3 short stories

The three short stories I chose to read were all written by Roald Dahl. I decided on Dahl because, as a kid, I was a big fan of his work. While he is famous for his children's stories, Dahl's short stories span far beyond the pleasantries of the books I read growing up. "Beware of the Dog", which is one of Roald Dahl's most famous short stories has quite impressive history. It has adapted to film twice and was first featured in "Harper's Bizarre". The story line revolves around a crashed World War II pilot, Peter Williamson. When Williamson wakes up he finds himself in a very cozy hospital. As the plot develops, Williamson begins to notices strange things that are uncommon in the English town where he believes he is staying. When he figures out he is actually in France and the people taking care of him are actually Germans, he refuses to give away any information about his squadron. "Lamb to the Slaughter", my second choice, was probably the most interesting story I read. From the beginning of the story Mary Maloney seems like any normal housewife: cooking, cleaning, waiting for her police officer husband to return from work. After he delivers the news that he is leaving her, though, Mary murders him by bashing him over the head with a frozen leg of lamb intended for that night's dinner. Mary goes about her evening as usual, visiting the market to pick up other dinner necessities. When she returns home she places a call to the police station feigning devastation and surprise. After the police arrive and investigate, Mary, familiar with most of them, insists that they eat the meal she has prepared. As they discuss the murder weapon Mary giggles to herself knowing full well they will never find it for they have already consumed it. I was rather surprised by this story because it is so different from the other pieces I have read by Roald Dahl. Thinking back, though, the stories with which I am most familiar, James and the Giant Peach, The Witches, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, feature a lot of dark humour, which is now seemingly fitting for an author like Dahl. "Man From the South" was the third, and perhaps most absurd, story I read. It featured a young boy, an old man, and a woman, with the key plot focusing on the old man's liking for collecting fingers. Yes, it is that weird. The narrator of the story is never introduced but watches first hand as a bet unfolds between the old man and the young boy. Should the boy win the bet, the man will give him a new car. If the man wins, however, he gets to take the boy's pinky. While the story was definitely peculiar, it was also quite interesting. I'm glad I got to read the stories, it was amusing to see a more adult side of the author I admired so much as a child.

"A Good Man is Hard to Find" script

The children were thrown to the floor and their mother, clutching the baby, was thrown out the door onto the ground; the old lady was thrown into the front seat. The car turned over once and landed right-side-up in a gulch off the side of the road. Bailey remained in the driver's seat with the cat gray-striped with a broad white face and an orange nose clinging to his neck like a caterpillar.

As soon as the children saw they could move their arms and legs, they scrambled out of the car, shouting, "We've had an ACCIDENT!" The grandmother was curled up under the dashboard, hoping she was injured so that Bailey's wrath would not come down on her all at once. The horrible thought she had had before the accident was that the house she had remembered so vividly was not in Georgia but in Tennessee.

Bailey removed the cat from his neck with both hands and flung it out the window against the side of a pine tree. Then he got out of the car and started looking for the children's mother. She was sitting against the side of the red gutted ditch, holding the screaming baby, but she only had a cut down her face and a broken shoulder. "We've had an ACCIDENT!" the children screamed in a frenzy of delight.

"But nobody's killed," June Star said with disappointment as the grandmother limped out of the car, her hat still pinned to her head but the broken front brim standing up at a jaunty angle and the violet spray hanging off the side. They all sat down in the ditch, except the children, to recover from the shock. They were all shaking.

"Maybe a car will come along," said the children's mother hoarsely.

"I believe I have injured an organ," said the grandmother, pressing her side, but no one answered her. Bailey's teeth were clattering. He had on a yellow sport shirt with bright blue parrots designed in it and his face was as yellow as the shirt. The grandmother decided that she would not mention that the house was in Tennessee.

The road was about ten feet above and they could see only the tops of the trees on the other side of it. Behind the ditch they were sitting in there were more woods, tall and dark and deep. In a few minutes they saw a car some distance away on top of a hill, coming slowly as if the occupants were watching them. The grandmother stood up and waved both arms dramatically to attract their attention. The car continued to come on slowly, disappeared around a bend and appeared again, moving even slower, on top of the hill they had gone over. It was a big black battered hearselike automobile. There were three men in it.

