Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncle_Wiggily

Uncle Wiggily the storybook character... Jimmy is one of the small children in it...

Uncle Wiggily in CT

1. What is the significance of the daughter's imaginary friends? What is the significance of the seemingly easy replacement?

2. What is the significance of the daughter's violent descriptions of her imaginary friends (sword, Jimmy getting run over, etc)?

Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut

Questions:

1. Why is Eloise so critical of her daughter? 
2. What is the significance of Ramona's imaginary friends? How does Ramona's description of Jimmy correlate to her life? 

Sections from Story:

1. Eloise grabbed Ramona’s ankles and half lifted and half pulled her over to the middle of the bed. Ramona neither struggled nor cried; she let herself be moved without actually submitting to it. (55)
2. Anyway, all of a sudden he said my stomach was so beautiful he wished some officer would come up and order him to stick his other hand through the window. He said he wanted to do what was fair. (44)

Chris McCandless At KO(2nd Blogpost)

The siren sounds. And they are off. The kids start booking it at 100 miles an hour. Quick as lightning. KO is a definite leading team, no question. And I, sit on the bleachers anticipating the runners next moves. Its only been a little bit since I have come to KO and its an immediate change. As I finish watching the KO Track Meet(my kind of sport) I gaze off into the distance and recall my time here so far. First of all, the kids are snotty rich kids. They are smart no doubt, but they seem a bit arrogant for my taste. The part that I find most painful is the amount of social interaction that I have to do. The teachers expect frequent conversation and it becomes a quick, cumbersome task. I make an effort to keep my conversations very short. To avoid much unwanted confrontation. The part I find more irritating is the daily routine of the students. They relive the sequence of events. Day after day. This school allows for no expression with their dress code, thus suppressing the expression of kids. I loathe society for doing this to the kids. KO celebrates the much deserved victory. I jog over to the crowd surrounding the team. I start to walk over back to Kingswood Oxford. I walk into Roberts and wait to leave this school. One day closer to leaving. I feel like I am wasting my time here. It's not worth all the effort all these kids put in. Wasting. That's a major theme to this school. Everyday I see these kids waste their resources. Some kids slack off in their sports and completely disregard the people trying to make the children work harder. These kids slack off in class and waste their teacher's time and effort. Even the kids waste their food in the cafeteria. It sickens me to see the kids completely waste the givens of typical society! This school is very confusing. One thing is for sure, the second I am allowed to leave, I am sprinting right out of that door. My ride finally showed up. It's time to mark this day off my calendar.

Bananafish Questions

1. Why does Seymour compliment Sybil's yellow bathing suit but refers to it as being blue?

2. Why does Seymour stay at the beach in the company of little girls instead of being with his wife? Why does he seem to prefer children over adults?

Questions concerning APDFB and the Technique of Zen

1.      Why does J. D. Salinger merely hint at Seymour's unstable mental condition in the beginning of APDFB? Is it to build tension? Or to illustrate character gradually? What characteristics of Seymour's words or actions indicate his precarious mental state?

2.      Is Seymour’s description of a bananafish's activities like a modern Zen Koan? Does it represent the struggle between following one’s nature and becoming trapped by one's surroundings? Does Seymour feel trapped by the circumstances surrounding him?

Bananafish Questions

1.  What was Seymour's purpose for hanging around with Sybil? Why was he very fond of her?
2. What is the significance for Seymour's full name? Why do u think J.D. Salinger decided to name the protagonist Seymour Glass?

Bananafish Questions

1. When Seymour is telling Sybil what bananafish are, he says, "They’re very ordinary-looking fish when they swim in. But once they get in, they behave like pigs. Why, I’ve known some bananafish to swim into a banana hole and eat as many as seventy-eight bananas…after they’re so fat they can’t get out of the hole again. Can’t fit through the door…They die…they get banana fever. It’s a horrible disease.” Is it possible that Seymour could be talking about himself and his comrades when he went into the war, and then had PTSD? Does this have anything to with why he kills himself?

