Can Death of a Salesman be Described as a Tragedy Essay Example for Free

Can Death of a Salesman be Described as a Tragedy Essay Aristotle first defined a tragedy in literature as a story where the main character is a hero a very brilliant person except that he has one major flaw which leads to his downfall, namely, death. Shakespeare then expanded on this and produced his world famous tragedies such as Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth and Hamlet. In all of these plays, the main character is a person of high social standing and exceptionally talented, however each has a very serious flaw as well. For example, Romeo is of Italian nobility and is very efficient with a sword and dagger but he is a fool for love and falls in love with Juliet as soon as he sees her, despite already being in love with Rosaline beforehand. That is the flaw which eventually leads to his demise. This definition has over time become the benchmark for a tragedy. Arthur Miller was an immigrant to the USA and can be seen as the opposite of Willy. Willy, however, is a proud born and bred American and holds to heart the very fundamentals of the American Dream a very capitalistic ethos. Miller, on the other hand, had communist beliefs which eventually landed him in trouble with the government. Both Death of a Salesman and another of Millers plays, All My Sons both have the foundations of the American Dream and also both secretly criticize the capitalistic belief. In Death of a Salesman, Willy dies just trying to live the American Dream and he never gives up on it an indication of his extreme optimism in all things despite how blatantly unrealistic achieving the American Dream was for him. The characterisation of Willy Loman is also quite interesting. He strives to be like a very old, successful salesman he met that worked from home, who when he died, numerous people he knew went to his funeral. He is someone everyone can relate to and make us love him, but he also has qualities that we all loathe and make us hate him at times. This is purposefully done by Miller to only make it more shocking when Willy dies in the end despite it is made quite obvious to readers it is inevitable. His name is also carefully planned out by Miller Willy is an average name and nothing special, but his surname is a clear reference to what he is. Loman low man is clearly meant to show how ordinary he is, despite just how much Willy strives to be the opposite. Willys main character flaw is that he is just too proud. For example, when he is offered a job by Charley his neighbour after being fired, Willy straight out refuses and is quite offended as he sees it as giving up and asking for help. This is shown by when Willy says, I dont want your goddam job! After Charley politely offers him a good one. Willys strong beliefs in the American Dream are also shown when he says, A man cant go out the way he came in, Ben, a man has to add up to something, by coming in, Willy means when a man is born and by going out, Willy means when a man dies. Also, adding up to something must mean being rich in Willys context. This follows the American Dream in that a man makes something of himself from nothing. Willys greatest fear has always been dying with nothing exactly what happens in the end. A use of dramatic irony by Miller, Willy willingly fulfils his own utmost fear. That quotation is also foreshadowing Willys death another intentional device by Miller. Besides his pride, another flaw of Willy is very poor and deteriorating mental health and he is subject to random flashbacks and hallucinations often of his dead and once very successful older brother, Ben, someone Willy idolizes. An example of one of his hallucinations is when Willy says, Ben, Ive been waiting for so long, despite Ben being dead at this point. The play is also cleverly structured by Miller. Music for example a flute plays in the background during some scenes for an added dramatic effect. This flute is heard in both the opening and ending scene. The play also makes heavy use of flashbacks, but sometimes a flashback scene plays on stage at the same time as the scene set in the present. This technique is seen in Act Two, while Willy is in the restaurant with Biff and Happy. On the whole, the structure is skilfully used to make the storyline more immersive to the audience. Although, it does not have the same level of effect when being read from a book. The historical context of the play greatly influences both the themes and language of the play greatly. Death of a Salesman is set during the late 1940s. This time setting influences both the characters and the audience, as the play first premiered on the tenth of February, 1949 the life of Willy Loman was something Americans going to watch the play at that time could relate to. Sixty years on, more modern audiences will react differently as times have changed and the idea of the American Dream isnt as dominant