It came to a stop just over them and for some minutes, the driver looked down with a steady expressionless gaze to where they were sitting, and didn't speak. Then he turned his head and muttered something to the other two and they got out. One was a fat boy in black trousers and a red sweat shirt with a silver stallion embossed on the front of it. He moved around on the right side of them and stood staring, his mouth partly open in a kind of loose grin. The other had on khaki pants and a blue striped coat and a gray hat pulled down very low, hiding most of his face. He came around slowly on the left side. Neither spoke.

The driver got out of the car and stood by the side of it, looking down at them. He was an older man than the other two. His hair was just beginning to gray and he wore silver-rimmed spectacles that gave him a scholarly look. He had a long creased face and didn't have on any shirt or undershirt. He had on blue jeans that were too tight for him and was holding a black hat and a gun. The two boys also had guns.

"We've had an ACCIDENT!" the children screamed.

The grandmother had the peculiar feeling that the bespectacled man was someone she knew. His face was as familiar to her as if she had known him all her life but she could not recall who he was. He moved away from the car and began to come down the embankment, placing his feet carefully so that he wouldn't slip. He had on tan and white shoes and no socks, and his ankles were red and thin. "Good afternoon," he said. "I see you all had you a little spill."

"We turned over twice!" said the grandmother.

"Once", he corrected. "We seen it happen. Try their car and see will it run, Hiram," he said quietly to the boy with the gray hat.

"What you got that gun for?" John Wesley asked. "Whatcha gonna do with that gun?"

"Lady," the man said to the children's mother, "would you mind calling them children to sit down by you? Children make me nervous. I want all you all to sit down right together there where you're at."

"What are you telling US what to do for?" June Star asked.

Behind them the line of woods gaped like a dark open mouth. "Come here," said their mother.

"Look here now," Bailey began suddenly, "we're in a predicament! We're in . . ."

The grandmother shrieked. She scrambled to her feet and stood staring. "You're The Misfit!" she said. "I recognized you at once!"

"Yes'm," the man said, smiling slightly as if he were pleased in spite of himself to be known, "but it would have been better for all of you, lady, if you hadn't of reckernized me."

Bailey turned his head sharply and said something to his mother that shocked even the children. The old lady began to cry and The Misfit reddened.

"Lady," he said, "don't you get upset. Sometimes a man says things he don't mean. I don't reckon he meant to talk to you thataway."

"You wouldn't shoot a lady, would you?" the grandmother said and removed a clean handkerchief from her cuff and began to slap at her eyes with it.

The Misfit pointed the toe of his shoe into the ground and made a little hole and then covered it up again. "I would hate to have to," he said.

"Listen," the grandmother almost screamed, "I know you're a good man. You don't look a bit like you have common blood. I know you must come from nice people!"

"Yes mam," he said, "finest people in the world." When he smiled he showed a row of strong white teeth. "God never made a finer woman than my mother and my daddy's heart was pure gold," he said. The boy with the red sweat shirt had come around behind them and was standing with his gun at his hip. The Misfit squatted down on the ground. "Watch them children, Bobby Lee," he said. "You know they make me nervous." He looked at the six of them huddled together in front of him and he seemed to be embarrassed as if he couldn't think of anything to say. "Ain't a cloud in the sky," he remarked, looking up at it. "Don't see no sun but don't see no cloud neither."

"Yes, it's a beautiful day," said the grandmother. "Listen," she said, "you shouldn't call yourself The Misfit because I know you're a good man at heart. I can just look at you and tell."

"Hush!" Bailey yelled. "Hush! Everybody shut up and let me handle this!" He was squatting in the position of a runner about to sprint forward but he didn't move.

"I pre-chate that, lady," The Misfit said and drew a little circle in the ground with the butt of his gun.

"It'll take a half a hour to fix this here car," Hiram called, looking over the raised hood of it.

"Well, first you and Bobby Lee get him and that little boy to step over yonder with you," The Misfit said, pointing to Bailey and John Wesley. "The boys want to ast you something," he said to Bailey. "Would you mind stepping back in them woods there with them?"

"Listen," Bailey began, "we're in a terrible predicament! Nobody realizes what this is," and his voice cracked. His eyes were as blue and intense as the parrots in his shirt and he remained perfectly still.

The grandmother reached up to adjust her hat brim as if she were going to the woods with him but it came off in her hand. She stood staring at it and after a second she let it fall on the ground. Hiram pulled Bailey up by the arm as if he were assisting an old man. John Wesley caught hold of his father's hand and Bobby I,ee followed. They went off toward the woods and just as they reached the dark edge, Bailey turned and supporting himself against a gray naked pine trunk, he shouted, "I'll be back in a minute, Mamma, wait on me!"

