened. As a matter of fact, it was so quiet she could hear crickets chirping outside. Her mind wandered and soon she forgot why she had even set out into the forest in the first place. Tired as she was, Goldilocks grew bored and decided to move on.
The third chair was smaller than the rest but Goldilocks didn’t see anywhere else to sit so she decided to give it a shot.
“Hmm,” she thought. “The seat is pretty comfortable. Not too hard, but not too soft either.”
Just then a pillow appeared on the back of the chair. She rested her head against it. Next an ottoman appeared from nowhere. She put her feet up on it. Right after that, a glass of champagne appeared on a stand beside the chair.
“Now this chair knows how to treat a lady!” she said. And she guzzled the glass of champagne right down.
But it was late in the afternoon and Goldilocks hadn’t had a bite to eat all day.
“I am so very hungry,” she thought. So she ventured into the kitchen to find some food. Now, the champagne had made her a little tipsy so she didn’t trust her eyes at first. But across the kitchen there appeared to be a table with three steaming bowls of soup.
Being hungry, Goldilocks made a beeline for the largest bowl. She peered down into the bowl and noticed it was alphabet soup. Not only that, but the letters seemed to be spelling out some message.
She read, “If this soup doesn’t make you three times more full, we’ll double your crackers back and throw in a bonus spoon.”
Goldilocks pushed the bowl of soup away in disgust.
“If that isn’t the biggest crock of cliches I ever have seen!” she exclaimed.
Goldilocks looked into the second bowl. It had words alright, but she really couldn’t understand what they were trying to say.
“I just don’t know what you want me to do,” she told it as she moved on to the smaller bowl.
“Wouldn’t you like some nice warm soup?” read the letters in the third bowl.
“Why, yes. Yes I would,” Goldilocks said. Then she ate the soup right down.
Still a little drunk off the champagne and now full of the alphabet soup, Goldilocks decided to go upstairs and take a little nap. When she opened the door to the bedroom she surveyed the room and saw three beds, a big bed, a middle-sized bed, and a smaller bed.
“My momma didn’t raise no dummy,” she said. “I ain’t gonna go through all that again.”
And with that she dove onto the smaller bed and had a nice nap.
When the copywriters arrived home, just as she suspected there was a big one, a medium-sided one, and a smaller one. And I don’t need to tell you which one she hired to write her new sales copy!
Goldilocks took her new sales copy home and posted it on her blog. The low-pressure yet emotionally appealing copy was Stumbled immediately and quickly shot to the front page of Digg.com. Her sales conversions skyrocketed, so of course she lived happily ever after.
The Emperor’s New Blog - A Tale of Social Proof
Once upon a time in a faraway land there lived a vain emperor. He longed for the day when all his subjects would obey his every command and hang upon his every word. So he started a blog because he heard blogs were the perfect way to build authority.
This emperor followed all the latest blogging fashions. His graphics were breathtaking. His choices of font and color were impeccable. He used the newest plugins, since of course it was a Wordpress blog. And of course, the emperor didn’t do any of the actual blog development himself; he had everything outsourced.
“My, what a beautiful blog,” people would say.
The emperor would then puff out his chest and say, “I know.”
But one morning the emperor felt a little depressed.
“Nobody is visiting my blog,” he said. “And further, my subjects are not yet obeying my every command. This blog has done nothing to build my authority.”
“Quite right,” said a dashing young marketer who stepped from the shadows. “Your blog is sadly ignored though it is the most beautiful and stylish of blogs. What your blog needs is traffic; traffic will cause your authority to skyrocket.”
The emperor liked what he heard.
“Then go,” said the emperor. “Bring traffic to my blog if you can.”
“And I can, but for a price and this offer won’t last,” said the marketer.
So the emperor paid vast sums to bring massive traffic to his blog.
The Emperor Goes to Market
The marketer hit the social marketing circuits and submitted the emperor’s blog to Digg, he wrote favorable reviews on StumbleUpon, and built numerous backlinks so the blog would do well in the search engine placements. He even hired people to leave comments on each and every of the emperor’s blog posts.
Soon, the emperor’s blog began to draw attention from his subjects.
“My my,” they said. “Look at all these comments. This blog must be very interesting.”
Then they subscribed to the emperor’s RSS feed. “My my,” others said. “Look at all these RSS subscribers. This blog must be very influential.”