anymore. Besides the American Dream, other common themes can be found in the play. Betrayal is quite clear as Willy betrays Linda by cheating on her with the Woman, and Willy also sees the way Biff rebels against him as betrayal and as Willy himself says, Spite! . Another major theme would be one man Willy in this case being kept back from his dreams by society. In addition, the language used by characters matches the historical setting and context. In performances of the play, characters do not usually have the New Yorker accent you would expect, but they talk like a New Yorker. For example, words like gee, and rhetorically asking the person they are talking to if they hear this? On the subject of whether we can define Death of a Salesman as a tragedy or not is not a simple question as there is substantial evidence for both sides of the argument. To begin with, those who say that it is a tragedy may argue that it ends with the death of Willy, the main character, just like other tragedies. Moreover, Willy has explicit flaws which slowly lead to his downfall throughout the play. Finally, Willy may not ever do anything that can be deemed heroic, but within his own household he is very much a figure that is looked up to so it may still be a tragedy, albeit on a less grand scale. In contrast, you could argue that it is not a tragedy as all other characters from Shakespeares tragedies were people of high standing whereas Willy is not. Additionally, Willy is not at all a hero by any definition in fact he is in some ways a bad person as will be shown. Finally, Shakespeares heroes have quite dramatic flaws, whereas Willy has the same flaws as every ordinary human being. These are quite convincing arguments to why it isnt a tragedy. We will be looking at each argument more in-depth. The play follows the tragedies of Shakespeare in that the main character dies in the end. Willy commits suicide by crashing his car so that his family would get the life insurance money of $20,000 and make life easier for them. This is of course a noble reason to kill oneself as it is very selfless. However, it would make Willy a hypocrite as killing himself is also him giving up something he condemned. Nevertheless, his intentions were admirable and this could make him seen as a hero since he willingly died for a selfless cause.

Macbeth Was Not Totally Responsible For The Evil Unleashed In Scotland :: essays research papers

Macbeth Was Not Totally Responsible For the Evil Unleashed In Scotland Macbeth, although largely responsible, was not totally responsible for the torrent of evil which was unleashed in Scotland after after Duncan's death. Both Lady Macbeth and the supernatural powers must accept at last some of the responsibility for the evil deeds unleashed during Macbeth reign. They both forced Macbeth to be proactive in chasing the crown at a time when he was of the opinion that " If chance may have me king why chance may crown me." The play began with the forces of evil stirring Macbeths ambitions nature by declaring that he " shall b king thereafter." They then said of thou be none." Banquo noted how Macbeth looked fearful and he must have realised the witches put into words what Macbeth had been thinking. The supernatural forces not only got Macbeth thinking about how he could become king but also laid the foundations for his feelings of insecurity that would lead to his subsequent murder of Banquo. The major external influence pushing Macbeth to kill Duncan was Lady Macbeth. She knew her husband was " too full o' the milk of human kindness" to take the initiative and she resolved to push him into murdering Duncan Macbeth was so upset after killing Duncan he stated " I'll go no more, I am afraid to think what I have done". Lady Macbeth then accepted the responsibility of taking the daggers and smearing the grooms with blood. She had goaded Macbeth into killing Duncan and she stopped him from falling apart with remorse after having done the deed. Macbeths reign as king was one of fear and insecurity that others would take the crown from him. Of Banquo he said " their is none but he whose being I do fear". Macbeth was obviously thinking back to the prophesies of the witches and he

Second Foundation 14. Anxiety