2. For what reason does J.D. Salinger have for including Sybil and Sharon (the little girls) in this short story? Why does J.D. Salinger have Seymour tell Sybil of bananafish? Do children have any significance in this story?

3. Why does Seymour get upset when he thinks the woman is looking at his feet?

Bananafish questions

1. What is the significance of Seymour playing the piano?

2.  Why does Seymour enjoy the company of children? How does this compare to adults?

3. What is the significance of the dog which Seymour references?

2 Questions on "APDFB"

1) Does Seymor make up fake stories (such as the bananafish) to get away from the reality he now has to live in and does playing the piano and interacting with children help him relive his life before going into the war?

2) Is there anything that could've prevented Seymor committing suicide (Therapy with a psychiatrist or Zen?) and what finally made him decide to kill himself and why was it so hard for him to conform back to regular life from his previous war life?

Bananfish and Technique of Zen Questions

1. Was the journey of solving his own Koan too great for Seymour to bear, resulting in his death? Was his mental illness the sole cause of this?

2. In what form does Satori come to Seymour?   

3. How does the life of a Bananafish compare to the small window of Seymour's life that we know of?

Banana Fish Questions

1. How would your interpretation of the story differ if J.D Salinger did not incorporate the dialogue between Muriel and her mother?
2. Was Seymour ever really living in the minds of the Koans? 
3. How does the representation of the goose relate to Seymour committing suicide? What prevented him from finding Zen? What was his imaginary prison/ bottle?  

Bananafish Questions

1. What is the meaning of Seymour starting a confrontation over his feet in the elevator?  Is it because he's angry the woman won't look him in the face?

2. What is the significance of Seymour looking at his wife as he shoots himself?

Bananafish Q

1: The unavoidable question: What are banana fish and what does their behavior say about Seymour?

2: Might the story Little Black Sambo have additional meaning for Seymour, beyond merely a children's story?

Banana Fish Questions

1. How is Seymour affected by the fact that he cannot adapt to life outside of the war and his damaged relationship with his wife and her family due to mental illness?

2. How are both Seymour and Holden's interest in younger children similar and why is it important?

APDFB Questions

1.) What is the significance of Seymour's bathrobe and Sybil's pronunciation of his name?

2.) What does Seymour's wife symbolize and how does this relationship with his wife mirror his opinion/feeling towards society?

A Perfect Day for Bananafish Questions

How does Seymour's tendency to befriend young girls compare to Holden's in Catcher in the Rye? What does that say about Salinger's own view of youth?

What does it say about the time period and lack of knowledge about PTSD in war veterans that Seymour was released from the VA hospital despite glaring mental instability?

Chris McCandless at Kingswood Oxford

Blasphemy! To think that so many people would be going to a place like this. This is monumental waste of time. Hundreds of kids blinded by the pursuit of knowledge, an idea that they think will earn them something palpable like a diploma just by going to a high caliber school. They think that the only to find happiness in life is through some stupid degree, and that a degree will somehow "achieve" them happiness. I believe that an education should be free, and not require any form of currency. One does not need money for the pursuit of happiness, I'll show them. I'll show everyone in this god awful place.

                 What seems to stump me about this school the most however, is the senior green. Out of all the mundane buildings and simplicity of the campus, there lies just one piece of beautiful nature. A large piece of grass, the greenest grass one can ever hope to see,  dotted with trees and well groomed bushes with a few park benches, lies right in the middle of the campus. And what do they do? They restrict people from even going near it. You have to spend enough time in this hell to be a senior just to enjoy it. Whoever happens to come across this letter know this; one can learn just as much of anything in the great outdoors than another person can trapped in a dull classroom working tirelessly for hours. I think society needs a new school, nature, but for now, I continue my journey further yet into the wild.

