Monday 25 April 2011

Blobbing, Complete

Well, this is the end of the road for my blobbing career for the time being.
This was actually quite an enjoyable project to do, and I am impressed with how simple it really ended up being. It really was innovative and I think suits Slaughter-House perfectly.


My opinions have been captured in blobs of blogs and I don't have anything else to say.

Farewell!

Vonnegusto: Connections

To start, Vonnegusto by Ding, is a comprehensive blog.
I must note that I decided to call her up for some specific blog posts, so thanks Ding! For anyone who cares, she is the also one who sabotaged my profile picture while I was in Japan. 
Yeah, thanks again, Ding.
Oh, we also used to share Amber Blob, until she fell in love with Tumblr (half my friends are addicts), and the split became more convenient while I was away.
This turned out quite well, because now I can comment on her lovely blog, Vonnegusto.


There is SO much to work with!
Ding's content or points, will appear in red, my own will be blue.

I chose four different posts to focus on:



Putting on Some Spec[ulation]s
“What if a demon were to creep after you one night, in your loneliest loneliness, and say, 'This life which you live must be lived by you once again and innumerable times more; and every pain and joy and thought and sigh must come again to you, all in the same sequence. The eternal hourglass will again and again be turned and you with it, dust of the dust!' Would you throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse that demon? Or would you answer, 'Never have I heard anything more divine'?”
- Friedrich Nietzsche

  • Billy Pilgrim will never stop travelling through time (Friedrich Nietzsche reference)
  • He has "always lived and always will live."
It took quite a while to get through this post and understand it thoroughly, but I think that I am able to condense it into this: Billy Pilgrim is destined - or fated - into reliving his life over and over again, every "pain and joy and thought and sigh". 
Nietzsche puts the concept quite aptly with his quote, above. Make life worth it so that you would not mind reliving it over and over again, because like Billy, you might have to. 
Billy's "laissez-fair" view of life is the affects of the recycling of his life, he has grown apathetic, pathetic, and allows whatever happens to him, happen.

"Billy Pilgrim stood there politely, giving the marksman another chance." 


Nietzche and Vonnegut's ideas collide here. Nietzche encourages us to pretend that we will have to relive our lives repeatedly, and that we need to make life as bearable and good as possible. Vonnegut, uses Billy as an example of willingly giving yourself to Fate. I think Billy is an example of what not to do, given his pathetic character. Hold on and focus on the good.


This Post is a Fart
A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.
- Kurt Vonnegut
  • Vonnegut himself was a humanist
  • Slaughter-House's "cataract of a thundering moral statement" is very well hidden
  • Vonnegut insists that the most important thing in life is to be kind to one another
  • Love is an essential part of being human, and make life livable
I don't think I could agree any more. Prior to reading the book, we were encouraged to do some background reading on Vonnegut, and I found many links to his own speeches about the message of world peace and humanism. 

Here are a few:

He was a definite humanist and understood the need for love among fellow human beings on our Earth. I also agree with Ding, that, Slaughter-House Five's message is hidden excellently. I like that - it makes the novel serve purpose two-fold - as a piece of literature and a work of persuasion (think about the thin veil of symbolism in Orwell's Animal Farm, it is only enjoyable when read as a warning against fascism and Stalinism). It might seem that Vonnegut is apathetic to human life, especially with his repeating phrase "So it goes", which is used whenever life is lost. But, like Ding, I believe that it was the whole point: a way to wake us up to the reality that love is essential. 
With love, humans can be "quiet and trusting and beautiful".

The Ultimate Paradox
Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.
- Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness
  • Billy Pilgrim is an "exemplar of what not to do"
  • Billy Pilgrim did have a fate, not only in his fictional world based on reality, but also as he is a character manipulated by his author
  • "Unlike us, Billy Pilgrim has met aliens who really do know the future. Unlike us, Billy Pilgrim is a fictional character. Fictional characters always have a fate: in books, authors play God."
In Ding's other posts I agreed with what she was saying. This time, I agree ever more enthusiastically. Actually, she used the same phrase "what not to do", italics and all, as I did earlier in this same post. I had not read The Ultimate Paradox at that time. Ding just made it sound a lot better :)

Billy Pilgrim cannot be used as an example for us in our own lives far a variety of reasons. He is fictional and he was meant to be an "anti-example". Billy Pilgrim was condemned to his fate, Slaughter-House, but we are condemned to be free, we have no author.


