An Analysis Of Kate Chopin s The Story Of An Hour And...

Tia Howard Professor Dr. Prince-leaf English 28 November 2016 Identity In the stories â€Å" The Story Of an Hour† by Kate Chopin and â€Å"Everyday Use† by Alice Walker; The two main character’s, Louise Mallard and Dee Johnson, live in a world faced with a challenge of questioning on the life they have been accustomed to for years. Furthermore, this causes one to feel oppressed, and the other one to feel they have to live a different life in order to feel fulfilled. Ultimately, not being able to feel fulfilled limits the opportunity of true happiness. Louise Mallard, a young woman with a heart condition, finds out about her husband’s sudden death. Instead of Mrs. Mallard feeling a sense of grief, she starts to feel free. Mrs. Mallard felt inferior, and like a caged bird when it came to being married to her husband. In contrast, Dee Johnson, a college student in Augusta, grew up below the poverty line. Dee always been the type to like fine things, but Dee didn’t like her living conditions at home. Dee decided to branch outside her morals, beliefs, and away from self since being away at college. Though both ladies have different stories. With the alternating changes, both women are faced with the challenges of self-identity. â€Å"The Story of an Hour† main character is Louise Mallard. Louise is a young women, born during a time where women had to put themselves to the side, and their husbands before them. Though Louise has a heart problem, she finds out news of her husband suddenShow MoreRelatedNineteenth Century Gender Roles Exposed in The Necklace and The Story of an Hour2020 Words   |  9 PagesThe Necklace and The story of an hour represents gender roles as defined by the nineteenth century society guidelines . The The Story of an Hour was set in the late nineteenth century in the home of Louise Mallard.(Kate Chopin).It was written on April 19, 1894,by Kate Chopin. The theme Many also focus on women revolt against conformity, often against gender conformity or against social norms that limit omens possibilities in life. (Emmert, Scott ) The story was first titled TheRead MoreKate Chopin s An Hour899 Words   |  4 PagesThe author has to choose the gender of their main character, and by Kate Chopin choosing a woman it set a completely different mood to the story rather than it being a man. The time this story was written were women were suppose to be submissive and loyal to their husbands, caring and nurturing for their children, and well-bred, catering hostesses. If a woman were to overstep such boundaries, she would be considered unladylike, scandalous, or even immoral. Society looks differently upon a personRead MoreChopin VS Thurber and Relationships2545 Words   |  11 PagesIn the stories â€Å"The Secret Life of Walter Mitty† by James Thurber (Clugston, sec. h1.1) and â€Å"The Story of an Hour† by Kate Chopin (Clugston, sec. h2.1) escapism is a similar theme with in both these stories, yet there is a slight variance in how each of these authors place these characters into their escape fro m reality, relationships, and everyday chaos. In each of these stories the author shows the characters escaping the realities of the relationship, one through Walter Mitts’ daydreams, and theRead MoreFeminism : A Feminist Perspective1904 Words   |  8 Pagesfeminist analysis, a text that draws on and influences the various applications of women’s roles in society such as gender and class, sexuality, race/ethnicity, psychology, literary form, etc. But how can one text appeal to and demonstrate every possible perspective in feminism? The feminist analysis isn’t alone. Over time, various authors and feminists publishing well-known literary texts demonstrate a theme and challenge feminism that tests society’s structure. Authors such as Kate Chopin and her

he Impact of Heteronormativity on the Transgender...