Poli placed the breakfast on the table, keeping one eye on the table news-recorder which quietly disgorged the bulletins of the day. It could be done easily enough without loss of efficiency, this one-eye-absent business. Since all items of food were sterilely packed in containers which served as discardable cooking units, her duties vis-a-vis breakfast consisted of nothing more than choosing the menu, placing the items on the table, and removing the residue thereafter. She clacked her tongue at what she saw and moaned softly in retrospect. â€Å"Oh, people are so wicked,† she said, and Darell merely hemmed in reply. Her voice took on the high-pitched rasp which she automatically assumed when about to bewail the evil of the world. â€Å"Now why do these terrible Kalganese† – she accented the second syIlable and gave it a long â€Å"a† – â€Å"do like that? You'd think they'd give a body peace. But no, it's just trouble, trouble, all the time. â€Å"Now look at that headline: ‘Mobs Riot Before Foundation Consulate.' Oh, would I like to give them a piece of my mind, if I could. That's the trouble with people; they just don't remember. They just don't remember, Dr. Darell – got no memory at all. Look at the last war after the Mule died – of course I was just a little girl then – and oh, the fuss and trouble. My own uncle was killed, him being just in his twenties and only two years married, with a baby girl. I remember him even yet – blond hair he had, and a dimple in his chin. I have a trimensional cube of him somewheres- â€Å"And now his baby girl has a son of her own in the navy and most like if anything happens- â€Å"And we had the bombardment patrols, and all the old men taking turns in the stratospheric defense – I could imagine what they would have been able to do if the Kalganese had come that far. My mother used to tell us children about the food rationing and the prices and taxes. A body could hardly make ends meet- â€Å"You'd think if they had sense people would just never want to start it again; just have nothing to do with it. And I suppose it's not people that do it, either; I suppose even Kalganese would rather sit at home with their families and not go fooling around in ships and getting killed. It's that awful man, Stettin. It's a wonder people like that are let live. He kills the old man – what's his name – Thallos, and now he's just spoiling to be boss of everything. â€Å"And why he wants to fight us, I don't know. He's bound to lose – like they always do. Maybe it's all in the Plan, but sometimes I'm sure it must be a wicked plan to have so much fighting and killing in it, though to be sure I haven't a word to say about Hari Seldon, who I'm sure knows much more about that than I do and perhaps I'm a fool to question him. And the other Foundation is as much to blame. They could stop Kalgan now and make everything fine. They'll do it anyway in the end, and you'd think they'd do it before there's any damage done.† Dr. Darell looked up. â€Å"Did you say something, Poli?† Poli's eyes opened wide, then narrowed angrily. â€Å"Nothing, doctor, nothing at all. I haven't got a word to say. A body could as soon choke to death as say a word in this house. It's jump here, and jump there, but just try to say a word-† and she went off simmering. Her leaving made as little impression on Darell as did her speaking. Kalgan! Nonsense! A merely physical enemy! Those had always been beaten! Yet he could not divorce himself of the current foolish crisis. Seven days earlier, the mayor had asked him to be Administrator of Research and Development. He had promised an answer today. Well- He stirred uneasily. Why, himself! Yet could he refuse? It would seem strange, and he dared not seem strange. After all, what did he care about Kalgan. To him there was only one enemy. Always had been. While his wife had lived, he was only too glad to shirk the task; to hide. Those long, quiet days on Trantor, with the ruins of the past about them! The silence of a wrecked world and the forgetfulness of it all! But she had died. Less than five years, all told, it had been; and after that he knew that he could live only by fighting that vague and fearful enemy that deprived him of the dignity of manhood by controlling his destiny; that made life a miserable struggle against a foreordained end; that made all the universe a hateful and deadly chess game. Call it sublimation; he, himself did can it that – but the fight gave meaning to his life. First to the University of Santanni, where he had joined Dr. Kleise. It had been five years well-spent. And yet Kleise was merely a gatherer of data. He could not succeed in the real task – and when Darell had felt that as certainty, he knew it was time to leave. Kleise may have worked in secret, yet he had to have men working for him and with him. He had subjects whose brains he probed. He had a University that backed him. All these were weaknesses. Kleise could not understand that; and he, Darell, could not explain that. They parted enemies. It was well; they had to. He had to leave in surrender – in case someone watched. Where Kleise worked with charts; Darell worked with mathematical concepts in the recesses of his mind. Kleise worked with many; Darell with none. Kleise in a University; Darell in the quiet of a suburban house. And he was almost there. A Second Foundationer is not human as far as his cerebrum is concerned. The cleverest physiologist, the most subtle neurochemist might detect nothing – yet the difference must be there. And since the difference was one of the mind, it was there that it must be detectable. Given a man like the Mule – and there was no doubt that the