Lart Pour Lart
"Art is the stored honey of the human soul"
- Theodore Dreisier
  • All art is not useless, in contrary to Oscar Wilde
  • Art is like "corrective lenses for human souls"
Sigh. I could probably go on about this subject forever at is one of my passions. As an artist myself (I used to feel uncomfortable saying that, but really everyone is in their own way), I strongly believe that art is what makes humans humans. Not language, not intellect, not complex emotions - although those add to our identity. Art is the sweet, enduring, eternal nectar of ourselves, and is one of the most important things to leave behind on this world before you pass. Why? Because it is unique, and no one else will give birth to the same thing. Yes, science is good, and beautiful in many other rights, but, in science, great minds think alike. In the realm of the arts, alikeness is unattainable.

This subject isn't very relevant to Slaughter-House, or my blog, but it is in one way: Slaughter-House Five is a gift from the essence of Kurt Vonnegut's being. That in itself is something great, but as he is a veteran of life, and war and love, it makes it something even greater.

I thought this was a nice way to end  my final assignment. 
Slaughter-House Five, is a piece of art.

Now that is something worth reading.

Sunday 24 April 2011

Culture, Again

I admit I've never been very good at thoroughly reading instructions.

I totally missed the Alternate Blog Topic, and although I've done 6-9, I want to write about this one!

I will keep it sweet and simple though, and simply make my point in beautiful point form

  • Vonnegut dedicated Slaughter-House to a German taxi driver, who had fought for Germany
  • He treats both sides of the conflict as equals
  • He does not once attack Germany
  • He does not once defend, or condone, Germany and it's actions in the war
  • although he mentions Hitler, he does not say anything offensive, but just wishes that he was an innocent baby again
  • "The dog who had sounded so ferocious in the winter distances, was a German shepherd. She was shivering. Her tail was between her legs. She had been borrowed that morning from a farmer. She had never been to war before. She had no idea what game was being played. Her name was Princess". Need Vonnegut say more? The German soldier body was just embodied by an innocent puppy-dog. They looked big, mean, tough, but had no idea what was going on.
  • German soldiers are portrayed as fairly harmless and friendly, on the POW camp
  • Although he portrays Americans in a rather pathetic way, I think that he had to do so to prove his point, and encourage a bit of good ol' humility
As an end note, I cannot think of any reasons today that can justify assimilation and culture conformity. I love multiculturalism. I relish in it, in the language, the diversity, the music and oh, the food! I am the first one to stand up for it and I will be the last to destroy its beauty.

However, Vonnegut is not from my time. The Holocaust and other events of genocide, are not either.

I can, and do understand that when one's life and family's lives are on the line, sacrifices must be made, and sometimes that is culture. It's unfortunate and tragic, but time and time again, history has proven the sad reality that humans have not valued one another as equals.

So, in conclusion:
Vonnegut loves America.
Vonnegut loves Germany.
Vonnegut regrets not having the opportunity to become more familiar with German culture.
I understand why, and I understand why he could not.

Slaughter-House and the World


While reading through the topic suggestions for writing assignments 6 through 9, none of them really grabbed my attention, except for the second one: "How would the novel be received in different areas of the world? Would the novel have the same impact in different areas of the world? Would the novel have the same impact in another country or culture?". 


As you may have noticed from my other posts, I have indeed been to Japan recently. I have experienced the culture first hand, and I think that I would do a decent job on this topic. Also, being a mixture of two ethnicities, with complete opposite cultures, has given me some idea of how Slaughter-House Five would be accepted – and interpreted in different cultures.
Slaughter-House Five was written by an American for an American audience.
Yes, there are many themes that can only be picked up by an audience familiar with American society and ideals, however, the topic is universal. War, and the effects of war, has touched every corner of the inhabited world. Also, the novel is centered on the Second World War, which touched all major political powers of the day.



I can also make arguments that Slaughter-House could make a big impact in Japanese society. Japan was completely and utterly devastated during the war, and at the end was left weak and desperate. They had refused to back down and surrender to the Americans because of one thing: Honour. Ever since the time of the samurai, it brought shame to your family to surrender, it was better to commit suicide. After the atomic bombs however, this way of thinking has greatly changed. Many of the strong, stubborn ideals of prior generations were snuffed out. I feel that the Japanese would greatly sympathize with Vonnegut’s message and pathetic characters. The Japanese hate the idea of war, but have learned to accept what has happened in the past. Kurt Vonnegut hates war too, but accepts them “like glaciers”. 


Although I don’t know an awful lot about other cultures around the world, I feel that the subject matter in the novel is very universal. Vonnegut sympathizes with both sides of the conflict, does not glorify death and suffering, and most importantly does not place blame on anyone. 


We are all equal in the eyes of Vonnegut and I think that is the most important thing in an accepting audience.

