First story pt. 1

I needed to go out. Everything had been weighing on me for weeks now. Staying in the apartment would be like letting them marinate in a small pot. A very small pot. The apartment was tiny and too small for my problems. I would surely implode if I didn’t get outside soon. There at least, the problems would float around my head instead of crushing me the way they are in here. Maybe they crush me in here because the walls are too close. I wondered how much my troubles would press me if we lived in a place that was actually big enough for all of us.

Deciding this pontification could take place outside, I grabbed Coco, her leash and nothing else. I silently walked passed my mother who was watching TV in her room and went outside.

Just as I knew they would, my worries dispersed. I imagined them as molecules in a jar put into a slightly larger one. All of them are still there. Their situation is the same in both places. One jar gives them more room to bounce around in.

The reason for these problems is that it’s mid April and I still don’t know what college I’m going to. I was accepted at all my back up schools, but my second choice hasn’t sent a response. I have assumed that I wasn’t accepted. Everyone I know that applied was already accepted. Beyond this, I don't even know how I expect to pay for college. Sometimes I blame my mother for not having prepared for her future better. I hold my dad at fault too, but most of the anger is usually directed towards her because she is the one I see every day. There is also the guilt of not having applied to any schools with significant photography program. I remember being fascinated with Polaroids as a child and loving taking pictures with the disposable cameras I was always badgering my parents to buy me. The interest stayed with me and I took photography classes and eventually became good enough to make a business of doing headshots and photoshoots. Everyone has always praised my work and even I think I’m kind of good sometimes, but not good enough. I ultimately would like photograph landscapes around the world for a travel magazine. Though I’m not sure that will ever happen. Since I have never been sure of myself I persuaded myself that I didn’t need to go to a college with photography . I love it more than anything in the world, yet I am too scared to pursue it.

The place I have decided to walk to is somewhere I refer to as ‘The Hill’. It is simply a hill that is significantly higher up with a number of bigger expensive houses on it. It is only across the next main street behind where I live, yet I have never been over there. I have wanted to for a while, but the motivation to do as much walking as this exploration would call for had never come to me until now.

I can never walk into a rich or even well-off neighborhood neutrally. There is always a mixture of sadness, yearning and anger. I never allow myself to feel them acutely, but they always remind me that they are there.

Henry James

Henry James poetically titles the chapter of this book ‘Walking Up and Down China. It is poetic because choosing to symbolizes his feelings in this way is a nod to the colonization that was happening in China at this time with the country being taken over by the British. Colonization drastically changes a country and recreates it in the image of the conqueror. As a result of this a Chinese person might walk around China and not recognize it. Such severe alterations could make them feel as if they no longer belong in their own country. I would venture to argue that he uses this metaphor as a way of sympathizing with the Chinese man’s plight, but he counteracts the possibility of such a gesture by referring to the Chinese as Chinamen, which is a derogatory term. Despite his insensitivity, James still manages to illustrate a well-thought out parallel between his feelings and the political injustice that as occurring simultaneously.

This dissociation goes farther than not belonging to a place, but himself as well. James writes extensively of being out of his body a traveling to the moon and living countless immortalities. This happens so much so that at one particular reentrance into a body he has no memory of it and asks himself “with whose feet is [he] walking.” His inability to remember who he is in his own body illustrates how estranged he feels from it. He is not a Chinese person in his own land, but one in his own body as well. He has lost the last place to be comfortable when everything around you is unfamiliar. His soul, absolute self, what have you is all that he has he, but even that is uneasy since he yearns for an actual place and body to feel whole. Instead, he is subjected to strange “whooshing noises” he has come to know as the reattachment of his body to his soul. I would argue that it is actually the reverse, soul back to body, but James seems to think that his stagnant body is able to reanimate itself in order to rejoin his soul. This is yet another example that shows that he does not see his body as his. It is an organism that has the power to exist on it’s own and in his mind it does. His inability to, at the very least know that he controls his body and understand that it is the shell that houses who he is is the core of his entire dilemma.

Truth

Through analyzing certain aspects of Paris I have come to understand something about what constitutes as truth. It is not something that is always readily seen. At times it is just behind the surface, positioned for the assumed truth to seem as if it is what is real. Truth is supposed to be seeked out, but sometimes it is as if it is hiding.  

Artificial nature is an oxymoron.