he Impact of Heteronormativity on the Transgender Community In society, children are taught expectations as to what is sociably acceptable: who to like, what to wear, and where to live, based on of the environment they grew up in. As children grow up, and go on through life, they then begin to impose these expectations onto the people around them. More often than not these societal expectations conform with that of a heteronormative mindset1. In a modern western context, heteronormativity is the notion that people fall into distinct genders, male and female, and lead natural roles in life all while conforming to the ideology of traditional binary gender roles. Such heteronormative bias asserts that traditional binary gender†¦show more content†¦Accompanying these gender idealist notions came a set of criteria as to how a woman should act around men, present herself, and deal with various other social aspects of life. This perpetuated the idea that woman were nothing more than subservient caretakers(see figure 1). Such criteria iphysi cal appearance before the arrival of their husband from work, having dinner ncluded prepar Tphis mentality created obvious implications such as the belittlement of woman, therepared before t idea of male dominance, and unequal opportunities for woman, while reinforcing the notion of female standards and the treatment of women as second class citizens. On the reverse for men, there was the notion of the ideal man in which men were personified as powerful, mysterious, and dominant figures, who would take care of business, the Mad Men, Don Drape-esque image; this also helped to perpetuate the ideal woman stereotype. Although western society is more progressive than in the 1950s, these deep seated personas of man and woman continue appropriate gender roles (men are still strong and women are still pretty), the only difference bStatistics Canada, Gallup Politics) and conform to these appropriations (to some eing that woman extent), it is assumed that they are culturally normative which c auses minority groups to fall outside of the sociological norm. This cultural script thusShow MoreRelatedSex Orientation And Sexual Orientation1820 Words   |  8 Pagesanother individual romantically, sexually, and emotionally. Contrary to traditional belief, there are multiple ways people can identify their sexual orientation. Some cultures even embrace the idea of a third sex to describe those who identify as transgender. Some of the different sexual orientations include Sexual, Monosexual, heterosexual, Homosexual, Polysexual, Omnisexual, Pansexual, Bisexual, Demisexual, Graysexual, Asexual, and Queer (Nagoshi). Although this may seem excessive, people feel theRead MoreEssay on Needs of Diverse Learners Final4267 Words   |  18 PagesChapter 1 1. The maintenance of cultures as parallel and equal to the dominant culture in a society is? Cultural pluralism 2. The concept that different cultural groups can and should maintain their unique cultural identities while participating equally in the dominant culture is Biculturalism 3. Culture influences the importance of prestige, status, pride, family, loyalty, love of country, religious belief, and honor. The manifestation of culture that is reflected in this statement

Night World The Chosen Chapter 4 Free Essays

string(67) " There was something unstable just under the surface of this girl\." Quinn was cold. Not physically, of course. That was impossible. We will write a custom essay sample on Night World : The Chosen Chapter 4 or any similar topic only for you Order Now The icy March air had no effect on him; his body was impervious to little things like weather. No, this cold was inside him. He stood looking at the bay and the thriving city across it.Boston by starlight. It had taken him a long time to come back toBoston after†¦ the change. He’d lived there once, when he’d been human. But in those daysBoston was nothing but three hills, one beacon, and a handful of houses with thatched roofs. The place where he was standing now had been clean beach surrounded by salt meadows and dense forest. The year had been 1639. Bostonhad grown since then, but Quinn hadn’t. He was still eighteen, still the young man who’d loved the sunny pastures and the clear blue water of the wilderness. Who had lived simply, feeling grateful when there was enough food for supper on his mother’s table, and who had dreamed of someday having his own fishing schooner and marrying pretty Dove Redfern. That was how it had all started, with Dove. Pretty Dove and her soft brown hair†¦ sweet Dove, who had a secret a simple boy like Quinn could never have imagined. Well. Quinn felt his lip curl. That was all in the past. Dove had been dead for centuries, and if her screams still haunted him every night, no one knew but himself. Because he