- Alex McCandless

Journal Entry 9/2/15 - Alex Supertramp at KO

9/2/15

The restless voyager has emerged unscathed from a truly harrowing day at Kingswood Oxford. This is the exact sort of school that my father Walt would have wanted me to attend. Those sick fools; so firmly trapped inside the delusion that high marks and a diploma will somehow confer on them knowledge of THE WORLD. The only way to truly know THE WORLD is to live it, to "put away thought forever, and all the trouble it brings, all but the nearest desire, direct and searching. To take the trail and not look back.” No student here will ever find the wilderness within us all, that Great Primordial Beast in every man's (or woman's) spirit.

Looking back on the day, the library was surely the worst. There, the great adventurer hoped to find some peace during the mad rush of the lunch period. Instead, he came across several examples of that type of individual which infects our once-great society: the loud-mouthed simpleton that cares more about his "social circles" than he does the world around him. And as for the library itself, what a paltry collection! No Tolstoy, no Thoreau, no good authors – it’s just sickening.

Mildly surprised by the cross-country team here. This aesthetic wanderer could show them some things; they wouldn’t last a day out there roughing it. Still, at least they get to run in the woods, where they're free, unconstrained by the demands of the school day. Maybe I'll teach them my Road Warriors training.

Note to self: stop by the cafeteria and grab some food for the trip to Alaska. Perhaps they know how to butcher moose? Be sure to ask!

- Alex Supertramp

Chris McCandless

I haven't been here for long but I can already tell this is not the place for me. I sit on the bench outside Roberts Theatre and watch the students going about their mindless and dull daily routine. Students of all ages walk across the campus with their eyes glued to their phones yet none seem to take notice of the beauty of their surroundings. Every blade of grass shines in the warm sun and birds fly through the trees on the green. These kids don't notice the simple beauties of the world because they are too wrapped up in this ridiculous waste of time called school. They don't need a classroom and textbooks to learn about the world, they should be going out and experiencing it first hand. What's the use of learning about the Grand Canyon if you can't experience its true magnificence? Being able to experience the joys of the world will educate you more than any textbook ever could. Being trapped in this stuffy uniform is also unbearable. Why must I be forced to wear these tight dress shoes and this choking tie? But I'm getting itchy feat again and want to travel and further explore as much as I can. How can you find true happiness being stuck here spending all your time in a classroom? I will never understand this system and I don't wish to be here any longer than I have to.

Esther Greenwood at KO

The water feels cold to the touch of my face. Each splash on my face feels so surreal. I look up at the mirror and I see someone stare at me and immediately I turn around. I am still alone. "Who is that?" I wonder. But nonetheless, I have to put that smile back on my face. I take a deep breath in despair and depression and I step outside the bathroom back into the cold bearing hands of the world. Time to dip my head back into class and aimlessly inhale information for the next hour. That's what everyone else is doing anyways. That's what I have been doing for the past month anyways. As I sit in the custody of the teacher my mind can't help but wander off. Life has always told me to be like a woman should. That's what my mom has always told me. That's what Mrs.Willard told me. That's how my life had been. But now I am here, in Kingswood Oxford, 2015(at least that's what the KO Newsletter has told me) and coming to this new endeavor has given me the slightest shred of hope to defeat the trend set by society. Yet, here I am, watching kids being scolded by there teachers for under performing. They have to follow society's rules and cannot break down the barriers set. That's what makes my throat ache. I can't think about this school without feeling alone yet again. Society will always have a certain standard for people. "And the answer is...," the teacher spoke standing right in front of me. I stare up at him, stand up, and run out of the classroom and into the bathroom.

Esther Greenwood in English Class at Kingswood Oxford

As I sit quietly, yet engrossed in my English class, I find it surprising how eager the students are to participate. It seems peculiar to me that each and every student has their own opinion and is given a fair chance to speak, regarding the fact that woman usually don’t have a say in much of anything. Although it is a change from what I’m used to, I relish in the opportunity to learn and engage in conversation with other prospective students such as myself. Despite the ambition to join in conversation with my peers, I feel different from them. They seem to all have a plan and are confident with the vividness of their life. Honestly, I sense that I’m going in various directions, spinning around wondering where I will end up in life. The fear building up in my head and all throughout my body takes over the necessary strength I have to gain in order to pay attention to anything. I’m finding that I want everything life has to offer, meanwhile realizing the want for absolutely nothing. The period ends while I’m simultaneously in my own world. My teacher announces the homework due for next class and I'm anticipating the approaching thoughts that will plunge into my mind next."Part of the quote by Sylvia Plath used in this blog--“Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.”