The first question that walking in this park brought up for me is ‘if writers use walking in natural places to stimulate their creative processes, then can the park’s artificiality affect the process in some way? The first response to this question is probably “of course not,” because everything pretty much looks real. Nothing is readily fake. You kind of have to know or be looking for it. Despite this, I still continue to entertain the idea of a man-made park could still have a different effect on the writing, especially if the writer is aware of the fact it is an imitation. I still wonder if knowingly wandering in an artificial setting for inspiration possibly leave one lacking. Surely something man-made can not offer the same amount and type of creativity that naturalness provides.

Maybe having lookalike nature in a city is not as awkward as it sounds. Parks of this variety that are constructed in the same vein as New York’s Central Park are a break from the “citiness” of an industrial area. They are manufactured and built to look like a forest or place of abundant green. Sometimes they even successfully accomplish the illusion if you are standing somewhere in it’s middle with the trees placed strategically around you to block the buildings, cars and machines from view. It is probably a little more fitting than what makes sense at first glance to have fake things in a park such as this one. It, a fake thing is attempting to achieve a likeness to something that is real. This park does that with fake things. Maybe it is not the most logical, thing to do, but it does make sense.

Even though it is something of a patch-work park made of many plants that would never see each other in their own parts of the world, it is beautiful. Down many levels in the bowl of the park where you can not see any buildings if you tried. The place where you can effectively imagine that you are actually in a place with this many trees and much more wild life around you. If it were not for the hundreds of the stairs I climbed to emerge from the subway of the city that the park allows you escape from, I would have gone down there, but as the scientific law goes, any hill you easily stroll down you must have a not-fun time coming back up.

One other benefit of the park was it’s elevation. For me, being up high is one of those things that you don’t know you miss until you are experiencing it again. I had not consciously noticed that Paris is a large amount of flat land. It felt good (familiar) to be able to look down on a city and see more than is possible when you are standing in it. Elevation is a piece of home I didn’t know that I would heed although I am not surprised by my appreciation of it.

Had it been a warmer day, or if I had worn my heavier jacket, I would have walked the highest point of the park with with the thing I do not know the name of, but it is circular platform with a roof that is reminiscent, (at least for me) of what a small orchestra or just musicians use a stage if they were to give a performance in a park. It was beautiful to see especially with the sky being so grey as a backdrop. The rocks that had so much on them lended to the sight as well. If nothing else, I would imagine that this sight could at least inspire the setting of a story for a writer walking in this park with the hopes of gaining ideas from the place. I believed that any of the special places in this park would be helpful. Artificial trees and all.

Hearing this place described with all the fake rocks, plants and waterfalls that it has sounds like a park of forgery, but the park hold it’s own kind of truth. There is nowhere in a developed city that is fully natural. This park is real for what it is. It is a reminder of what is natural in a place that is surrounded with man made things.   

The evasiveness of truth is of course also found in people. Maybe even especially so.

Henry James does a considerable amount of analyzing Parisians in his essay “Occasional Paris”. He raises so many questions about the people that it leads one to wonder if there is a mystery of Paris. Parisians seem to have a certain ambiguity about them that James at least believes to be a quality that may solely belong to them. For example, they are a people widely known for their intellectual heights, yet they do not seem to show it. Meaning that they do not dress in a way that demonstrates sophistication by English standards. Their style of clothing- described as “bohemian” is not what Englishmen of this time, such as James recognized as an indication of cleverness. He nevertheless experiences a level of academia from Parisians as a whole that he finds impressive.

The puzzlement that is the Parisian continues in their choice of character to support in a play that is made up of disreputable people. In Demi-Monde is the struggle of a woman called Suzanne d’Ange who is “guilty of what the French call faults.” To combat the poor reputation she has inevitably made for herself by being such a woman d’Ange she must marry an upstanding man. Her only hopes for a better life in the unforgiving and sexist 19th century of France. She eventually gains the love of such a man, one Nanjac, only for the jealousy of a former lover, named de Jalin to undermine her progress with this decent gentleman who legitimately loves her. In the end de Jalin lies and to Nanjac about d’Ange. She has no choice, but to reveal herself to Nanjac who consequently leaves her. de Jalin wins and James points out that an American audience’s sympathies would lie with Ms. Suzanne. That an American audience is “more moral” than a French audience, implying that the French would be pleased by de Jalin’s victory. This would place them in direct oppositions to Americans who James predicts would see him as a “coward” who should “let the poor girl alone.”