Second Foundationers had the Mule's powers, whether inborn or acquired – with the power of detecting and controlling human emotions, deduce from that the electronic circuit required, and deduce from that the last details of the encephalograph on which it could not help but be betrayed. And now Kleise had returned into his life, in the person of his ardent young pupil, Anthor. Folly! Folly! With his graphs and charts of people who had been tampered with. He had learned to detect that years ago, but of what use was it. He wanted the arm; not the tool. Yet he had to agree to join Anthor, since it was the quieter course. Just as now he would become Administrator of Research and Development. It was the quieter course! And so he remained a conspiracy within a conspiracy. The thought of Arcadia teased him for a moment, and he shuddered away from it. Left to himself, it would never have happened. Left to himself, no one would ever have been endangered but himself. Left to himself- He felt the anger rising-against the dead Kleise, the living Anthor, all the well-meaning fools- Well, she could take care of herself. She was a very mature little girl. She could take care of herself! It was a whisper in his mind- Yet could she? *** At the moment, that Dr. Darell told himself mournfully that she could, she was sitting in the coldly austere anteroom of the Executive Offices of the First Citizen of the Galaxy. For half an hour she had been sitting there, her eyes sliding slowly about the walls. There had been two armed guards at the door when she had entered with Homir Munn. They hadn't been there the other times. She was alone, now, yet she sensed the unfriendliness of the very furnishings of the room. And for the first time. Now, why should that be? Homir was with Lord Stettin. Well, was that wrong? It made her furious. In similar situations in the book-films and the videos, the hero foresaw the conclusion, was prepared for it when it came, and she – she just sat there. Anything could happen. Anything! And she just sat there. Well, back again. Think it back. Maybe something would come. For two weeks, Homir had nearly lived inside the Mule's palace. He had taken her once, with Stettin's permission. It was large and gloomily massive, shrinking from the touch of life to lie sleeping within its ringing memories, answering the footsteps with a hollow boom or a savage clatter. She hadn't liked it. Better the great, gay highways of the capital city; the theaters and spectacles of a world essentially poorer than the Foundation, yet spending more of its wealth on display. Homir would return in the evening, awed- â€Å"It's a dream-world for me,† he would whisper. â€Å"If I could only chip the palace down stone by stone, layer by layer of the aluminum sponge. If I could carry it back to Terminus- What a museum it would make.† He seemed to have lost that early reluctance. He was eager, instead; glowing. Arcadia knew that by the one sure sign; he practically never stuttered throughout that period. One time, he said, â€Å"There are abstracts of the records of General Pritcher-â€Å" â€Å"I know him. He was the Foundation renegade, who combed the Galaxy for the Second Foundation, wasn't he?† â€Å"Not exactly a renegade, Arkady. The Mule had Converted him.† â€Å"Oh, it's the same thing.† â€Å"Galaxy, that combing you speak of was a hopeless task. The original records of the Seldon Convention that established both Foundations five hundred years ago, make only one reference to the Second Foundation. They say if's located ‘at the other end of the Galaxy at Star's End.' That's all the Mule and Pritcher had to go on. They had no method of recognizing the Second Foundation even if they found it. What madness! â€Å"They have records† – he was speaking to himself, but Arcadia listened eagerly – â€Å"which must cover nearly a thousand worlds, yet the number of worlds available for study must have been closer to a million. And we are no better off-â€Å" Arcadia broke in anxiously, â€Å"Shhh-h† in a tight hiss. Homir froze, and slowly recovered. â€Å"Let's not talk,† he mumbled. And now Homir was with Lord Stettin and Arcadia waited outside alone and felt the blood squeezing out of her heart for no reason at all. That was more frightening than anything else. That there seemed no reason. On the other side of the door, Homir, too, was living in a sea of gelatin. He was fighting, with furious intensity, to keep from stuttering and, of course, could scarcely speak two consecutive words clearly as a result. Lord Stettin was in full uniform, six-feet-six, large-jawed, and hard-mouthed. His balled, arrogant fists kept a powerful time to his sentences. â€Å"Well, you have had two weeks, and you come to me with tales of nothing. Come, sir, tell me the worst. Is my Navy to be cut to ribbons? Am I to fight the ghosts of the Second Foundation as well as the men of the First?† â€Å"I†¦ I repeat, my lord, I am no p†¦ pre†¦ predictor. I†¦ I am at a complete†¦ loss.