Then they linked to the emperor’s blog.
“Goodness gracious,” people cried. “Look at this blog’s page rank. It must be a very important blog.”
The emperor was very happy because with all the comments, subscribers, and page rank, he had finally built the authority he so desired.
So the marketer approached the emperor again and said, “Now you have built much authority. The next thing you must do is monetize your blog.”
The emperor liked this idea very much, since he had his eye on a beautiful suit of clothes one of his emperor friends had recently purchased. So he immediately sat down and wrote an ebook, then wrote about it on his blog.
“I must have this ebook,” the people said. “The emperor’s blog is the most beautiful , stylish, influential, and important in the empire. Anyone who doesn’t hang on the emperor’s every word must be a nincompoop.”
The emperor’s ebook sold like hotcakes.
The Emperor and the Big Seminar
Now being a vain emperor, he wanted his fans to adore him in person. So he decided to hold a seminar and read selections from his blog and ebook. Of course, tickets to the seminar sold out within thirty seven minutes.
The morning of the seminar, the air crackled with anticipation. The emperor took the podium and began reading excerpts from his blog and ebook.
“This morning,” he said. “I had a bagel for breakfast.”
The crowd murmured, “I read that post. One of his best, one of his best.”
“Yesterday,” the emperor continued. “I had two bagels.”
The crowd roared with approval.
The emperor quoted post after post from his blog, and each word sent a quiver through the crowd. Then the emperor paused and cleared his throat, about to begin reading from his ebook.
But far in the back of the crowd, a small voice cried out, “Excuse me, please?”
The crowd turned in unison, aghast one so young would dare interrupt an emperor so powerful and wise.
The small voice belonged to a small boy. He stood on a chair and addressed the room.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wondered if anyone has noticed the emperor’s blog has no content? He really isn’t saying anything new; we all eat bagels every morning.”
“What?” shouted another voice from the crowd. “Ridiculous, absurd. The emperor’s blog is the most beautiful, stylish, influential and important of blogs. Just look at all the comments on each and every post.”
“Well now that you mention it,” said another. “I really only commented because everyone else had, and I wanted backlinks for my own blog.”
“But look at the number of RSS subscribers his blog has,” said someone else.
“Well really, I never actually read the posts. I just subscribed because everyone else had,” another voice answered.
“But look at his blog’s page rank,” someone said. “You can’t fake that, his blog must be important.”
“Now that you mention it,” said another. “I only linked to his blog because everyone else had.”
And for a long time nobody said anything.
Then finally, one by one, the people filed quietly from the room. They all went home and unsubscribed from the emperor’s blog, removed the links from their own sites, and deleted him from their browser favorites.
The emperor went out and bought some new clothes.
Blogging’s False Economics
I grew up in a small town. Like many small towns, the downtown district of my hometown has spent much of the last 20 years searching for an identity. The buildings are old, parking is limited, and commerce has moved to strip malls and mega retailers in newly developed areas. It has been interesting to watch the various ways downtown merchants have attempted to monetize the district.In some ways, blogs run in a parallel universe to shops in the downtown district of my hometown. They develop false economies in order to survive, they come and go quickly but a few of the strong survive, and there are often several empty storefronts waiting to be filled. There are valuable lessons for bloggers in the comparison.
The False Economy
One of the first big restoration movements in my hometown was what I’ll call the “antique mall syndrome”. In case you’re not familiar with the concept, basically someone rents a storefront and sublets spaces to vendors who peddle their own “antiques” (which are often just garage-sale fodder).
My hometown’s antique-mall phase was touted as the answer both to its many empty shops and its identity crisis. These antique malls made for interesting browsing, and created a certain amount of traffic. The problem is, they created what I call a “false economy” (yes, it’s my own term).
The shop owner now seems to have a successful retail business. It is full of merchandise, it is attracting attention, and the traffic count is growing. It is now a hub of activity, but there is one small problem. The owner is making money, but not because anyone is buying merchandise.
The vendors are paying space rent, the vendors are paying for advertising, the vendors are paying commissions and fees for whatever is actually sold. Although they dream of being successful retailers, most of the vendors are nickel and dime operators and they’re happy just to break even. Some months they pay out of their own pockets to keep their spaces, but they view that as an inevitable part of owning a new business.