might not be any older than he had been in the days of the colonies, but he had learned a few tricks. Like how to wrap ice around his heart so that nothing in the world could hurt him. And how to put ice in his gaze, so that whoever looked into his black eyes saw only an endless glacial dark. He’d gotten very good at that. Some people actually went pale and backed away when he turned his eyes on them. The tricks had worked for years, allowing him not just to survive as a vampire, but to be brilliantly successful at it. He was Quinn, pitiless as a snake, whose blood ran like ice water, whose soft voice pronounced doom on anybody who got in his way. Quinn, the essence of darkness, who struck fear into the hearts of humans and Night People alike. And just at the moment, he was tired. Tired and cold. There was a kind of bleakness inside him, like a whiter that would never change into spring. He had no idea what to do about it-although it had occurred to him that if he were to jump into the bay and let those dark waters close over his head, and then stay down there for a few days without feeding†¦ well, all his problems would be solved, wouldn’t they? But that was ridiculous. He was Quinn. Nothing could touch him. The bleak feeling would go away eventually. He pulled himself out of his reverie, turning away from the shimmering blackness of the bay. Maybe he should go to the warehouse in Mission Hill, check on its inhabitants. He needed something to do, to keep him from thinking. Quinn smiled, knowing it was a smile to frighten children. He set off forBoston . Rashel sat by the window, but not the way ordinary people sit. She was kneeling in a sort of crouch, weight resting on her left leg, right leg bent and pointing forward. It was a position that allowed for swift and unrestricted movement in any direction. Her bokken was beside her; she could spring and draw at a second’s notice. The abandoned building was quiet. Steve and Vicky were outside, scouting the street. Nyala seemed lost in her own thoughts. Suddenly Nyala reached out and touched the bokken’s sheath. â€Å"What’s this?† â€Å"Hm? Oh, it’s a kind of Japanese sword. They use wooden swords for fencing practice because steel would be too dangerous. But it can actually be lethal even to humans. It’s weighted and balanced just like a steel sword.† She pulled the sword out of the sheath and turned the flashlight on it so Nyala could see the satiny green-black wood. Nyala drew in her breath and touched the graceful curve lightly. â€Å"It’s beautiful.† â€Å"It’s made of lignum vitae: the Wood of Life. That’s the hardest and heaviest wood there is-it’s as dense as iron. I had it carved specially, just for me.† â€Å"And you use it to kill vampires.† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"And you’ve killed a lot.† â€Å"Yes.† Rashel slid the sword back into its sheath. â€Å"Good,† Nyala said with a throb in her voice. She turned to stare at the street. She had a small queenly head, with hair piled on the back like Nef-ertiti’s crown. When she turned back to Rashel, her voice was quiet. â€Å"How did you get into all this in the first place? I mean, you seem to know so much. How did you learn it all?† Rashel laughed. â€Å"Bit by bit,† she said briefly. She didn’t like to talk about it. â€Å"But I started like you. I saw one of them kill my mom when I was five. After that, I tried to learn everything I could about vampires, so I could fight them. And I told the story at every foster home I lived in, and finally I found some people who believed me. They were vampire hunters. They taught me a lot.† Nyala looked ashamed and disgusted. â€Å"I’m so stupid-I haven’t done anything like that. I wouldn’t even have known about the Lancers if Elliot hadn’t called me. He saw the article in the paper about my sister and guessed it might have been a vampire killing. But I’d never have found them on my own.† â€Å"You just didn’t have enough time.† â€Å"No. I think it takes a special kind of person. But now that I know how to fight them, I’m going to do it.† Her voice was tight and shaky, and Rashel glanced at her quickly. There was something unstable just under the surface of this girl. â€Å"Nobody knows which of them killed my sister, so I just figure I’ll get as many of them as I can. I want to-â€Å" â€Å"Quiet!† Rashel hissed the word and put a hand over Nyala’s mouth at the same instant. Nyala froze. Rashel sat tensely, listening, then got up like a spring uncoiling and put her head out the window. She listened for another moment, then caught up her scarf and veiled her face with practiced movements. â€Å"Grab your ski mask and come on.† â€Å"What is it?† â€Å"You’re going to get your wish-right now. There’s a fight down there. Stay behind me†¦ and don’t forget your mask.