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Wednesday, October 31, 2012

The Journey to "The Sweet Hereafter": An Analysis of Translation from Life, to Book, to Film


        “Write what you know.” That’s a phrase that many writers hear when they try to come up with ideas for a book. A novelist’s task is typically to create a piece that evokes some form of meaning for someone. Sometimes, the best way to come up with inspiration for this type of writing, though, is to base the work off of something in real life. Film works in a similar fashion: movies are often based off of books. The important thing to understand with these translations is that they are not exact recounts of the actual events. The story of The Sweet Hereafter, for example, was written by Russell Banks about an actual bus crash that took place in 1985. Banks’ book was then translated from the book version to the film version directed by Atom Egoyan. Now, while these translations like to stick close to the original story, some events and characterizations often need to be changed in order to evoke the theme that the creator is trying to achieve.
If we look at The Sweet Hereafter in stages, then we can see it manifested in three documented forms. The first form manifests itself in the newspapers and articles that were written about the crash in Alton, Texas that killed 21 students in September, 1989. The second form in Russell Banks’ book The Sweet Hereafter. Russell Banks, a resident of upstate New York, had the book published in 1991, two years after the events that occurred in Alton, Texas. The tragedy takes its final form in Atom Egoyan’s film The Sweet Hereafter, which hit the big screen in 1997, six years after the publication of the book. Each incarnation of the story has a different theme to it, yet the themes are closely related to one-another.
            The crash in 1989 took place in Alton, Texas. A soft-drink delivery truck hit a school bus filled with students. The bus plummeted into a water-filled chasm: an accident which proved immediately fatal to 19 students, and then 2 more students that died later on. On top of the students killed, over 40 other students were injured in the accident, along with the driver of the cola truck (who survived). At first glance through newspapers, the theme of this accident is one of grief and sorrow. The loss of innocent children was tremendous that day. But the story does not end there, sadly. After the accident, lawyers swarmed to the scene, and many of the children’s families were urged to sue the soda company. After many arguments and hardships, several million dollars were awarded because of the case. The true tragedy here, though, is that most of the recipients of the money did not find the compensation worth the trouble. Because of the invasion of lawyers, the people of Alton were not able to recover and grieve as they should have been allowed, and so they became bitter. The theme of the story, due to the surge of the lawyers coming to the town, is that a town and its people should be allowed to grieve without having to deal with the legal issues that come from the accident. The people were urged to turn their grief into anger as an attempt to receive monetary compensation, as though that would help them deal with their sorrow. Instead, once the cases were closed, the people found themselves incapable of dealing with the money, or the grief.
            Russell Banks takes the story in a different direction, though. Banks takes the accident and sets it in a small town in New York, which is a location that he actually knows. He then had to create characters, and plot differences in order to make the novel more than just a newspaper article. His four first-person narrators each represent different aspects of the original crash: Dolores Driscoll represents the drivers responsible for the crash, and the way they must’ve felt about the ordeal; Billy Ansel represents the citizens of Alton that lost their children and were hurt by the lawsuits; Mitchell Stevens, Esquire, represents the lawyers that came to Alton to lead the lawsuits; and Nichole Burnell represents one of the students that survived the accident, but whose life was completely changed as a result. By using the four characters, Banks represents as many of the people involved in the Alton accident as possible, and in that way sticks close to the original story. The major difference that his novel makes in the story, though, is that the case is defeated by Nichole’s character. By shifting this perspective on the case, Banks reveals that the story is really about how, rather than reverting to anger in a time of grief, the best solution to dealing with sorrow is to accept that what has happened is unchangeable, and that nothing will ever bring back those that were lost. Nichole, as a representative of the survivors, kills the case, and allows the town a chance to move on from their anger. In this way, Banks gives the town a chance to move on in a way that the citizens of Alton were not capable of achieving.