But the store as a whole only needs to make enough sales to keep its vendors interested. When one vendor leaves there is usually another to take the place. The store does not need to meet a real need of the customer, it only has to keep its vendors hooked. It gives a false impression of success, based on false economics.
The Revolving Door
One of the notable characteristics of my hometown’s downtown district is the rapid turnover of its tenants. Because the storefronts are sometimes inexpensive to rent, many shops open with poor planning and insufficient capital. Often, vendors from the antique malls attempt to build their own false economies but lack the connections to attract and maintain vendors.
Because they lack the resources or fortitude to purchase or create their own products, these retailers often stock their shops with consignment merchandise.
These shops fail because of:
- A failure to plan, or poor planning
- A lack of capital to sustain them through infancy
- Failure to meet the needs of the customer (the public or the vendors)
A tremendous amount of resources are wasted on these shops, financial, physical, and emotional. While opportunities are available for prospective business owners to gain the training they need to open and sustain a successful business, most of these owners do not seek it.
A few of the strong do survive but remain on the fringe. They might be unusually tenatious or willing to live off limited resources, but they are not what could be called successful. Their businesses are emotionally, physically, and financially draining.
The Empty Shop Syndrome
In the midst of all this rapid turnover of shops in the downtown district, at any given moment many storefronts are empty. These empty shops serve as a deterrent to shoppers; experience has shown when too many shops remain empty in an area, buyers go somewhere else. But these empty shops look like opportunity to those who have dreamed of owning a shop someday.
The cost of entry is low and there are few hurdles to jump before you can have a shop of your own. Potential shop owners see the activity at the larger antique malls and expect they can do just as well. They set up a retail business on the assumption there is retail activity in the area without realizing the area is suffering with the antique shop syndrome.
Interestingly, neophyte shop owners often decide to rent a storefront before they have anything to put in it. They might not even have a complete vision of the type of business they will open. They are pursuing the dream of opening a business first, and figuring out the details later.
The same problem which enables the downtown district’s decline also perpetuates itself. It is a difficult cycle to break because it is a difficult problem to recognize, but eventually the entire district will fail.
Blogging Suffers These Same Ailments
Some blogs appear to be financially successful but are actually parasites living off the blood, sweat, and tears of others. They sell advertising spaces in their sidebars, and they sell editorial space in their posts. The amount they charge is small enough that none of the advertisers are hurt deeply, but both transactions result in few or no sales. The advertisers hang on with the belief they are building their brands and success is just a matter of time.
As these blogs increase their traffic they can charge more for the space, but there is no impetus to build quality, targeted traffic which will benefit the advertisers. There is no real reason to produce quality posts which will truly benefit the reader. These blogs serve nobody but the blogger.
But like the ailing downtown district suffering with the antique mall syndrome, these blogs create a false economy. There appears to be happy readers and happy advertisers, but in fact there may only be a happy blogger.
In the second stage of this false economy, others try to emulate the apparent success of these busy little blogs. Because the cost of entry is very low new blogs spring up right and left, but these are blogs without a plan, without a real purpose, and without a real passion for their topic. The mortality rate is high for these infant blogs, although a tremendous amount of resources are spent in the hopes of keeping them alive.
A few of the strong do manage to survive, but it is not a marriage based on love. One day the blogger will wake up and wonder why they have spent so much time in this relationship; they will roll over in bed, tell themselves they just don’t want to do it anymore, and that will be the end of their blogs. They won’t have the energy or passion to keep things going, and the blog will fold. It will fold, but not before inspiring other bloggers to follow the same road.
It sounds ridiculous to say anyone will rent a storefront without having a clear idea of the business they will operate there, but it does happen when the threshold to entry is low. In a similar fashion, many bloggers start a blog without a clear idea of what sort of blog they will operate; it only seems more acceptable because fewer resources are at stake.
Many bloggers throw a few ideas against the wall to see what sticks. This method works for some, but many become too discouraged to continue. Either way, a little forethought and planning could not only save wasted resources (money, time, spiritual and emotional) but it could also perpetuate the birth of more meaningful blogs and more bloggers with a passion for their topic.
The blogosphere does suffer many of the same ailments which plague a dying downtown district. It suffers from the antique mall syndrome, the revolving door, and the empty shop syndrome. 98% of the blogs in existence today are inactive. Bloggers start their blogs with expectations, but in the long run the vast majority of these expectations remain unmet.