This gives the French an interesting complexity. They are both smarter and more accepting of what western audiences would deem unfair. They are unforgiving. Either this, or they do not accept what is put in front of them, able to avoid the obvious with the help of their percipient minds. They might be able to see the pain that fuels his decisions. He is a man who was involved with a woman that is now on the verge of marrying a dear friend. Either he believes that he is actually helping Nanjac, or he sees this an opportunity. Whether the French view the disrepair of a life is justified comeuppance or overstep of entitlement, their perspective on de Jarin may be deeper than what an American would credit them for at first glance.

The French’s blatant show of affection amongst each other is another sample of progressed intellect. Most people in America especially have a hard time showing affection for one another, even between family members. To be able to express fondness for a person without awkwardness or stiffness shows a level of maturity and confidence in oneself is an act that can only be done by a sensible person. While this is true, there is another reasoning for the reason of why French people kiss instead of hug. Kissing is intimate, but it lacks the warmth of a hug. A hug requires touch and extreme close quarters. Kissing needs almost no contact and is a shorter task. This reason is more in line with other French characteristics, like their aversion to smiling at people. It seems that actions such as these are too special to share with people that they do not know.

 It is very likely that if you inspect underneath your initial understanding of something that you will find yet another truth.

Ford Madox Ford

I would argue that Hemingway is something of an unreliable narrator. His belief in omission leaves the reader with a lack of knowledge the same way an unreliable narrator tends to give false information. It is similar to what is known as lying as lying by omission. Hemingway’s strategy of retracting information from the story keeps the audience from knowing the whole truth. By this standard, it is arguably not wholly Realistic writing. Moreover, employing this approach to writing leaves to frustrate the reader, if they know that something has been taken out. The possibility of being wrong or not having an idea about what may have been left out can cause a reader to lose interest in or dislike the story.

Despite seeing how Hemingway’s words do not always explain the full extent show even a fictional events, it still needs to be understood that this may truly be the way he sees the world. And not everyone is always aware of what is going on in every aspect of life. For example, during a conversation, countless words and thoughts are omitted, substituted in favor of saying something else. There is an infinite number of alternate realities made up of the possibilities of what would have been. In this light, Hemingway is perhaps even more truthful than all writers who does not do this. He is writing life as it is; unknown and mysterious. This shows how much thought goes into every aspect of his books. He is observant and pays attention to details that are not directly part of the story, yet manage to affect it’s entirety.

In contrast, Ford Madox Ford is the prime example of a writer who creates the standard unreliable narrators that are possibly based on himself- whether unknowingly or not- since he is prone to exaggerating himself. We see this in his own character in his only conversation with Hemingway. Hemingway portrays him as a posh, somewhat annoying weaver of tales and judger of men. He judges specifically men in order to classify them as either gentlemen or not. The qualifying factor of being a gentleman is more similar to royal bloodlines than what the word actually pertains to, making the status unattainable if you did not have the fortune of being British. This is shallow, since being born to the right people is not a reliable method for discerning those most deserving of the title. In fact, it is a great deal of the time it brings out the opposite in said people. Perhaps it is because he belongs to this latter group of people that Ford allows himself to lie so blatantly to Hemingway in the beginning of their conversation. When he tells Hemingway that he “cut” a certain famous writer. Hemingway finds out in an embarrassing fashion that that was no such man and is actually the opposite. Whether Ford behaves this way to boost his ego or because he is simply feels authorized to since he “is a gentleman” is unclear, but it is a trait that can without a doubt be seen in his writing.  

Nature

Parks in cities are small islands of escape from the over developed metropolises that have become normal for so much of the populated world. People who spend cities most of their lives in the confines of cities are in danger of failing to appreciate nature. Parks bring life to concrete jungles that these places could never accomplish on their own. Parks similar to Monceau are especially important because they are bigger and look more natural than average parks. The size adds to this as well, which is part of the reason that it is special. It is more than just a place to walk or for children to play. It is purposed for all the uses of an ordinary park, what sets it apart is it’s intention for it’s beauty to be acknowledged. Living in cities and living the fast-paced lifestyle that decision tends to come with is fine, it is when the inhabitants of these places forget to acknowledge nature that developed places become a problem.