† â€Å"Or do you wish to go back to warn your countrymen? To deep Space with your play-acting. I want the truth or I'll have it out of you along with half your guts.† â€Å"I'm t†¦ telling only the truth, and I'll have you re†¦ remember, my l†¦ lord, that I am a citizen of the Foundation. Y†¦ you cannot touch me without harvesting m†¦ m†¦ more than you count on.† The Lord of Kalgan laughed uproariously. â€Å"A threat to frighten children. A horror with which to beat back an idiot. Come, Mr. Munn, I have been patient with you. I have listened to you for twenty minutes while you detailed wearisome nonsense to me which must have cost you sleepless nights to compose. It was wasted effort. I know you are here not merely to rake through the Mule's dead ashes and to warm over the cinders you find. ***You came here for more than you have admitted. Is that not true?† Homir Munn could no more have quenched the burning horror that grew in his eyes than, at that moment, he could have breathed. Lord Stettin saw that, and clapped the Foundation man upon his shoulder so that he and the chair he sat on reeled under the impact. â€Å"Good. Now let us be frank. You are investigating the Seldon Plan. You know that it no longer holds. You know, perhaps, that I am the inevitable winner now; I and my heirs. Well, man, what matters it who established the Second Empire, so long as it is established. History plays no favorites, eh? Are you afraid to tell me? You see that I know your mission.† Munn said thickly, â€Å"What is it y†¦ you w†¦ want?† â€Å"Your presence. I would not wish the Plan spoiled through overconfidence. You understand more of these things than I do; you can detect small flaws that I might miss. Come, you will be rewarded in the end; you will have your fair glut of the loot. What can you expect at the Foundation? To turn the tide of a perhaps inevitable defeat? To lengthen the war? Or is it merely a patriotic desire to die for your country?† â€Å"I†¦ I-† He finally spluttered into silence. Not a word would come. â€Å"You will stay,† said the Lord of Kalgan, confidently. â€Å"You have no choice. Wait† – an almost forgotten afterthought – â€Å"I have information to the effect that your niece is of the family of Bayta Darell.† Homir uttered a startled: â€Å"Yes.† He could not trust himself at this point to be capable of weaving anything but cold truth. â€Å"It is a family of note on the Foundation?† Homir nodded, â€Å"To whom they would certainly b†¦ brook no harm.† â€Å"Harm! Don't be a fool, man; I am meditating the reverse. How old is she?† â€Å"Fourteen.† â€Å"So! Well, not even the Second Foundation, or Hari Seldon, himself, could stop time from passing or girls from becoming women.† With that, he turned on his heel and strode to a draped door which he threw open violently. He thundered, â€Å"What in Space have you dragged your shivering carcass here for?† The Lady Callia blinked at him, and said in a small voice, â€Å"I didn't know anyone was with you.† â€Å"Well, there is. I'll speak to you later of this, but now I want to see your back, and quickly.† Her footsteps were a fading scurry in the corridor. Stettin returned, â€Å"She is a remnant of an interlude that has lasted too long. It will end soon. Fourteen, you say?† Homir stared at him with a brand-new horror! Arcadia started at the noiseless opening of a door – jumping at the jangling sliver of movement it made in the comer of her eye. The finger that crooked frantically at her met no response for long moments, and then, as if in response to the cautions enforced by the very sight of that white, trembling figure, she tiptoed her way across the floor. Their footsteps were a taut whisper in the corridor. It was the Lady Callia, of course, who held her hand so tightly that it hurt, and for some reason, she did not mind following her. Of the Lady Callia, at least, she was not afraid. Now, why was that? They were in a boudoir now, all pink fluff and spun sugar. Lady Callia stood with her back against the door. She said, â€Å"This was our private way to me†¦ to my room, you know, from his office. His, you know.† And she pointed with a thumb, as though even the thought of him were grinding her soul to death with fear. â€Å"It's so lucky†¦ it's so lucky-† Her pupils had blackened out the blue with their size. â€Å"Can you tell me-† began Arcadia timidly. And Callia was in frantic motion. â€Å"No, child, no. There is no time. Take off your clothes. Please. Please. I'll get you more, and they won't recognize you.† She was in the closet, throwing useless bits of flummery in reckless heaps upon the ground, looking madly for something a girl could wear without becoming a living invitation to dalliance. â€Å"Here, this will do. It will have to. Do you have money? Here, take it all – and this.† She was stripping her ears and fingers. â€Å"Just go home – go home to your Foundation.† â€Å"But Homir†¦ my uncle.