Scott: Mercedes or Brynja?

In an attempt to broaden the scope of this project and encourage the participation of those not directly involved, I would like to start a new category called “Fact or Fiction?”. The idea is simple: present, in some meaningful form, two characters or anecdotes, one real and one fictitious. It is then up to the readers to guess which, in fact, exists in our reality. The goal is for the writer to outsmart the readers, hopefully demonstrating how real live people and events are often stranger than fiction.

Enter, Mercedes. She is a 21-year-old astronomical physics major here at the U. She doesn’t wear makeup, and can be seen wearing plaid shirts and funky Eskimo-style hats. Her father named her after his favorite kind of car as he did her four siblings Lexus, Lamborghini, Ferrari and Buick. She aspires to be the first woman on the moon. Her views on kissing? “That’s gross!”

Now, meet Brynja, a 24-year-old business major. He hails from Iceland but has lived in America for the past 10 years. He speaks fluent Icelandic as well as English with just enough accent to give a mysterious quality to his soft-spoken nature. He has worked on a fishing boat in Alaska every summer since he was eighteen where he maintains a long-distance relationship with a Muslim tour guide. His thoughts on Sigur Ros? “I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is.”

Brooke: Blessed Brambles

They live within the blessed brambles. Colorful shacks, scrapped together with old washboards, wood, bits and pieces of discarded furniture.
During the day, the doors are thrown wide, unhinged to let a small fraction of light enter their dark little hobbles. During the night, they crouch in the darkness–They lean together and sigh, like their haphazard houses.
Despite harsh conditions they hang curtains, create flower boxes, make noble attempts to beautify the chaotic mess they live in.
One shack has a ridiculous blow-up Santa Claus mounted upon the roof. The jolly red bearded man is its lone adornment. He is nearly taller than the house itself.
Children peer out of darkened doorways. They bite their lips and tug at their shirtsleeves.
Men sweat and trek through vegetable fields that have somehow magically sprung up from the desert sands.
I feel bad for treating them like a spectacle, but I watch carefully as they pluck fat red tomatoes from their vines and plunk them into wooden crates.
Papá is giving me the grand tour, keenly narrating as we hurtle down the dusty roads in our little car.
“These, are tomatoes” he says, gesturing towards the sweat-stained workers and their crates.
“Those are green beans” He gestures another direction.
I nod, and smile.
“This is a strawberry patch”
“That is a squash plant.”
Then, without warning we arrive upon the shacks.
Tossed and ugly, into the weeds.
The blow-up Santa Claus towering above.
The dirty children and their frazzled mothers.
“And that–” Papá continues, smiling sadly through his comb-like mustache, “Is poverty.”

Scott: Chaim Potok

I have always loved Jews. From my childhood best friend Jeremy Wickman to my obsession with social commentator Michael Medved, we have always just been kindred spirits, Jews and I. I’m not one to stereotype a whole race of people but I know for a fact that every Jew on earth is smart, introspective, and somewhat of a misfit. Those qualities remind me of me.

So today I would like to add one more Jew to my kindred spirits list: Rabbi and fictionist Chaim Potok.
Last week I finished his novel The Chosen and was so taken by it I started reading its sequel, The Promise, yesterday and I’m almost done.

A brief list of the themes Potok tackles in these books is enough to make one’s spine tingle with curiosity. His characters delve into the history of Judaism, Freudian psychology, what it meant to be a Secularist and Orthodox Jew during World War II, friendship, parenthood, childhood, becoming a man, the learning process, the role of current events in one’s life, family legacy, honor, pain, atonement, and love (of the romantic variety). That’s a lot of material to be covered in just two books but Potok’s characters are as deep as the Jewish people and therefore deal with these issues in a quite natural way that sheds light on all without coming to trite conclusions about any.

Notably absent from this list of themes is God. While it is assumed that the motive behind the extremely pious practices of all the characters is a belief in God, the characters seem to have no personal relationship with Him. Indeed the only mentions of God in the books focus on His dealings with the Jewish people as a whole; a force that is merely present and accepted but never explored.

For me perhaps the most delicious quality of Potok’s writing is his excellent use of figurative language, all of which adds to the believability of the characters. I think the mark of a talented writer is one who can express thoughts and feelings shared by the whole human race in a way which helps us to better understand ourselves.