While statues are not natural, it seems that some of them were created with naturalness in mind. This is seen clearly in one statue in particular. It depicts a clothesless woman sitting on what appears to be a stump. She is turned halfway around and smiling. This statue strikes one as natural because she is not engaged with the view or in a certain position in order to be seen that way. It simply looks as if she was turned to stone or captured while simply existing. It is natural in it’s rendering and material as well since it is made of stone, a substance that occurs naturally.

Thoreau believed that not all people are walkers. That to be one, “one must be born into a family of walkers.” Although a generalization, this statement holds some truth. Walking for pleasure is often times a family affair. An activity a household engages in after dinner or possibly in the park to enjoy sunshine on a nice day. In families, walking is not usually done alone unless a person wanted to walk explicitly to think or be alone. Those without the good fortune of being born into this bloodline will most likely not be ‘a walker’. They are they ordinary ones who only walk to get to a destination. People who are less likely to go a place for the sole purpose strolling and admiring natural beauty.

Walking is a form of meditation. It clears the mind and brings one closer to one’s self in that you have the chance to focus on your thoughts. This is a part of life that we largely deny ourselves and fail to remember how much it satisfies us. Walking releases mental burdens that are built up from the way of life that most of us lead. It is a detoxification that is needed regularly to remain balanced. Using walking for meditation is probably the easiest form of meditation in terms of ease because it is extremely natural to clear the mind or let it wander. Nothing is forced when meditation is done in this way, as opposed to what happens to most people when they sit down with the purpose of meditating. For those who experience meditation sessions such as this will find walking more productive.

The Lost Generation

In some ways, Hemingway’s generation was a lost generation in comparison to their predecessors. They did not seem to be especially “looser” than the generation before them. With this being said, some attributes that ‘lost ones’ possessed that made their elders classify them as lost were ones that they shared. For example, in one conversation Gertrude Stein accuses Hemingway and all of his contemporaries of being a lost generation. In this instance, the reason for this statement is a young man who does unsatisfactory work on her car and she says the reason is because their generation is lost and “drinking themselves to death.” There are two problems with with these statements. The first is that she confines an entire generation to a generalization that they do not all fit neatly in to. The second problem is that as the conversation between Stein and Hemingway continues, we find that the boy who worked on her car was sober the entire time he interacted with her. Contrary to her argument, the two of them agree that the boy’s patron was patron probably been drunk since 11’o clock that morning. Despite this mutual realization, Stein refuses to concede to his generation being lost, using her superiority card, telling him that “there is no use in fighting” her about it. It is clear that the two age groups are actually similar, she chooses to see them the way she wants to and separates them from herself. Her stubbornness proceeds when Hemingway points out that she has never seen him drunk and she says, “no, but your friends are always drunk,” something she almost surely does not know for a fact

I believe attitudes like Stein’s heavily contributed to the adoption of the title of Lost Generation. The older ones who had forgotten childhood and youth. In Hemingway’s case it was an unwelcome label, thrust upon him. It ended up sticking for all of them because they were the result of a huge decrease in births. Compared to the era before them, they were in the minority. With more people referring to as such, than themselves, they may have found the title inescapable. It is not unusual for each generation to become more liberal, increasingly provocative than the last. “All generations had been lost by something and always had been and always would be.” Every other age group that is not seen as lost, forgets the time when they were rebels. Nothing changes. Every consequent generation is carrying out a pattern. Even with this being true, it causes one to wonder if society is spiralling downward, or if we are simply circling, everything remaining constant with the different versions of modern providing an illusion of change.

Being a part of a generation that is seen as lost can hold an appeal. Rebellion can be attractive to some personalities. The parties and break from the normality of what they may consider an uptight lifestyle, due to parents who either pull the reigns too tightly because they remember what can result from being young and allowed to be too “loose”. Of course the opposite and equally as detrimental approach is to offer guidance. Youth that have led a Lord of the Flies type of existence are especially susceptible to being lost generation material. For this lifestyle is a community of people experiencing the same feelings of being misunderstood and wanting to do what their parents would not approve of. The disapproval of older people coupled with their need to be young and do exhilarating things. In spite of this, a lost generation is never an absolute failure. The world does not end after a generation of lost youth because all that they do is not destructive. For some, the extent of the evil of their actions is simply that they oppose social norms, which intimidates the close minded of the previous generation. When a large group is collectively generalized, there are some that do qualify for the label, and there is always a subcategory that conflicts it.