† Nyala didn’t need to ask about that, she noticed. It was the first thing any vampire hunter learned. If you were recognized and the vampire got away†¦ well, it was all over. The Night People would search until they found you, then strike when you least expected it. With Nyala behind her, Rashel ran lightly down the stairs and around to the street. The sounds were coming from a pool of darkness beside one of the warehouses, far from the nearest streetlight. As Rashel reached the place, she could make out the forms of Steve and Vicky, their faces masked, their clubs in their hands. They were struggling with another form. Oh, for God’s sake, Rashel thought, stopping dead. One other form. The two of them, armed with wood and lying in ambush, couldn’t handle one little vampire by themselves? From the racket, she’d thought they must have been surprised by a whole army. But this vampire seemed to be putting up quite a fight-in fact, he was clearly winning. Throwing his attackers around with supernatural strength, just as if they were ordinary humans and not fearless vampire slayers. He seemed to be enjoying it. â€Å"We’ve got to help them!† Nyala hissed in Rashers ear. â€Å"Yeah,† Rashel said joylessly. She sighed. â€Å"Wait here; I’m going to bonk him on the head.† It wasn’t quite that easy. Rashel got behind the vampire without trouble; he was preoccupied with the other two and arrogant enough to be careless. But then she had a problem. Her bokken, the honorable sword of a warrior, had one purpose: to deliver a clean blow capable of killing instantly. She couldn’t bring herself to whack somebody unconscious with it. It wasn’t that she didn’t have other weapons. She had plenty-back at home in Marblehead. All the tools of a ninja, and some the ninja had never heard of. And she knew some extremely dirty methods of fighting. She could break bones and crush tendons; she could peel an enemy’s trachea out of his neck with her bare hands or drive his ribs into his lungs with her feet. But those were desperate measures, to be used as a last resort when her own life was at stake and the opposition was overwhelming. She simply couldn’t do that to a single enemy when she had the jump on him. Just then the single enemy threw Steve into a wall, where he landed with a muffled â€Å"oof.† Rashel felt sorry for him, but it solved her dilemma. She grabbed the oak club Steve had been holding as it rolled across the concrete. Then she circled nimbly as the vampire turned, trying to face her. At that instant Nyala threw herself into the fight, creating a distraction, and Rashel did what she’d said she would. She bonked the vampire on the head, driving the club like a home runner’s swing with the force of her hips. The vampire cried out and fell down motionless. Rashel raised the club again, watching him. Then she lowered it, looking at Steve and Vicky. â€Å"You guys okay?† Vicky nodded stiffly. She was trying to get her breath. â€Å"He surprised us,† she said. Rashel didn’t answer. She was very unhappy, and her feeling of being in top form tonight had completely evaporated. This had been the most undignified fight she’d seen in a long while, and†¦ †¦ and it bothered her, the way the vampire had cried out as he fell. She couldn’t explain why, but it had. Steve picked himself up. â€Å"He shouldn’t have been able to surprise us,† he said. â€Å"That was our fault.† Rashel glanced at him. It was true. In this business, you were either ready all the time, expecting the unexpected at any moment, or you were dead. â€Å"He was just good,† Vicky said shortly. â€Å"Come on, let’s get him out of here before somebody sees us. There’s a cellar in the other building.† Rashel took hold of the vampire’s feet while Steve grabbed his shoulders. He wasn’t very big, about Rashel’s height and compact. He looked young, about Rashel’s age. Which meant nothing, she reminded herself. A parasite could be a thousand and still look young. They gained eternal life from other people’s blood. She and Steve carried their burden down the stairs into a large dank room that smelled of damp rot and mildew. They dropped him on the cold concrete floor and Rashel straightened to ease her back. â€Å"Okay. Now let’s see what he looks like,† Vicky said, and turned her flashlight on him. The vampire was pale, and his black hair looked even blacker against his white skin. His eyelashes were dark on his cheek. A little blood matted his hair in the back. â€Å"I don’t think he’s the same one Elliot and I saw last night. That one looked bigger,† Vicky said. Nyala pressed forward, staring at her very first captive vampire. â€Å"What difference does it make? He’s one of them, right? Nobody human could have thrown Steve like that. He might even be the one who killed my sister. And he’s ours now.† She smiled down, looking almost like someone in love. â€Å"You’re ours,† she said to the unconscious boy on the floor. â€Å"Just you wait.