"Come back this instant!" his mother shrilled but they all disappeared into the woods.

"Bailey Boy!" the grandmother called in a tragic voice but she found she was looking at The Misfit squatting on the ground in front of her. "I just know you're a good man," she said desperately. "You're not a bit common!"

"Nome, I ain't a good man," The Misfit said after a second ah if he had considered her statement carefully, "but I ain't the worst in the world neither. My daddy said I was a different breed of dog from my brothers and sisters. 'You know,' Daddy said, 'it's some that can live their whole life out without asking about it and it's others has to know why it is, and this boy is one of the latters. He's going to be into everything!"' He put on his black hat and looked up suddenly and then away deep into the woods as if he were embarrassed again. "I'm sorry I don't have on a shirt before you ladies," he said, hunching his shoulders slightly. "We buried our clothes that we had on when we escaped and we're just making do until we can get better. We borrowed these from some folks we met," he explained.

"That's perfectly all right," the grandmother said. "Maybe Bailey has an extra shirt in his suitcase."

"I'll look and see terrectly," The Misfit said.

"Where are they taking him?" the children's mother screamed.

"Daddy was a card himself," The Misfit said. "You couldn't put anything over on him. He never got in trouble with the Authorities though. Just had the knack of handling them."

"You could be honest too if you'd only try," said the grandmother. "Think how wonderful it would be to settle down and live a comfortable life and not have to think about somebody chasing you all the time."

The Misfit kept scratching in the ground with the butt of his gun as if he were thinking about it. "Yestm, somebody is always after you," he murmured.

The grandmother noticed how thin his shoulder blades were just behind his hat because she was standing up looking down on him. "Do you every pray?" she asked.

He shook his head. All she saw was the black hat wiggle between his shoulder blades. "Nome," he said.

There was a pistol shot from the woods, followed closely by another. Then silence. The old lady's head jerked around. She could hear the wind move through the tree tops like a long satisfied insuck of breath. "Bailey Boy!" she called.

"I was a gospel singer for a while," The Misfit said. "I been most everything. Been in the arm service both land and sea, at home and abroad, been twict married, been an undertaker, been with the railroads, plowed Mother Earth, been in a tornado, seen a man burnt alive oncet," and he looked up at the children's mother and the little girl who were sitting close together, their faces white and their eyes glassy; "I even seen a woman flogged," he said.

"Pray, pray," the grandmother began, "pray, pray . . ."

I never was a bad boy that I remember of," The Misfit said in an almost dreamy voice, "but somewheres along the line I done something wrong and got sent to the penitentiary. I was buried alive," and he looked up and held her attention to him by a steady stare.

"That's when you should have started to pray," she said. "What did you do to get sent to the penitentiary that first time?"

"Turn to the right, it was a wall," The Misfit said, looking up again at the cloudless sky. "Turn to the left, it was a wall. Look up it was a ceiling, look down it was a floor. I forget what I done, lady. I set there and set there, trying to remember what it was I done and I ain't recalled it to this day. Oncet in a while, I would think it was coming to me, but it never come."

"Maybe they put you in by mistake," the old lady said vaguely.

"Nome," he said. "It wasn't no mistake. They had the papers on me."

"You must have stolen something," she said.

The Misfit sneered slightly. "Nobody had nothing I wanted," he said. "It was a head-doctor at the penitentiary said what I had done was kill my daddy but I known that for a lie. My daddy died in nineteen ought nineteen of the epidemic flu and I never had a thing to do with it. He was buried in the Mount Hopewell Baptist churchyard and you can go there and see for yourself."

"If you would pray," the old lady said, "Jesus would help you."

"That's right," The Misfit said.

"Well then, why don't you pray?" she asked trembling with delight suddenly.

"I don't want no hep," he said. "I'm doing all right by myself."

Bobby Lee and Hiram came ambling back from the woods. Bobby Lee was dragging a yellow shirt with bright blue parrots in it.

"Thow me that shirt, Bobby Lee," The Misfit said. The shirt came flying at him and landed on his shoulder and he put it on. The grandmother couldn't name what the shirt reminded her of. "No, lady," The Misfit said while he was buttoning it up, "I found out the crime don't matter. You can do one thing or you can do another, kill a man or take a tire off his car, because sooner or later you're going to forget what it was you done and just be punished for it."