Chris McCandless at KO

I have spent all but one week here at this, this rich school. Nothing but preppy students who think they are every bit of intelligent. I sit down under the big blossoming tree next to the library outside. This is the only place I can be where no one will disturb me. At the moment there are a few groups of students scattered around the turf, but I am sure none of them even realize I’m just a few feet away from them. In my hand, I hold one of the books I bring with me to school every day to take my mind of the disgusting and ignorant aspects of society. I watch as two students sit next to each other on the fake grass, drinking cups of Gatorade. What is there to like in this overcrowded confusing place. The people here, both the students and teachers, keep their faces glued to a small screen all hours of the day, even in their classes. They strut around in their new clothes and accessories believing that they deserve all these things. I can’t stand to be around people who don’t even know what the world is like when you get away from other people and the media. Students and teachers are too distracted to notice the beautiful blue jays flying above them gracefully, or the naked squirrels prancing around looking for acorns to eat. They would rather follow the expectations of society than follow in their own footsteps towards their own dreams and aspirations. Back when I hitchhiked and climbed mountains, I did that for myself. I believed in myself enough to follow my dreams, even though neither my family nor the other citizens I encountered on my many journeys fully agreed with my doing so. I can just see myself at this very second, standing atop a cliff looking out at the other mountains and the water and the sprouting nature all around me. It infuriates me how people spend years in schools where they are taught about the nature of the world and don’t even take the time to explore it themselves. They waste their time finding careers rather than living; seeing what is beyond any school or job, the beauty in nature itself. I watch as four girls huddle around each other and gossip about another girl in their class, while speaking in hushed tones. If this is what my life will be like for the next few years, I am most definitely going to make it my mission to escape this awful place.

Esther Greenwood Attending KO

           I wish I were gone. I wish that I were so completely gone that my meaningless, hypocrisy filled existence vanished from ever being. This place makes me feel awfully sick and I’m not sure if I can bear another day of it here. Over the course of five weeks I have spent my days sitting idly through academics, listening to adults engrain the pressure of grades and college into my and so many others’ heads. The social interactions I have overheard from beyond my own distant table in the cafeteria never failed to upset me. Ranging from overprivileged girls complaining about dress options for a dance, to equally as privileged boys arguing over which of their female classmates is the most attractive, conversations similar to these are commonplace at a high school such as Kingswood Oxford. It seems that at this school, like so many other places, one is expected to have a cheerful and happy personality. Unfortunately for me, I can only feign content for so long. Only once have I tried to join a group of girls in conversation. They were discussing their individual plans for life after high school.  As I listened quietly, fumbling with the hem of my dress, one member of the group, Susan, explained so matter-of-factly that she planned to bypass college completely and marry off to a financially stable man with good looks. After that horrific display of societal brainwash at its finest, I concluded that everyone at this school was just like the others from my experience at college. All of them, so focused on superficial elements such as expensive brand name clothing and high school crushes that they can’t seem to realize that they are blindly conforming to social standards, trapped in their own self-absorption.