† Steve rubbed his shoulder where it had hit the wall. All he said was â€Å"Yeah,† but his smile wasn’t nice. â€Å"I only hope he doesn’t die soon,† Vicky said, examining the pale face critically. â€Å"You hit him pretty hard.† â€Å"He’s not going to die,† Rashel said. â€Å"In fact, he’ll probably wake up in a few minutes. And we’d better hope he’s not one of the really powerful telepaths.† Nyala looked up sharply. â€Å"What?† â€Å"Oh-all vampires are telepathic,† Rashel said absently. â€Å"But there’s a big range as to how powerful they are. Most of them can only communicate over a short distance-like within the same house, say. But a few are a lot stronger.† â€Å"Even if he is strong, it won’t matter unless there are other vampires around,† Vicky said. â€Å"Which there may be, if you and Elliot saw another one last night.† â€Å"Well†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Vicky hesitated, then said, â€Å"We can check outside, make sure he doesn’t have any friends hiding around that warehouse.† Steve was nodding, and Nyala was listening intently. Rashel started to say that from what she’d seen, they couldn’t find a vampire in hiding to save their lives-but then she changed her mind. â€Å"Good idea,† she said. â€Å"You take Nyala and do that. It’s better to have three people than two. I’ll tie him up before he comes around. I’ve got bast cord.† Vicky glanced over quickly, but her hostility seemed to have faded since Rashel had knocked the vampire over the head. â€Å"Okay, but let’s use the handcuffs. Nyala, run up and get them.† Nyala did, and she and Vicky fixed the wooden stocks on the vampire’s wrists. Then they left with Steve. Rashel sat on the floor. She didn’t know what she was doing, or why she’d sent Nyala away. All she knew was that she wanted to be alone, and that she felt†¦ rotten. It wasn’t that she didn’t have anger. There were times when she got so angry at the universe that it was actually like a little voice inside her whispering, Kill, kill, kill. Times when she wanted to strike out blindly, without caring who she hurt. But just now the little voice was silent, and Rashel felt sick. To keep herself busy, she tied his feet with bast, a cord made from the inner bark of trees. It was as good for holding a vampire as Vicky’s ridiculous handcuffs. When it was done, she turned the flashlight on him again. He was good-looking. Clean features that were strongly chiseled but almost delicate. A mouth that at the moment looked rather innocent, but which might be sensuous if he were awake. A body that was lithe and flat-muscled, if not very tall. All of which had no effect on Rashel. She’d seen attractive vampires before-in fact, an inordinate number of them seemed to be really beautiful. It didn’t mean anything. It only stood as a contrast to what they were like inside. The tall man who’d killed her mother had been handsome. She could still see his face, his golden eyes. Filthy parasites. Night World scum. They weren’t really people. They were monsters. But they could still feel pain, just like any human. She’d hurt this one when she hit him. Rashel jumped up and started to pace the cellar. All right. This vampire deserved to die. They all did. But that didn’t mean she had to wait for Vicky to come back and poke him with pointy sticks. Rashel knew now why she’d sent Nyala away. So she could give the vampire a clean death. Maybe he didn’t deserve it, but she couldn’t stand around and watch Vicky kill him slowly. She couldn’t. She stopped pacing and went to the unconscious boy. The flashlight on the floor was still pointing at him, so she could see him clearly. He was wearing a lightweight black shirt-no sweater or coat. Vampires didn’t need protection from the cold. Rashel unbuttoned the shirt, exposing his chest. Although the angled tip of her bokken could pierce clothing, it was easier to drive it straight into vampire flesh without any barrier in between. Standing with one foot on either side of the vampire’s waist, she drew the heavy wooden sword. She held it with both hands, one near the guard, the other near the knob on the end of the hilt. She positioned the end exactly over the vampire’s heart. â€Å"This kitten has claws,† she whispered, hardly aware she was saying it. Then she took a deep breath, eyes shut. She needed to work to focus, because she’d never done anything like this before. The vampires she’d killed had usually been caught in the middle of some despicable act-and they’d all been fighting at the end. She’d never staked one that was lying still. Concentrate, she thought. You need zanshin, continuing mind, awareness of everything without fixing on anything. She felt her feet becoming part of the cold concrete beneath them, her muscles and bones becoming extensions of the ground. The strike would carry the energy of the earth itself. Her hands brought the sword up. She was ready for the kill. She opened her eyes to perfect her aim. And then she saw that the vampire was awake. His eyes were open and he was looking at her. How to cite Night World : The Chosen Chapter 4, Essay examples

