pg. 261

Betrayal
she sat
warm    
cold              
clear and still
sadness left her
anger overwhelmed
“*******”
she whispered
“pathetic”
temptation
She enjoyed the small fragments of pain.


pg. 99

Watschen
footprints
the dustiness of the floor
this would all be for nothing
she would never see her again.
The reality
it stung her
The floor was cold
against her cheek



pg. 143

December Night
the shivering snow
the girl wide awake
she watched
as he slept
“Sleep well”
turn off the light.


pg.392

Torrent
his eyes were silver and strained
misery was attached to them
hope
read the depth of sorrow
it was true

pg. 398

Schweigen
Peace.
making his way through the darkness.
Silence
was not peace.


pg. 424*

Nachtrauern
, please don’t go.”

Dear Ms. Doering,

     Over the past two months of free reading I have read the book, Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand. The genre of the book is biography since it retells the life of Louie Zamperini during World War II. The book contains 496 pages. I chose this book because my brother and mom read this book and absolutely loved it. They showed it to me, and I decided to give it a try.

     This book is about Louie Zamperini who rises to become a track star at UCLA and a member of the 1936 Olympic Team in Berlin. In Berlin he meets Adolf ****** and also steals one of ******’s personal flags. When WWII breaks out, he enlists in the Army Air Force division and becomes a crewman on a B-24 bomber. After passing training, he is sent overseas where he is shot down over the Pacific Ocean. He survives a record 47 days at sea on a life raft only to be captured by the Japanese. They move Louie to a training camp and somehow he lives despite horrible torture and treatment to be released after the war ends. One key topic in this story is how people from all walks of life, including superstar athletes, joined the war cause. This really stood out to me because nowadays you can barely get people to think about war let alone get professional athletes to join the army in a time of need. One literary element that stood out to me during the course of the book was indirect characterization. We learn about how Louie feels about going into war by his description of the setting. He describes the land by being “empty” and “ghastly” which tell us that he is somewhat scared and uncomfortable about the war.

     I found this book to be a lot more interesting than some other biography books that I have read in the past. Some biographies are very boring, but this one contained events you might see in an adventure thriller. This might possibly be the first biography that I really enjoyed reading. I would recommend this book to anyone looking for an adventure book while also wanted to learn a little bit about the history of WWII. This book is a little long with a lot of words but isn’t a particularly hard read.

     One thing I noticed while reading this book is the constant loss of life there is during time of war. I always thought that death came in spurts during war but it seems like there is lots of death that the media and the common person doesn’t notice. I am doing great on my free reading goals this trimester and don’t see any reason to make adjustments. The book I plan to read next is, The Book Thief, Markus Zusak. My mom read this book and really enjoyed it so I thought I might as well give it a try.

From,
Matt McDaniels

-something real. Something strong and sturdy, believable.  I want to write words that are heavy with lightness and dark with their brightness, to draw on a page a life so unbelievably real, so inconceivably mine
in creation

I want to write
-not just love. Not a ***** with a couple of drink-mangled bugs. I want to write about that feeling of blood churning and the warmth of emotion not physical feeling, to put into words the unwordable joy of being in the presence of
not just anyone

Anyone. Like the not-platonic-non-romantic affection that Rudy would not fail to hint at, that so-wanted kiss that Liesel gave, it wasn't so much the action as the meaning behind it. Like that itch on Death's ear when Liesel he came near, not to take her yet, but to steal her story, to live through it. To feel the words dance in his void, non-niceness, the infinite meanings and the power of phonic combinations.
They allow even Death to live.
I want to write like Zusak, like Rowling, like me.

I want to write
-the philosophies. The thoughts and wishes and wonders of a minority. I want to write about those opinions of those whose voices are too small and their souls beautifully lit up but unseen, their ideologies so unmistakably right but also naive and innocent, to stage their feelings from transition to transition
their words to the wise

I want to write
-characters so flawed. Each with an inner splendor most radiant, but with their fields of starless black and heads that wander from this to that. I want to write lives and people so different, with not-so-good lives and not-so-normal features. People who, though lacking thereof, cliche the right things and believe
in the wrong

The wrong. Their thoughts and meanings about life and beyond, undesirable and judged but that is the human mentality, such as Hazel Grace felt about her casualties and Alaska Young wondered about the labyrinth's unending game. So standard at first, but then Gandalf came and Bilbo learned the differences  between Hobbit and the untame. The reasons and purposes of life's grand living, through the eyes of those whose faces are shunned.
Hermione wasn't just a bibliosiac.
I want to write like Green, like Tolkien, like me.

Alas, the clock, a stained moon, it darkens, and the prejudice of people as well as the pride, unfortunately Austen couldn't lessen so much. Stereotypes triumphantly sit on the throne with their Mary-Sue maids catering from head to toe. I can't barge in, object to the crowning, because today I admit it: my writing is dying.

In my religion we're taught that every living thing, every leaf, every bird, is only alive because it contains the secret word for life. That's the only difference between us and a lump of clay. A word. Words are life, Liesel.

- Max to Liesel in Markus Zusak’s *The Book Thief

We cannot walk with Dostoyevsky as
Guards drag him chained before a firing squad
Comfort Saint Joan against the English flames
Or pray with good Saint Thomas in his cell

We cannot slosh through sodden trenches in France
With Lieutenant Lewis on his birthday
Argue with Akhmatova at The Stray Dog
Or with Frankl at Auschwitz bury dead friends

Unless we read, and then through words we see
The morning sun upon Byzantium