Esther Greenwood at KO

I’m not going to class today, I’m too tired to do it. An air of failure seems to cling around me like a brilliant perfume. I sit down on a bench in a park, joints aching. Ahead children play, swinging on monkey bars, rushing down a slide, happy and unthinking, completely oblivious to negativity.  I almost feel like running, or dancing- being free, but its easier just to sit. The wood is damp and coarse, partially dulled by the moisture. Following the grains as they twirl and wrap is like watching a swirling hurricane on a map. People never seem to mind hurricanes, they seem irrelevant masses of hypnotizing clouds: far away, unimportant. Hurricanes are a bit like death if you think about it: they're always far off, but have their own presence, their own unyielding darkness so that imagining them is out of reach. I tried and tried, but simply couldn’t bring myself to mind a storm anymore than the wood’s grain, swirling and twisting, endlessly unchanging in its turbulence. Really, when you think about it, a hurricane isn’t all that different from the school. The schedule changes between weeks, following a pattern, but not quite. No matter how I look at it, although the times are the same, the classes aren’t and their pattern always eludes me: intangible, untouchable, like that swirling storm: far off in the distance. You can’t touch the wind no matter how much you try, which is a shame. I figure I’m more like the wind than anything else, always blowing around, flitting between ideas and possibilities, always moving. That's what makes me feel sick: the linear progression, the order of school, of classes. It's always the same. I’ll just say I was sick, the third time in as many weeks and try again tomorrow. School feels like dying: it hits you in waves, slowly tearing your body apart, aging you patiently. My mother says all this sadness is a result of idle hands, so she's given me a book to read whenever I'm free: "Understanding Development: Theory and Practice in the Third World". She hopes it will make me rethink how much I have. I suppose I'll try it tomorrow.

Esther Greenwood Experiencing KO

After my first few weeks here at Kingwood Oxford I would have to say that it is a dreadful place. I feel that there are too many obligations impeding upon my independence as a young woman. The teachers are constantly imposing their expectations upon me and I'm required to follow in order to be compliant with the school. However, I constantly find myself preoccupied with other endeavors involving my personal life and am unable to complete the homework on time or even at all. Though, I will say that I love the cafeteria and all the food that they provide. Not only do they serve hot entrees but they also have a sandwich bar with a plethora of meats and cheeses. Furthermore, they also incorporate a salad bar with soup to accompany it. I am so excited to taste everything that they have to offer as it's covered in the tuition bill and I have a massive appetite. Though, I wish there was a greater amount of time allotted to lunch rather than the emphasis being around academics and sports.  

Chris McCandless at KO

The lunchroom is a frontier of its own.  Instead of the hungry packs of wolves or the scurrying mice avoiding detection in the Alaskan wilderness, there are students here behaving just the same.  I dodge past confident adventurers, those not afraid to make their mark in the lunchroom, laughing for all to hear or broadcasting their conversations with their friends.  There are also preoccupied wanderers traveling alone, my own outlook reflected in their faces.  I give a friendly smile to the lunch server as she passes me a hearty meal.  At the drink machine, I converse with teacher, a short burst of much needed human connection.  I keep the conversation brief, though, so I can move on and eat my lunch alone.  Finding an empty table is an ordeal of its own because the lunchroom is now so crowded with a variety of pretentious and subdued students.  Some smile or nod at me as I make my way to an empty counter seat, and I acknowledge them in return, forming the little temporary connections I deeply missed in the wild.  Finally, I sit and eat a meal that could have fed me for days in the wilderness, immersed in the solitude of my own “neck of the woods.”

Esther Greenwood @ KO

I tried to kill myself. It was only a few days ago. I was in the bathtub and I wanted to go under. I wanted to feel the water fill my lungs, watch as the world grew fuzzy and then eventually dark. To feel all panic subside until all that was left was peace and my descent into nothingness. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t get myself to do it.  

I sat down on the park bench early in the morning as I waited for my first class. There was something indescribably beautiful about the lonely campus. Shadows dancing on the senior green as the wind passed through the leaves of the trees. The stillness and the quietness, the passing cars, the smell of the wet grass. I could see the teachers inside the buildings, setting up their rooms, writing on the board, and preparing for the day ahead. As the school began to awake, my solitude was shattered by the sound of construction. 

I saw feet shuffle past me, and with them came mindless chatter and conversation. I could hear laughter as more and more people passed by. I was envious. And I wondered, what was I envious of? Was it the meaningless chatter or my inability to belong when all I’ve ever known was my feeling of being disconnected.  

I felt myself drowning from within. My thoughts all consuming. I looked at my watch... time to go to class.