Saturday 23 April 2011

Dot of Time

"The guide invited the crowd to imagine that they were looking across a desert at a mountain range on a day that was twinkling bright and clear. They could look at a peak or a bird or a cloud, at a stone right in front of them, or even down into a canyon behind them. But among them was this poor Earthling, and his head was encased in a steel sphere which he could never take off. There was only one eyehole through which he could look, and welded to that eyehole were six feet of pipe... Whatever poor Billy saw through the pipe, he had no choice but to say to himself, 'That's life.'"
- Kurt Vonnegut (Slaughter-House Five)
 

What's Up with the Tralfamadorians?

 
Reading Slaughter-House Five, the only thing that really takes the audience by surprise is Billy's founded belief in Tralfamadore and it's inhabitants. Billy seems to be normal (remember, that's a relative term), until he begins to go on about his "two feet high, and green, and shaped like plumber's friends" friends. His daughter, Barbara, thought the same thing. He's gone bonkers.
 Maybe there is a planet called Tralfamadore somewhere, and maybe the little creatures do exist, don't ask me, I don't know.

However, there is plenty of textual evidence revealing the development of Billy's mind. 
Billy and Vonnegut both needed closure and an explanation for all the atrocities that had occured during the war. So it goes, what Tralfamadorians say when they see a corpse, at first glance seems to be an apathetic way to address someone who has died. But it makes perfect sense: "One death is a tragedy, a million is a statistic". Billy/Vonnegut needed some kind of mechanism to deal and process the immense destruction that they witnessed.

The Tralfamadore philosophy also states that when someone is dead, they are simply having "a bad day", and soon enough they would be reliving their happier moments. This must have been greatly reassuring to Billy, as he saw thousands of people die around him, and knew the manner of his own death.

The Tralfamadorian motif could be understood differently all together: Vonnegut's way of excusing himself from describing war in such a light mannered way. It screams, "Don't take that too seriously, I also believe in this." He is still trying to make sense of it all, and the novel represents this inner struggle.

The sketches above I made while considering this blog post. 

The top sketches were inspired by the Carl Sagan video about the 4th dimension. If 2-D objects can only see 3-D ones as slices, then it would make sense that humans see time as progressive slices. Tralfamadorians see it all as one shape, one continuous Time.

On the left and right side are little drawings of the aliens, just to give an idea of what they are like.

In the centre, I sketched out what I find to be one of the most fascinating things that the Tralfamadorians describe. 

"[They] don't see human beings as two-legged creatures... They see them as great-millipedes -'with babies' legs at one end and old people's legs at the other'"

We are all young, middle-aged and old, simultaneously.

My Opinions on Slaughter-House Five

To be very honest, although I do not regret reading it in the least, I am rather disappointed with Slaughter-House Five. I admit I had high expectations for Slaughter-House Five because of the things I had heard about Kurt Vonnegut and the book itself. I also felt like I needed a break from the several dystopian texts we had read: 1994 and Brave New World. Although I thoroughly enjoyed both and each got me thinking, it was a lot to process. My father, an avid historian, had talked about the bombing of Dresden on several occasions as he studied both history and political science in university. I hadn't understood the big picture and I am usually quite interested in the history of the two world wars.
Having that said, I was not prepared - in the least - for the non-linear way this book is written. At first I marveled at the ingenuity of it all, but my enthusiasm slowly died as it became increasingly difficult to get much meaning out of the novel. The ideas, themes and style were captivating, but the characters, plot, lack of clarity and strong emotion, was utterly appalling. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that I was disappointed in myself for not being able to squeeze more out of it, as many others have been able to do so.

And so, I attempted reading parts of the book over, such as Billy's death and the night he was abducted by the Tralfamadorians, but I found myself becoming even more lost. One unanswered question led to another, and as my brain tried to make logic of the story, by sorting it in linear way, it became impossible to find exactly where something was in the book. 

I think that Slaughter-House Five is so genius, that it cannot be constrained to, or is compatible with the physical pages of a book. It doesn't work the same way that three dimensional shapes try to interact with two dimensional ones. When I get the chance, I am determined to read the novel over again, and perhaps follow along with a time line, or some other graphic organizer.

Until then, Slaughter-House Five, you remained unconquered.

I wanted to end this post with a quote... but flipping through the book now, I can't find it. Darn.

Friday 22 April 2011

Life Experiences

Like anyone, I've often contemplated, or even tried to write a story. And like anyone, it usually has never reached paper, or past the first chapter. As a child I read nothing but books like Narnia, Harry Potter, Swallows and Amazons and of course, anything Roald Dahl. One of my all time favourites is The Faraway Tree series, by Enid Blyton, and I must admit, I was a big R. L. Stine junkie during the 4th - 6th grades. So naturally, I find that there is absolutely nothing of interest in my own life that could possibly teach anyone, anything.

