Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

The opening page of this novel engaged me immediately. The heroine at a young age of nine is shrewd, ingenuous and feisty--I fell in love with her after only one page. I remained sympathetic and inspired by Jane Eyre as she developed and matured into adulthood. Granted there are certain elements of the novel that I could have done without: when she stops the narrative to address the reader from her present time as a way of explaining rather than letting the scene show what is being explained; when there are too many neat coincidences to move the plot onward; when Jane Eyre is too good to be true all the time; or when the narrator assumes a highbrow attitude about other characters, mainly that of St. John, while protesting her humility; and the happy, snug endings for all the characters dear to Jane. The storytelling nonetheless is superb. Each character is fully developed--though their actions become predictable, the description of the setting and nature commendable, suspense, foreshadowing, forward movement of the plot are all superbly achieved.

The main impetus of the plot is Jane's desire for self-realization vis-à-vis passionate and pure love. She strives to constantly make ethical and good choices while embracing her passion. She doesn't take the easier road, she chooses to struggle and maintain her dignity and freedom rather than succumb to impulse and desire. In the end though she has proven to herself, to her Creator and to the reader that she deserves to be happy and possess what she desires most: the reunion with the love of her life, Master Rochester, and spend the rest of her life happily ever after.

Overall, the story is didactic with Christian influence, but she wrote in another world at another time in history (so I consciously made an effort to overlook the condescending attitude towards the East, servants, the uneducated, Calvinism and conversely atheists). I liked that the heroine is small and plain and smart. She didn't necessarily have to be so good all the time nor her life work out so nicely at each juncture, though. On the one hand, I like that she overcame her orphanhood and early-childhood sufferings, but to bear zero ramification or injury as she grew older is again to good to be true. I enjoyed delving into Jane's psychology, but not so much the theme of a good Christian who works hard gets sufficiently rewarded.

evoke

The operative word for creative writing.

I've walked past this red building for the past four-five years and just yesterday, I noticed the graffiti for the first time. 'Evoke' is perhaps another way of expressing the writing teachers' mantra, show-don't-tell.

gaffe--yikes!

It's so painful! I'm terrorizing myself by repeating today's immensely shameful episode over and over in my head. I'm absolutely beyond myself for what I did, and to top it off, I didn't even realize what I had done until a couple hours after the scene. Once I realized what I'd done, the rest of the day became torturous. Long, deep sighing was all I could do to keep myself breathing. One of my young students this afternoon asked me, Are you okay? I guess my deep sighs were unnerving her, understandably. The shame is so unbearable, I can't look at myself in the mirror.

I taught four tutoring sessions this afternoon, after I realized what I'd done earlier today. After the first hour of teaching--where the little girl asked me if I was okay--I regained my composure as I concentrated on the lessons before me. As soon as I got into my car to drive home, my mind started spinning the god-awful scene again. I can't stand myself. I hoped a book I ordered early last week, the one I've been highly anticipating, would be waiting for me in my mailbox and thereby distract me from thinking about the gaffe. The book was indeed there, but I felt no joy.

I had to calm myself down. I had to reason with myself. I couldn't, however, even think clearly enough to drink some water to alleviate my parched throat. I did yoga, to breath and relax. I felt stiff and terrified as I lay in corpse pose. I took a hot shower, but the pinched eyebrows remained stenciled on my face. As a last resort to overcome this shameful incident, I'm chronicling it in my blog, partly to process what I did, partly to punish myself by baring it to the world, and partly to record it so I'll never repeat something like this as long as I live.

So, here it is, the gaffe: I teach at the Center for Korean Studies at Cal. I work with the visiting scholars. The truth of the matter is, the center is in a dismal state currently, partly due to some of the people working there and partly due to lack of funding. The other Asian studies' centers on the other hand are thriving. I ran into the director for the Center for Chinese Studies, perhaps the most successful center at the Institute of East Asian Studies, and chatted him up a bit. At first, it was about the opening of the new East Asian Library on campus. Then I asked him about how busy he must be with the growing China studies field. Then I asked him something about how the Korean studies center was struggling. I forgot, though, that I was having this conversation with him in the hallway of the floor where the centers' staffs are. I was criticizing CKS within the director's earshot. I was criticizing my boss behind her back, but within her earshot. What was I thinking?!!! That's the point, I wasn't thinking. The CKS program representative even walked past us during this conversation and it didn't hit me that I was talking about him and his superiors. And another thing, my voice carries far. I have a loud voice, I think because I can't hear well. I can't believe how absolutely oblivious I was. I can't believe I was that careless, clueless... wretched. Then I announced I wanted to work full time on campus in a position related to East Asian studies so if he hears anything to let me know. He and the rest of the staff on that floor, who I'm sure all heard me, must have thought, is she for real??!! I can't believe I'm for real. I can't show my face.

Damn, damn, damn. Writing the scene brought zero clarity. I wish I had a wise tree I could go sit under and relay my story and receive some wise feedback. For some reason, I envision an aged Buddhist monk saying to me, Once you've suffered the consequences by demoralizing yourself with the self criticism, let it go. Just let it go............

Bittersweet

I'm proud of myself for contesting a traffic ticket via a written declaration because I received the court's decision yesterday that read: case dismissed. This means I get my bail in the amount of $151 returned and a point is not added to my driving record, which means my insurance rate remains at its current rate. I was so upset when the cop decided to issue me a ticket back in early June. Hey, it's the first time I've truly exercised my civil liberties, and I was heard. Maybe I'll give this democracy thing another chance--ha. This minor victory, however, is not the reason for today's post's title.

Today was the last day of my five-week writing class at the Writing Salon with instructor, Junse Kim. The class met for two-and-a-half hours on Sunday afternoons and for those five weeks, I looked forward to Sundays very much. There are many writing workshops and classes around the Bay Area, and I didn't know too much about the Writing Salon or the instructor, but I totally lucked out in selecting this class. I primarily chose it for its convenient location from our new home, but it turns out, it was the best two hundred bucks I've ever spent towards improving my writing. I wish I had tape recorded his classes because I know I only caught a fraction of what he shared with us. His classes are like the really good movies or books that are packed with so much detail and value-laden information that each time you watch or read them, you learn something new.

One of the coolest things about Junse's class was watching him teach the class how to deconstruct various narrative genres. He did it so effortlessly that you didn't even know you were deconstructing it until the end of an exercise you realized you and your novice writer classmates had taken a scene from a movie or a short story and broken down the external details that evoked the desired message to propel the narrative energy forward. I guess he taught me to see beyond the narrative, and to the "elements of craft," that make up the narrative. Bittersweet, though, because the class ended and in class, with the teacher's guidance, it seemed fun and natural, but now sitting at home, alone at my desk, the act of deconstructing why a scene works so well seems elusive. I want to build my critical analysis skills as they relate to the craft of writing. In order to successfully carry out this exercise, paying keen attention to details is key. I thought, prior to this class, that I was quite detail oriented, but now I'm not so sure that's true. Anyhow, here is an attempt to deconstruct the opening scene from Chung King Express that evokes the theme of unrequited love:

shister, this is hard...
o.k., I can't do it at the moment.
I'll try another time.

Morning Visitors

I sat down at my desk this morning, and, as usual, checked my email first. Only bills and reminders greeted me. Next, I opened my blog to write a new entry. I stared at the blank page, contemplating. That was when I caught movement in the corner of my eye. From my desk I watched a doe and her fawn enjoying their mid-morning snack in our backyard. So much for writing this morning, it's already noon and all that I've accomplished is taking these photos and figuring out how to upload them from the (intimidating) DSLR camera to my laptop without Nick's help. Now, it's time to attack some bills.