Sunday, November 20, 2011

A little story called "hell month"

One evening I was walking in Toronto and I came across the Bloor street Viaduct... I gazed out across the Prince Edward Bridge and felt a cool chill run up my spine.  The moon shone high and three nuns passed near me dressed in The Color Purple and singing a song.. not about Paradise but from what I could gather, about a man who was wearing fur walking down a concrete sidewalk.  I stopped one of the Sisters and asked for her name.  She said it was Alice.  I introduced myself as Toni and inquired about the song they sang.  She told me that it was by a woman named Harriet... Harriet Jacobs who lived in the 1850's.   She then proceeded to recount a tale to me.  One of a woman- named Linda, who once encountered a man In The Skin of a Lion during her Incidents In the Life of a Slave Girl who had struck her quite a Funny Boy.  When she had finished her story, the nun- Alice, turned and walked away striking up the tune once more with her sisters whom she had introduced to me as Celie and Ruby.  As they walked away I couldn't help but notice that a stray advertisement had adhered itself to one of the nuns habits.  It was for a female parental figure for a motherless child and at the bottom said "call Morrison" listing a number.  As I turned smiling to myself I saw a young man, Ondaatje was his name and writing was his game.  He stood beside a huge Iron cooking pot speaking to a book by A. Walker, threatening to throw it into the pot unless it revealed itself for what it was.. a Book.  Before I could do anything to stop the insane torture of literature, a man sporting an azure silk scarf and a flamboyant green briefcase initials in Pink reading S.Selvadurai walked up and snatched the book out of the man's hands frowning a little.  I giggled a bit to myself and then realized I would be late to give my lecture and so I rushed on ahead and entered the building on the corner just as Jim was discussing Etienne's last letter, Z. 

If you were wondering why this story makes no sense.. well dear reader it is because my brain currently and my everyday state of living also make no sense.  To the  untrained eye this little paragraph would seem little more than a blurb from a silly short story but to the critically analytic literature buff it would be a clever and almost juvenile mash-up of the names and titles of 5 authors and 5 of their respective works: Alive Walker's The Color Purple, Michael Ondaatje's In the Skin of a Lion, Shyam Selvadurai's Funny Boy, Toni Morrison's Paradise and James Kinds Etienne's Alphabet.  Now how's that for Randomness!

This paragraph was also a way for me to spend 5 minutes in creative abandon away from the stuffiness of formal academic writing that I am currently up to my garters in :(

The end of the month'e essay line up looks like this:
Monday: seminar 4CF3 contemporary lit- final paper on Funny Boy (2500 words) and final seminar pres. on In the Skin of a Lion (1500 words)
Tuesday: seminar 4AA3 african american womens lit- final paper on Color Purple & Paradise (2500 words)
Thursday: 2M03 modern concepts of culture- final essay on TBA (1500 words)
Tues November 29th: 3Q03 history of critical theory final essay on TBA (1500-2000 words)
Random small assignments between Novel 27-30: 2m03 final tutorial discussion question (200 words), 2K06 term 1 sum up response, 4aa3 seminar sum up reponse. (1000 total)

Total Wordcount between Nov 20 and Nov 30th-   10 700 words!






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