The children's mother had begun to make heaving noises as if she couldn't get her breath. "Lady," he asked, "would you and that little girl like to step off yonder with Bobby Lee and Hiram and join your husband?"

"Yes, thank you," the mother said faintly. Her left arm dangled helplessly and she was holding the baby, who had gone to sleep, in the other. "Hep that lady up, Hiram," The Misfit said as she struggled to climb out of the ditch, "and Bobby Lee, you hold onto that little girl's hand."

"I don't want to hold hands with him," June Star said. "He reminds me of a pig."

The fat boy blushed and laughed and caught her by the arm and pulled her off into the woods after Hiram and her mother.

Alone with The Misfit, the grandmother found that she had lost her voice. There was not a cloud in the sky nor any sun. There was nothing around her but woods. She wanted to tell him that he must pray. She opened and closed her mouth several times before anything came out. Finally she found herself saying, "Jesus. Jesus," meaning, Jesus will help you, but the way she was saying it, it sounded as if she might be cursing.

"Yes'm, The Misfit said as if he agreed. "Jesus shown everything off balance. It was the same case with Him as with me except He hadn't committed any crime and they could prove I had committed one because they had the papers on me. Of course," he said, "they never shown me my papers. That's why I sign myself now. I said long ago, you get you a signature and sign everything you do and keep a copy of it. Then you'll know what you done and you can hold up the crime to the punishment and see do they match and in the end you'll have something to prove you ain't been treated right. I call myself The Misfit," he said, "because I can't make what all I done wrong fit what all I gone through in punishment."

There was a piercing scream from the woods, followed closely by a pistol report. "Does it seem right to you, lady, that one is punished a heap and another ain't punished at all?"

"Jesus!" the old lady cried. "You've got good blood! I know you wouldn't shoot a lady! I know you come from nice people! Pray! Jesus, you ought not to shoot a lady. I'll give you all the money I've got!"

"Lady," The Misfit said, looking beyond her far into the woods, "there never was a body that give the undertaker a tip."

There were two more pistol reports and the grandmother raised her head like a parched old turkey hen crying for water and called, "Bailey Boy, Bailey Boy!" as if her heart would break.

"Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead," The Misfit continued, "and He shouldn't have done it. He shown everything off balance. If He did what He said, then it's nothing for you to do but thow away everything and follow Him, and if He didn't, then it's nothing for you to do but enjoy the few minutes you got left the best way you can by killing somebody or burning down his house or doing some other meanness to him. No pleasure but meanness," he said and his voice had become almost a snarl.

"Maybe He didn't raise the dead," the old lady mumbled, not knowing what she was saying and feeling so dizzy that she sank down in the ditch with her legs twisted under her.

"I wasn't there so I can't say He didn't," The Misfit said. "I wisht I had of been there," he said, hitting the ground with his fist. "It ain't right I wasn't there because if I had of been there I would of known. Listen lady," he said in a high voice, "if I had of been there I would of known and I wouldn't be like I am now." His voice seemed about to crack and the grandmother's head cleared for an instant. She saw the man's face twisted close to her own as if he were going to cry and she murmured, "Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children !" She reached out and touched him on the shoulder. The Misfit sprang back as if a snake had bitten him and shot her three times through the chest. Then he put his gun down on the ground and took off his glasses and began to clean them.

Hiram and Bobby Lee returned from the woods and stood over the ditch, looking down at the grandmother who half sat and half lay in a puddle of blood with her legs crossed under her like a child's and her face smiling up at the cloudless sky.

Without his glasses, The Misfit's eyes were red-rimmed and pale and defenseless-looking. "Take her off and thow her where you thown the others," he said, picking up the cat that was rubbing itself against his leg.

"She was a talker, wasn't she?" Bobby Lee said, sliding down the ditch with a yodel.

"She would of been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life."

"Some fun!" Bobby Lee said.

"Shut up, Bobby Lee," The Misfit said. "It's no real pleasure in life."