† She protested vainly through the muffling folds of the sweet-smelling and luxurious spun-metal being forced over her head. â€Å"He won't leave. Poochie will hold him forever, but you mustn't stay. Oh, dear, don't you understand?† â€Å"No.† Arcadia forced a standstill, â€Å"I don't understand.† Lady Callia squeezed her hands tightly together. â€Å"You must go back to warn your people there will be war. Isn't that clear?† Absolute terror seemed paradoxically to have lent a lucidity to her thoughts and words that was entirely out of character. â€Å"Now come!† Out another way! Past officials who stared after them, but saw no reason to stop one whom only the Lord of Kalgan could stop with impunity. Guards clicked heels and presented arms when they went through doors. Arcadia breathed only on occasion through the years the trip seemed to take – yet from the first crooking of the white finger to the time she stood at the outer gate, with people and noise and traffic in the distance was only twenty-five minutes. She looked back, with a sudden frightened pity. â€Å"I†¦ I†¦ don't know why you're doing this, my lady, but thanks- What's going to happen to Uncle Homir?† â€Å"I don't know,† wailed the other. â€Å"Can't you leave? Go straight to the spaceport. Don't wait. He may be looking for you this very minute.† And still Arcadia lingered. She would be leaving Homir; and, belatedly, now that she felt the free air about her, she was suspicious. â€Å"But what do you care if he does?† Lady Callia bit her lower lip and muttered, â€Å"I can't explain to a little girl like you. It would be improper. Well, you'll be growing up and I†¦ I met Poochie when I was sixteen. I can't have you about, you know.† There was a half-ashamed hostility in her eyes. The implications froze Arcadia. She whispered: â€Å"What will he do to you when he finds out?† And she whimpered back: â€Å"I don't know,† and threw her arm to her head as she left at a half-run, back along the wide way to the mansion of the Lord of Kalgan. But for one eternal second, Arcadia still did not move, for in that last moment before Lady Callia left, Arcadia had seen something. Those frightened, frantic eyes had momentarily – flashingly – lit up with a cold amusement. A vast, inhuman amusement. It was much to see in such a quick flicker of a pair of eyes, but Arcadia had no doubt of what she saw. She was running now – running wildly – searching madly for an unoccupied public booth at which one could press a button for public conveyance. She was not running from Lord Stettin; not from him or from all the human hounds he could place at her heels – not from all his twenty-seven worlds rolled into a single gigantic phenomenon, hallooing at her shadow. She was running from a single, frail woman who had helped her escape. From a creature who had loaded her with money and jewels; who had risked her own life to save her. From an entity she knew, certainly and finally, to be a woman of the Second Foundation. An air-taxi came to a soft clicking halt in the cradle. The wind of its coming brushed against Arcadia's face and stirred at the hair beneath the softly-furred hood Callia had given her. â€Å"Where'll it be, lady?† She fought desperately to low-pitch her voice to make it not that of a child. â€Å"How many spaceports in the city?† â€Å"Two. Which one ya want?† â€Å"Which is closer?† He stared at her: â€Å"Kalgan Central, lady.† â€Å"The other one, please. I've got the money.† She had a twenty-Kalganid note in her hand. The denomination of the note made little difference to her, but the taxi-man grinned appreciatively. â€Å"Anything ya say, lady. Sky-line cabs take ya anywhere.† She cooled her cheek against the slightly musty upholstery. The lights of the city moved leisurely below her. What should she do? What should she do? It was in that moment that she knew she was a stupid, stupid little girl, away from her father, and frightened. Her eyes were full of tears, and deep down in her throat, there was a small, soundless cry that hurt her insides. She wasn't afraid that Lord Stettin would catch her. Lady Callia would see to that. Lady Callia! Old, fat, stupid, but she held on to her lord, somehow. Oh, it was clear enough, now. Everything was clear. That tea with Callia at which she had been so smart. Clever little Arcadia! Something inside Arcadia choked and hated itself. That tea had been maneuvered, and then Stettin had probably been maneuvered so that Homir was allowed to inspect the Palace after all. She, the foolish Callia, has wanted it so, and arranged to have smart little Arcadia supply a foolproof excuse, one which would arouse no suspicions in the minds of the victims, and yet involve a minimum of interference on her part. Then why was she free? Homir was a prisoner, of course- Unless- Unless she went back to the Foundation as a decoy – a decoy to lead others into the hands of†¦ of them. So she couldn't return to the Foundation- â€Å"Spaceport, lady.