But I guess, I'll try.

In my short life there are not too many things that I am exceptionally proud of, except the way I spent my childhood summers, and I think that those times with my cousins, running wild and free like kids should, shaped me more as a person than anything else. My experiences taught me to appreciate people around me, nature, and the beauty of life. If I could share any of my life experiences, it would be those. I would hope that my audience would learn the importance of the small things, family and not being so hard on yourself. Although this is a cliché: Stop to smell the roses!

Most of the characters in my novel would be closely based on myself, my brother and my cousins. 
  • Myself, the only girl, naive and young but awfully eager to prove herself as tough as the others.
  • Naoki, my brother, my sidekick, who was always far too gullible
  • Shinichi, my best-friend-cousin all in one.
  • Takuya, my eldest cousin, the one person I admired  as a child. I still look up to him, and he is still my hero. 
  • Takuya's younger brother Takahiro. We called him "the Evil One". Pretty self-explanatory.

The genre would probably be along the lines of a memoir, perhaps similar to the style of To Kill a Mockingbird. The plot would follow my fondest childhood memories of running away from stray dogs, catching enormous Japanese beetles, gathering live shellfish for breakfast, catching fish on my grandmother's farm and cooking them for dinner. I would always be the littlest lagging behind, but always somehow managing to squeeze my way through. The climax of the story, would be when my eldest cousin was attacked by a dog, and the story would slowly die down, once I returned to Canada. 

A Walk Around the A-Dome

Amidst all the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear chaos, my mother and I had the opportunity to stop in Hiroshima. As the bullet train from Kyoto to my mother's home city Tamana passed through city, we both decided that we had to stop, especially with the fear of nuclear disaster in northern Japan. The experience was one that I will never forget, and woke me up to the realities - and atrocities of war. 


The building's original name was the Industrial Promotion Hall, and it was considerably larger than the remains left after the explosion. It was one of the few buildings left standing within a two kilometer (one and a quarter mile) radius of the explosion, which in this photo is about a hundred meters directly beyond the dome itself.   It's remarkable that anything of the building survived at all, because it's estimated that the shock wave from the bomb created a pressure of 35 tons per square meter at the hypo-center.



The Ota River which flows through the city of Hiroshima. It runs right next to the A-Dome and runs through the Memorial Park. Although it looks peaceful now, hundreds if not thousands of people, drowned at this exact location. As ground temperatures soared following the explosion, people came to wade in the water to cool off or treat their severely burnt flesh. Many died due to their wounds, and witnesses claim the water was tinted red with their blood.


A volunteer tour guide was standing near by and noticed that I was reading the English translation of the memorial stone. We got talking, in Japanese (her English was rather broken) and she explained that she was an "in-utero survivor". Her mother, 22 at the time of the bombing, was 2 months pregnant with her. Five years ago, her mother succumbed to radiation related cancer. She now volunteers her time to spread the message against nuclear warheads.





The Atomic Bomb Memorial Mound. This humble, knobbly hill is the final resting place of the cremated bodies of over 700,000 unidentified victims of the atomic disaster. Rest in peace.








Nearby the Memorial Mound are dozens of plastic cases filled with thousands of folded paper cranes, sent in from all over Japan and the world. Traditionally, 1000 paper cranes are folded as a wedding blessing, but the meaning was reinvented in the famous true story of Sadako Sasakii. She  was diagnosed with leukemia, due to the radiation, and spent her time in a nursing home folding cranes. She was inspired to do so by the Japanese saying that one who created a thousand paper cranes would then be granted a wish. Her wish was simply to live. However, she managed to fold only 644 cranes before she became too weak to fold any more, and died shortly after.

Burnt and charred clothing of child victims of the bombing. In the background are pictured of the effects of radiation sickness, caused by drinking the contaminated rain water.





Inside the museum, I read about the political and economic setting of Japan throughout the duration of WWII. The facts were laid out scientifically, statistics, timelines and models surrounded me. I could handle that. But as we moved towards the second floor of the exhibition, it all got far too real. Case stories of children, real life accounts, pictures and mementos of loved ones... It was devastating. Most were about school children who attended an elementary school just a few kilometres upstream of the A-Dome.  None of these children survived.

One story I read was of a 13 year old girl who had complained of feeling ill the morning of the bombing. Her mother however, insisted that she go to school and do the volunteer work that they had been assigned to do that day for the war effort. She never came home, her body was never found, and her mother blamed herself for the rest of her life. There were diary entries of children, written hours before the bombing. Drawings by the same children, who died either instantly or passed in agony of the radiation sickness.