Brokeback Mountain

Before watching the movie in class I had previously seen Brokeback Mountain, but I was curious about its differences from the short story. While the movie followed the story pretty closely, I was surprised to find I definitely preferred the film. As a short story, "Brokeback Mountain" was interesting and thought provoking, but I did not find myself becoming attached to the characters. The movie, on the other hand, was very successful in character development. As the film progresses I found myself becoming, sort of, attached to the characters. For the audience, the story is emotionally taxing. Beyond defining Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist by their personal traits, the film captured their relationship more dramatically than the short story could.  Visually, the film was able to demonstrate this relationship and how it affected Ennis and Jack's relationships with others.  Both men felt miserable when they were apart, but, because of the time and place in which the story was set, they knew they could never truly be together.  I think "Brokeback Mountain" is a great commentary on the issue of gay rights.  From Jack and Ennis' fear of "being caught" to Jack's alleged brutal murder, the story speaks to the struggles of being openly gay in a world that refuses to accept differences.  "Brokeback Mountain" is a devastating depiction of the lack of diversity that existed, and still exists, in many parts of the United States.  While the short story displayed painful, difficult moments, the film was more effective in evoking emotion from the viewer.  Because the actors played their parts so convincingly, as a viewer, I couldn't help feeling like I knew them.  As viewers get deeper into the film, the characters' problems become problems with which the audience must grapple.  By enveloping yourself in the story, becoming invested in the lives and conflicts of the characters is unavoidable. 

Short Cuts

"Short Cuts" was, in my opinion, a great movie.  Some of the complaints in the class were about the fact that the movie did not follow the stories exactly.  For the movie, though, I think it was necessary to take the stories and put a new and modern twist on them.  It was interesting because, although there were so many stories, they all related to each other somehow.  Also, the cast was stellar in portraying the characters.  I thought the film was successful in evoking a multitude of emotions.  My biggest problem with the movie was the time restrictions.  Since we could only watch one hour of the film per day, we missed minor parts that ended up being very important to the film.  Furthermore, as the movie was so long, splitting it up between days made following the different story lines very confusing.  The use of multiple story lines was another problem we discussed in class.  I think if we had been able to watch the whole film in one sitting, this would not have been a problem.  I thought incorporating all the stories together was a successful move on the director's part.  By including all the different stories, the director was able to bring so many of Raymond Carver's characters to life.  Since all of Carver's stories focused on different types of people, many different personalities were represented.  With a variety of people, the interaction between characters was very interesting.  The biggest surprise to me was the end of the film when the teenage girl is murdered.  I definitely did not expect it and while, at the time, I thought it came out of left field it seems to fit in with the rest of the devastating circumstances.  I really enjoyed the film, I only wish we would have been able to view it more efficiently.

Raymond Carver

Usually I would be turned off by the anticlimactic outcomes of Raymond Carver's stories, for some reason, though, I really enjoy reading them.  While they are easy to follow, they address the complexities of everyday life.  "Jerry and Molly and Sam" was sort of disturbing to me.  Although there are no really life changing or devastating events, the fact that the main character is almost trapped in his life is unsettling.  For part of the story I was waiting for some kind of big action to take place, but as I read further, the story just didn't seem to need a plot twist.  I am really interested in Raymond Carver for this reason.  I think it's amazing that he can take such mundane aspects of life and turn them into captivating stories, there's some detail that just draws you in. The story revolves around a lost dog but extends further into the life of an unfaithful family man, the commonalities within the story allow readers to relate to the characters in a strange way. Also, the fact that the title of the story, "Jerry and Molly and Sam" comes from very briefly mentioned characters adds to the oddness.  "A Small Good Thing" has the same ability to draw you in without any extreme drama.  Although this story has a more grim outcome, the lack of action throughout the entire story is very similar to that of "Jerry and Molly and Sam".  From reading the two stories I can assume that Carver felt a need to address the depressing events of everyday life. It seems that Raymond Carver was very interested in characters that have become nothing more than victims of circumstance. Carver's ability to translate monotony into a successful story is really amazing to me.  I am looking forward to "Shortcuts" and seeing how Carver's stories are adapted to film.

The Sky is Gray

"The Sky is Gray" is one of the best stories we have read so far.  Language, youth, and maturity were all important contributing factors to the point of view.  Since the story was told from an eight year old boy's perspective, I think it had a unique angle.  Pride seemed to be one of the main themes of the story.  There were many instances throughout the reading where pride played a major role.  For example, the mother had to buy something when they stopped at the cafe to warm up, she would not except the extra meat from the old lady, and she would not allow her son to flip up his collar in the cold.  This aspect was very interesting to me.  For African Americans in this period, everyday life was a struggle.  Establishments were split between black and white and blacks were forced to ride at the back of the bus.  With all this to endure, the mother still had all the pride in the world.  It was as if she would not let her unfortunate situation get her down.  I really respected the mother's character for this reason. 