† The air-taxi had come to a halt. Strange! She hadn't even noticed. What a dream-world it was. â€Å"Thanks,† she pushed the bill at him without seeing anything and was stumbling out the door, then running across the springy pavement. Lights. Unconcerned men and women. Large gleaming bulletin boards, with the moving figures that followed every single spaceship that arrived and departed. Where was she going? She didn't care. She only knew that she wasn't going to the Foundation! Anywhere else at all would suit. Oh, thank Seldon, for that forgetful moment – that last split-second when Callia wearied of her act because she had to do only with a child and had let her amusement spring through. And then something else occurred to Arcadia, something that had been stirring and moving at the base of her brain ever since the flight began – something that forever killed the fourteen in her. And she knew that she must escape. That above all. Though they located every conspirator on the Foundation; though they caught her own father; she could not dared not, risk a warning. She could not risk her own life – not in the slightest – for the entire realm of Terminus. She was the most important person in the Galaxy. She was the only important person in the Galaxy. She knew that even as she stood before the ticket-machine and wondered where to go. Because in all the Galaxy, she and she alone, except for they, themselves, knew the location of the Second Foundation.

Narrative by Judith Ortiz Cofer Essay - 627 Words

The narrative written by Judith Ortiz Cofer discusses some of the many experiences she has encountered throughout her life dealing with stereotypes and common misconceptions of Latin American women. To further engage her audience in the story, she provides detailed past experiences that have stood out to her the most. In order for the readers to fully understand those past encounters, some of which are cultural and common among Latinos, Cofer explains them in careful detail. For example, Cofer explains the concept of piropos which are poems composed on the spot by men to women as a form of admiration. This helps her introduce the audience to her own experiences with piropos and how she has dealt with them throughout her life. One of the†¦show more content†¦She knew how to dress for specific occasions such as a Sunday mass or a party, but this was a challenge. This shows the audience that Latin girls dress the way they do because of their cultural background and something th at is considered acceptable in Latin America can differ from what is acceptable in North America. Cofer goes on to discuss how the way Latin women dress can be misinterpreted as a come-on to men when in fact, that usually isn’t the case because dressing that way is normal and even encouraged by Latin mothers. The point Cofer was trying to display in her narrative was that the outward appearance of Latin women should not be mistaken with who they are but rather be considered as part of their culture. This narrative describes a cultural clash between America’s mainstream views and opinions and Latin women who have to struggle with these stereotypes from a young age. Career Day is one of the examples in which Cofer experienced falling under one of those stereotypes and feeling like an outcast when the nuns at her school displayed the Latin girls as the negative models of Career Day. Cofer’s strong opinions against these stereotypes is made clear throughout the stor y as she explains random instances she remembers of how others view Latin girls and how the media often objectifies women comparing them to â€Å"Hot Tamales† and other offensiveShow MoreRelatedCultural Assimilation In Silent Dancing By Judith Ortiz Cofer1052 Words   |  5 PagesIn 1990, a Puerto Rican immigrant writer Judith Ortiz Cofer published Silent Dancing: A Partial Remembrance of Puerto Rican Childhood, a collection of poems and short stories that combined together construct a memoir. In Silent Dancing, Cofer reminisces on her childhood experiences in Paterson, New Jersey. She writes about issues pertaining to her assimilation into daily life. 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In â€Å"The Story of My Body†, Cofer points out us her personal narrative story about how the multiple cultural genders affect her as an individual person. In her writing, she divides her work into separate titles: SKIN, COLOR, and SIZE, LOOKS which are four supporting points about her articleRead MoreDo Not Assume Who I Am By My Appearance Essay1688 Words   |  7 Pagesactions but also culture. In â€Å"The Myth Of The Latin Women† written by Judith Ortiz Cofer she talks about the stereotypes of the latin women. On more than one occasion, Cofer is singled out in public by perfect strangers simply because of her appearance.(108) As a teenager, her culturally typical dress is misinterpreted as an indication she is a â€Å"Hot Tama le†(105), a common stereotype popularized by the media. 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