Blogging as a community and an industry suffers as well, as readers turn to more effective, well-planned venues for information. All the empty shops and rapid turnover creates the impression blogs are neither a viable business option, nor a valuable asset for the online world, so potential readers and businesses go elsewhere.
Elsie
Elsie’s thin hand pressed the afghan into the tight space between her leg and the wheelchair arm. Her sister crocheted it, this green and orange thing, her lifeline to the outside.
“Ready to go back?” A staccato voice.
“Yes.”
“Eat your desert this time?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Want me to push you?”
Her soft blue eyes shifted. “I can do it.”
“Good girl, Elsie. It’s important to take care of yourself some.”
Elsie released the brake, carefully, one wheel and the other, slowly, not to betray herself. Back from the table, aim at the door.
“Elsie!” The staccato nurse.
Elsie froze.
“That blanket’s filthy, I’ll get it washed.”
Elsie pressed the tight space again. “No!” Then softer, “It’s fine.”
She searched for a good line, “I’m cold.”
“It’s seventy degrees in here.”
“I’m cold. Please.”
“Well, whatever. You want that nasty thing, I offered.”
Elsie waited. Must not appear rushed, hurried. Slowly to the door.
“Elsie, you taking anything from the dining hall this time?” Another bossy nurse.
Elsie couldn’t speak. She shook her head.
“Show me your hands.”
Slowly Elsie held her palms up, like a small child. Empty.
“Good girl.”
When the nurse had gone and the path seemed clear Elsie rolled into her room. She loosened the afghan and pulled a small napkin-clad square from the tight place, and smiled a little, mischievous but younger and more alive. Savoring the moment Elsie pulled back the napkin, knowing the brownie would taste like freedom.
The Old Friend
Only a thin pane of glass separated me from the rain. I watched it roll down the other side, and wondered if some other window had shed similar tears on that day. I tossed a sweater in a suitcase, considering for a moment how such a common object could have saved him. But he had no glass, no sweater, and probably no such tears.
In the bathroom I stuffed a clear vinyl pouch with society’s survival kit: toothpaste, razor, aspirin. Someone probably gave him such a kit during one of his final days in some church basement more concerned over his soul than his survival. Probably a Gideon’s New Testament in that bag too. The last one I saw had an orange cover; such things need sprucing up I guess. I wonder if he packed one for his trip, or if such a thing is needed wherever he went.
I packed all the requisite black: suit, tie, shoes. Color would take away from the occasion; someone might accidentally crack a smile. I closed the suitcase wondering if I should pack a somber attitude or if one would be furnished at the door.
I would have liked to pack balloons, confetti, party hats. I would have stood on the dock, waving and calling “bon voyage”.
Immaculata
Summer stood at bay but for the blue and yellow rays cast from stained glass, falling in panicked swirls across the floor and mahogany benches repeating front to back.
She lit candles here every night from age seven. They shivered in her eyes, hiding in shadows across her face.
“Immaculata,” the voice would say when she mouthed again silently: “Protect me so I may fulfill my destiny.”
“I am always with you,” it would whisper, and blood retreated again from her face when she bowed her head and whispered softly, “Father.”
But this time a response came from outside, “Immaculata.”
Tears stopped the shivering candle.
“Immaculata, honey. You in there?”
“Go away, momma.”
The door creaked, filling the chapel with summer. Immaculata turned her back to the altar. “Go away, momma.”
“Now come on out of there Immaculata. Your daddy’s waitin’ for you in the car.”
“He ain’t my daddy.”
Her mother hesitated at the door, then tossed a cigarette back and advanced to face her daughter. “Well, he may not be your daddy in blood. But he loves you like you was his own.”
She crossed her arms. Leaned on one hip. “Come on. We’re goin’ on a road trip.”
“Where?”
“It don’t matter.”
She hesitated again. “I shouldn’t have let you come here anyway. Your daddy’s takin’ a job in New Orleans.”
She took her daughter’s hand and led her from the chapel, from the altar and the voice that gave her comfort. To the car filled with the stale smell of whisky. They drove to a city filled with sweaty nights and Daddy’s weight upon her body.
“Protect me father, so I may fulfill my destiny.”
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