 On the other hand, I was a bit uncomfortable with the way she treated her son.  While he was the oldest child in the family, eight years old is hardly old enough to have the responsibilities of a full grown man.  Of course, with the father being away and money being so tight, the boy had to take on a lot of grown up tasks, however, I thought the mother should have taken his youth and vulnerability into account.  One part in particular demonstrates my view.  The mother tells the boy he must kill the birds they have caught.  When he refuses she begins to beat him.  At the sight of this the aunt comes out and tells the mother she must explain the situation to the boy rather than just hit him.  I understand that times were very difficult for the family, but I also believe that every child deserves to be a child.  I don't think it is fair to expect an eight year old to take on such responsibilities with no questions asked.

Religious undertones were another important aspect of the story.  There was a lot of talk about God and beliefs and I think the old woman sort of represented an everyday personification of kindness.  I thought it was interesting that Gaines included the character of the young man reading the book.  At the time the story was written, I feel it must have been pretty brave to bring up such questions.  Because of this, I was definitely intrigued by the character.

At the close of the story, I have to say, I was very impressed.  It would be wonderful if the film turned out to be half as good. 

Tomorrow

Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate William Faulkner, but "Tomorrow" was not my favorite story.  Even if I had been wildly interested in the plot, the writing was nearly impossible to follow.  While getting lost in Faulkner's very detailed descriptions, I had a hard time keeping track of all the characters.  Faulkner noted, almost to a fault, every aspect of the most insignificant parts of the story.  Teaming that with the fact that Fentry was the only character discussed in length made for quite a confusing story.  On the positive side, I enjoyed the end of the story.  Although I spent much of the time trying to figure out what the story was actually about, it all came together for me at the end.  Realizing the true identity of the murdered man as the boy Fentry had cared for in childhood was my favorite part of the story.  Although I was not moved by the story, I can appreciate it as a work by a great author. Though I wasn't exactly thrilled with "Tomorrow" in short story form, I tried to keep an open mind for the movie. This endeavor was futile. Apart from Robert Duvall's comical accent in the portrayal of Fentry, the plot did not transfer well to film. Though many of the same elements were present in the movie, I think the amount of time spent displaying Fentry's dismal and uneventful life was unsuccessful. While the theme of endurance became apparent in these scenes, they did not add to the level of entertainment. The characters of Fentry and Sarah were a bit over the top. Although the film was in need of more entertaining aspects, overacting was not the way to go. It's rather hard to indulge in a movie when the actors aren't convincing. After reading the short story and seeing the movie, I have to say I was more captivated by the story. I usually follow the mantra that the book is always better than the movie, and in this case I was correct. With that being said, the story was less than I expected. Honestly, I feel bad that Robert Duvall considers his role as Fentry such a great accomplishment.

Memento

It has probably been five or so years since I have seen "Memento".  The first time I saw it, I was entertained but I was not crazy about it.  In fact, after reading the short story I was surprised with how much I had enjoyed it.  Remembering the movie, I thought I would have the same feelings about the short story. The opposite was true, though. I was extremely intrigued by the story. The lack of information gave the story a sense of chaos and suspense.  It was a gripping account that kept me on the edge of my seat. Seeing the film for the second time left me a bit puzzled.  Although the movie has a solid plot and many significant twists, I had almost completely forgotten what happened.  For example, in the scene where the audience finds out that Natalie has ulterior motives, I was shocked at the fact that I had not remembered this particular twist.  After seeing it again I remembered the sinking feeling it gave me the first time I saw it. That part of the story seemed like it should have been hard to forget.  I could not believe that it had completely slipped my mind.  Natalie's character seemed different to me this time, though.  I had not felt sorry for her the first time I had seen the movie.  Realizing, though, that she had lost someone because of Leonard's "game" left me sympathetic to her character.  Having seen the movie so long ago, I had forgotten how the story pans out. The fact that Leonard turned out to be the real antagonist was a bit disappointing but I really believe it added a lot to the movie. Honestly, I think the whole story made more sense to me this time.  I was exponentially more impressed with the film.     

Memento Mori

Excellent.  This short story is superb.  It has all the makings for a great plot -suspense, thrill, desperation, revenge, etc.- and is compacted into a tiny bit of writing.  I saw the movie a few years ago and I was not completely enthralled. I remember feeling a bit confused and uneasy through most of it.  After reading the short story, I had totally different feelings, though. I kept up with the action and narration.  My only complaint is that the story is not long enough.  I am looking forward to seeing the movie for a second time. It has been a while and I am interested in being able to compare the two forms of the story.