For example: when the actions of a certain female character casts suspicion on her affection towards our main character, his jealousy is summed up in one sentence that says it all “But I understood, and the understanding was edged with an emotion I had no right to feel but felt anyway.” As someone who has suffered from the green monster of jealousy, that sentence made my gut wrench and in that moment I knew exactly how Reuven Malter felt.

Months after key events in the plot take place, Reuven is trying to make sense of how things are unfolding, or not unfolding…

“All during those last weeks of August it had seemed as if the separate lines of our lives were being manipulated somehow, purposefully and carefully brought together by some master weaver. Now it seemed the weaver had wearied of his game. The lines hung free. So the summer turned slowly into the mist and smoke of autumn.”

It’s these kinds of observations that we all make, but Potok expresses in a way that gives meaning to the meaningless. His prose is no more decorative than the natural flow of human thought.

I cried at the end of the first book. We’ll see tonight if I cry at the end of the second.

Brooke: I Was Not Afraid

The man smelled heavily of dirt and marijuana. He beckoned to me as I crossed the threshold of the empty den.
First he called only with his hands, motioning me forward. Then a rough, quiet voice broke the silence. “Hey, come over here.”
“Me?” I breathed.
“Yeah, how do you work this TV?”
He spoke with the slightest hint of a Spanish accent.
“I’m not sure.” I said, peering at the blank screen.
I took small, hesitant steps towards him. He fumbled with the buttons.
“Look, it doesn’t work. Can you help me?”
“I really don’t know how to fix it.”
To prove myself, I pressed a button. Then I pressed another. Nothing happened. “I don’t know… I’m sorry.”
I began to retreat.
“Don’t let me scare you away!” He called.
“Oh no!” I replied, startled. “I just really have no idea how to get that to work.”
Rather than leave altogether, I sat in one of the chairs lining the corridor and pulled out an essay I needed to read for a class later that day.
He left me alone for a few moments, but then came back, pacing in front of the line of payphones on the other side of the wall.
“These phones, they block my number.” He told me.
Then—“I’ve been wandering around Utah country for the past 3 days. Sleeping in the streets. But I don’t ask anybody for help. I figure I’m 32 years old, you know? I should be man enough by now to take care of myself.”
I nodded my head.
“But they kicked me off the bus. For no reason. And I need to call my friend.”
Feeling a little less apprehensive, I offered him my cell phone. He seemed sincerely desperate.
He took it kindly, and made his correspondence short, thanking me profusely afterwards.
At this point, he started to make light conversation. He asked me about my studies.
I told him I was studying English. To which he replied “What’s wrong with your English?” I tried to explain to him that it only meant I studied literature and writing.
I watched him as he frowned, and tried to grasp this concept. “You mean like periods and commas and stuff?” He glanced quizzically at the essay resting in my lap.
“Yeah kind of…” I confirmed.
We continued to talk. I told him about my film classes. “We learn about movies,” I explained. This was exciting to him. He asked me if I had seen the movie Holes, which he had seen for the first time a few days before. I told him I had, and we began an avid discussion of the characters and plot.
Then, rather suddenly, as if something about our conversation had suddenly struck him by surprise he tilted his head and interjected “you’re not afraid of me at all—are you?!”
I, too, was struck by surprise. “No!” I replied adamantly. And in that second, it was true.

Rules

So the big day is only hours away and I figured I would post some parameters.

Aaron, Scott–you can add to these, revise them, whatever you want and then we will reach some sort of agreement.

1. Each sibling MUST post on their appointed day for the entirety of the year (minus any major holidays).

2. Any time a sibling fails to post on their day before 12 midnight (in their respective time zones), a punishment (of the other two siblings choosing) will be issued.

3.  All punishments must be in some way documented and posted on the blog.

4. Each posting must be at least one (decent sized) paragraph in length and must contain original material.

5. To clarify–”original material” means that each posting must contain something that was created or at least heavily re-worked within this new year.
6. Postings can be poems, short stories, creative nonfiction, screenplays, song lyrics, etc.

7. Postings can also be some sort of creative visual art endeavor such as photography, graphics, animation or videos.

Okay! That’s all I can think of for now. I am sure this list will grow and be revised as time passes.

I will see all of you…before midnight tomorrow.

ciao,

Brooke

Coming Soon…

Coming at you 1/14/2008.

Of Epic Proportions: The Parker Sibling Project to Increase Awesomeness and Productivity In the Year 2008 OR OEP: PSPIAPIY2008 is a daily blog project wherein 3 siblings will take turns posting blog entries 6 days a week. That means two entries per sibling per week.