I am proud to say that I did make it through the whole exhibit, but I did have to leave for a few minutes to compose myself, and the thing is I wasn't actually there when it happened. I now have ten-fold respect for Kurt Vonnegut and for what he must have experienced in the war. He heard, saw and experienced the deaths of thousands of people, as a Prisoner of War. Forced to cremate bodies in mass graves... I cannot fathom, and I hope that I never will.


Dresden and Hiroshima, there is no difference. 
One last note to make though, I cannot bring myself to say "So it goes".

A Warped Narrative

The classroom was exceptionally sticky that day. Hot summer humidity, tangled up with craft feathers and Elmer's glue. Beads of sweat and tears clung to his eyelashes. Not once in my life had I seen such despair in such small a face.

I blamed myself then, and I did one year after. A decade later, I would have allowed time and age to reason with me. But had I listened more intently, ignored summer camp protocol and had called his mother, as he had requested, this could have been avoided. Although the training had taught me how to respond to his needs, I didn't know how to respond to my own. But I did know that I couldn't handle having a child die in my arms. Stroking his damp, limp hair was surely more of a comfort to me, as he lay unconscious. I closed my eyes tightly and reassured myself that he would be okay. He would be fully recovered two days later and would win his soccer game the next week. He would also go on to receive Student of the Month in October. But regardless, I was terrified, and I needed to breathe. Time wouldn't stop.

When I opened my eyes, I was on the Tokyo subway, being gently swayed as the train car whizzed by station after station. The jet lag was slowly being coaxed out of me, it had been a long day. We were on our way home from the National Museum of History, and although fascinated, I was looking forward to a good meal and a warm bed. I dozed off for a moment listening to my mother's conversation with my cousins. They said that life was getting easier, and that they were starting to make sense of all that had happened. With their mother having passed away over two years ago, life had begun to have a normal rhythm again.Then it was our stop, we pushed our way off of the car and stood by the next platform for the next train. I closed my eyes: It wouldn't arrive for another 10 minutes. Time wouldn't stop.

I opened my eyes, full of hot, angry tears. I was an inconsolable wreck. I felt everything and nothing at the same time, emptiness full of a vastness of emotions I never dreamt possible. Despair was one: she lay dying in a hospital bed over 8000 kilometres away. I could do nothing but pass the phone to my father. My whole body trembled.

I listened secretly on the other line. She was gone. Time wouldn't stop.

The whole world began to tremble. I was back in Tokyo and my mother informed me that, indeed it was an earthquake. She said it would be over quickly. I wasn't scared, everyone else was calm, but as the tremors became stronger and increasingly intense, I lost all confidence in the situation. For once in my life, no matter what I held on to, it shook with the ground it was grounded to. Business men took cover, and junior high school students shrieked and prayed that it would stop. The kiosk ladies ran to catch falling merchandise. I stared blankly at the foreign skyline as everything wobbled in unison. I could hear the ground's fury relinquished beneath my feet. It was wicked. Time wouldn't stop.


I was brought  back by the sound of the ambulance. He was starting to gain consciousness and his eyes started to look clearer. He looked up at me and we both cried. He was going to be alright. The paramedics poked and prodded him, asking him dozens of questions, all of which he answered correctly. His mother came running in, and in the most beautiful and gentle way, she picked up her son. She apologized profusely to him, and to me. She had forgotten to give him his medication before camp that morning, and had also failed to inform staff of his medical condition on the registration for. He was epileptic.

He went home but before hand, perhaps sensing my incredible sense of guilt for all that had happened, he gave me a big hug and a big smile. I wish I could have taken a picture, nothing made me feel more relieved. Time wouldn't stop.

I awoke the next morning after the phone call, to hear my parents making funeral arrangements over the phone. It was too expensive to attend, the airfare for the five of us would be incredible. I would have to cope without any sense of closure, until the next time I visited Japan.

I opened my eyes to see Tokyo, as still as could be. With public transport closed, the loud speaker informed us that most people would have to walk home that evening, or stay at a hotel.


Then there I was, sitting at my laptop writing a blog post for my English project. I hoped I would have the time to finish that evening.

Time wouldn't stop.

Thursday 7 April 2011

Tralfamadore Fun


The animation I made has absolutely no meaning, and was purely to kill some time. It's just some Tralfamadorians having some fun.  I made this on the flight to Japan: the little boy sitting in front of me let me use his modelling clay.

Clay + Camera + 13 hours = Stop/Motion Animation!