The sense of urgency throughout the whole piece is a key element of captivating the reader.  Because the chapters are so short, it is nearly impossible to stop until you reach the end.  Most of the chapters end with some kind of jarring cliffhanger that forces the reader to keep on going.  Since "Memento Mori" is so short, however, this is not a difficult feat.  Even if the story were longer, I think the author's total originality and creativity would keep the reader interested through the whole thing. If I am not allured by a story it can take decades to finish. The choppiness of "Momento Mori" paired with the uniqueness left me completely satisfied.

Passage of time seems to be a recurring theme in the short story.  I thought the lack of information in the time between Earl's tattoo and his waking up in the hotel was magnificent.  With room for such open interpretation the reader has to rely on clues to develop the story.  Obviously, a significant amount of time has passed.  Since it means nothing to Earl, though, why should it be significant to the reader?  Reading the story from Earl's point of view really brought out feelings of desperation.  Most momentous for me was the end of the story when Earl could not find a pen. Nolan's ability to express Earl's despair was fantastic.  I literally felt his anxiety.

"The Killers" and Heroic Fatalism

Phillip Booth's essay on the film adaptations of "The Killers" was rather enjoyable.  I found it to be an easy and quick read.  My only regret is not having seen all three versions of the story discussed in the essay.  While I agreed with many of Booth's points, it was difficult to think critically when I haven't seen the films.

The Killers (1946)

In Booth's description of the 1946 version of "The Killers" much time was spent comparing the film to other works of the era.  Understanding Booth's point proved difficult as I have never seen the movies mentioned.  Furthermore, the extended amount of time spent discussing the director took away from the commentary on the actual film.  It was interesting to read about the film's history and background, but I found myself wondering less about the story's purpose when I was introduced to all the extra information.  On the other hand, knowing the history of the directors allows the reader to understand the director's style.  Understanding the director's style makes comparing different versions of the story easier.

The Killers (film short)

While I have never seen this version of the film, Booth's description was easy to visualize.  After reading the intriguing account, I am quite interested in seeing the film.  Booth notes that the film short is closely related to Hemingway's actual story.  I was curious about this because both longer versions of the filmed differed from the original story.  Booth's discussion of the "unexpected images" in the short really caught my attention.  Because the essay did an excellent job of bringing the short to life, I am very interested in seeing it.

The Killers (1964)

The comparison between Sheila and Kitty as the "femme fatale" role was a compelling addition to the essay.  Although I was more captivated by what I saw of the 1946 film, reading about the later version interested me.  As we discussed in class, it was surprising that the film was even called "Ernest Heminway's The Killers" because it had so few similarities to Hemingway's actual story.  

I have always been rather skeptical of film adaptation of novels and short stories.  More often than not I am justified in my skepticism.  After reading this essay, though, I'm thinking that the movies may engage me as much as Hemingway's short story.

The Killers

Short stories are always interesting to read as they allow for much interpretation.  When key details and plot points are left out, readers can, in a sense, develop the story for themselves.  In Hemingway's "The Killers" I found myself guessing the next action after every piece of dialog.  While one can do this with any type of story, long or short, short stories tend to leave out information that novels do not.  For instance, throughout the entire piece the reader is never filled in on the reason behind the visitors' plan to murder Anderson.  Some information is given, but never a decisive answer.  Furthermore, the reader is responsible for figuring out the characters.  Because almost every character is introduced rather quickly, it is easy to get sort of lost in the reading.  As a matter of fact, until I watched the video, I had some of the roles confused.  The differences between the story and the film adaptation surprised me a bit.  Trivial things, like name changes, were really the only contrasting parts.  While I would have preferred to see the entire film, the beginning was enticing.  Although I haven't had a lot of experience with this type of cinema, a film that seemed to have a related premise is David Lynch's "Blue Velvet".  The story quickly spirals out of control and opens into a labyrinth of unexpected twists and turns.  Seemingly normal characters reveal their undesirable pasts and peculiar series of events begin to unfold. While "The Killers" was less over-the-top than "Blue Velvet", they both open with an everyday setting and then quickly evolve into something much more bizarre.  Overall, I was pleased with the story.  It was interesting reading and I was constantly asking questions. Hemingway's plot was successful in captivating readers; it definitely kept me guessing.