The Misconceptions Of The Jungle By Upton free essay sample

Sinclair Essay, Research Paper Upton Sinclair had ever insisted that The Jungle was misread but did he of all time think it could hold been miswritten? The manner of authorship is non effectual when turn toing issues in a capitalistic society but proves to be really effectual when exposing the secrets of the meat packing industry. The novel is non remembered for being a authoritative work in literature but instead an of import book in history in that it changed the manner America looked at nutrient in the early portion of the century. Sinclair loses his statement for Socialism at around the clip when the characters in the book lose their humanity. The battalion of unfortunate state of affairss and events makes the narrative more and more unrealistic and the reader loses a sense of compassion for the characters. Now, alternatively of being characters, they become objects in which the most you can make is feel for them. We will write a custom essay sample on The Misconceptions Of The Jungle By Upton or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page When Jurgis comes place from gaol to happen his hardly 18 year-old married woman death, the 3rd individual all-knowing narrative guides the reader through the head of Jurgis: ? She was dead! She was dead! He would neer see her once more, neer hear her once more! An icy horror of loneliness seized him. ? ( 190 ) After Ona? s decease, one could non expect anything more to travel incorrect, but it does. In merely a short clip subsequently, Jurgis? boy Antanas drowned in the street. It is highly obvious that Sinclair is a Socialistic himself. Anything and everything that could travel incorrect in the first three quarters of the book does, and one time Jurgis is introduced to Socialism, everything ironically plenty, goes right. After the decease of small Antanas, Jurgis goes through an emotional turbulence. ? There should be no more cryings and no more tenderness ; he had had sufficiency of them # 8211 ; they sold him into bondage! ? ( 212 ) This is the beginning of Jurgis? socialist manner of thought and it seems ideal for him, but at the same clip, it seems like a last resort for person so unfortunate that they are really removed from a human society. Not many know how to experience for Jurgis at this point. This is more tha n most can manage. In novels where a chief character dies, a great trade of empathy is felt but when another dies and yet another, it merely seems like there isn? t adequate emotion left to give. The inquiry is non if Jurgis? emotions are justified but if his emotions are humanly come-at-able. That is the inquiry that destroys Sinclair? s Socialist statement. As Sinclair? s point of view for Socialism proves non to be every bit convincing as what was hoped, the manner of composing proves to be successful in exposing the truth of the meat packing industry. A combination of the reporter-style 3rd individual narrative and the copiousness of factual information dug up by Sinclair gives the book the flooring repute that it has earned. ? To this portion of the pace [ the fertiliser room ] came all the? tankage? and the waste merchandises of all kinds ; her they dried out the castanetss, # 8211 ; and in smothering basements where the daytime neer came you might see work forces and adult females and kids flexing over twirling machines and sawing spots of bone into all kinds of forms, take a breathing their lungs full of the all right dust, and doomed to decease, every one of them, within a certain definite time. ? ( 127 ) The publication of The Jungle had a great influence on the transition of the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906 and has had a important impact on how we view public wellness. ? The first public wellness activities in the United States began in the early 19th century in the big metropoliss and focused on sanitation. ? ( Raffel 231 ) If insecure and insanitary working conditions were non exposed in the deepness that they were, it may hold been 10 old ages before public wellness was even an issue in American society. Sinclair had a serious impact on the history of this state. Sinclair has said? I aimed at the populace? s bosom, and by accident I hit it in the stomach. ? His Socialistic point of view was non conveyed every bit much as the secret horrors of the nutrient industry. As unwilled as that was, it is still really interesting to cognize. With that in head, The Jungle is an interesting position of life and political relations.