            Atom Egoyan further complicates the plot of the story in his film. Rather than a story about the inability to deal with grief, or the methods by which grief can be overcome, Egoyan takes the story and creates a movie about empowerment. Egoyan takes Nichole and Stevens’ characters and promotes them to a higher level by turning them into primary narrators, while demoting Dolores and Billy Ansel’s characters to supporting roles. This shift creates a two-sided conflict of power between Nichole and Stevens—a struggle that wasn’t a focus in the previous story mediums. In addition to this narration change, Egoyan uses the controlling metaphor of Robert Browning’s The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Browning’s poem is based off of events that happened in Hamelin, Germany (as well as other German townships) in 1284. The primary theme of the Pied Piper is that people can be lead to their death as a result of greed, anger, and corrupting influences made by outside sources. Egoyan’s The Sweet Hereafter likewise shows how the people of Sam Dent, New York (Banks’ version of Alton, Texas) were, as a result of the lawyers’ greed, led by an outside influence to use anger to deal with the loss of their children. Stevens, the lawyer, comes to town and moves from victim to victim, urging them to allow him to become a “voice” for their anger. Meanwhile, we also see Nichole having to deal with her father molesting her. By the end of the film, however, there is a shift of power. Nichole’s lie, which was created in Banks’ book version, ruins Stevens’ case. This lie, however, provides Nichole with the power to overcome her father’s controlling influence, and to save the town from falling into the situation in which the citizens of Alton, Texas found themselves. Her strength of power by the end really turns the film into an empowerment story. It shows how one person can save a town from ruin, despite her own personal hardships.
            Now, it’s fine and well to say that each of the stories has a different theme, but what does it all actually add up to? By changing the theme and the way the story is set up, each story is perceived in a different manner by the audience. Our understanding of the survivors, for instance, shifts from children whose lives were worsened by the loss of their peers (Alton, Texas), to a student who manages to overcome her grief (the book), to a hero who manages to save the whole town from their grief. Likewise, we are given different perspectives on the lawyers. In the papers about the accident in Alton, and from the perspectives of the citizens, the lawyers became a corrupting influence that caused them trouble and regret. In the book, Banks uses Stevens to further vilify the people of Sam Dent, New York. Finally, Egoyan takes Stevens’ character and highlights some of the elements of Banks’ story (elements which may be overlooked) in order to reveal that he, too, has problems of his own, and reasons for why he wants to win the case.
            These changes and differences are important because they reflect the interpretation of the source material. Banks’ novel reflected his own interpretation of the tragedy in Alton, and he was able to place it in an area he, himself, knows and can relate to. Egoyan, who is limited to interpreting Banks’ novel, was also able to imprint his own opinions against the backdrop of the story.  These themes are tied together by the way they offer an interpretation of real life events. The changes are important simply because, without them, the story would be singularly focused, and it wouldn’t be able to convey any more than the one single idea. By incorporating the changes, the story, like the event itself, is seen from many perspectives, and many interpretations. After all, there was more than just the crash that was going on.
            By looking at the way the crash was translated, we can see that interpretation—when passed along from real life, to novel, to film—focuses ideas and expands the horizons for how an audience can look at something as seemingly simple as a bus accident in a myriad of ways. At surface level, things are as they seem, but these interpretations show that there is more underneath any story than just what is immediately available. With that in mind, perhaps a better phrase than “Write what you know” would be to “Write what you can interpret.”

First Date


Location: The Mind of a typical 17 year-old during his first date. The stage can be made as extravagant or as simplistic as possible, with one exception: there must be some form of apparatus that serves as the "Controller". This could be as complicated as a mainframe computer with goggles and joysticks, or as simple as a Gameboy. 

Characters: Represent parts of the boy's psyche. They should dress in ways that reflect their personalities. The gender of the actor is flexible, but it should be remembered that they represent the psyche of a 17 year old male. (In the past, I have cast a female in the role of "Romeo", which had the interesting effect of making the idea of "love" more feminine. Feel free to play around with this.)


Confidence
(Pacing) Okay team, so here's the deal. We've got mere minutes before that girl out there expects us to ring the doorbell and take her out for the night of her life! So, are we ready?

Nerves
You know, if someone had just listened to me, then we wouldn't even be in this mess right now!

Romeo
Well I think it's simply wondrous that we're finally taking that fine young lady out on a date! We know how long we've liked her, after all!

Nerves
Look, Romeo, I understand how excited you've been--

Horn-dog
Actually, that was me, hehe...

Nerves
Regardless, I just think we should be careful, so that we don't have to deal with the embarrassment of
rejection!

Confidence
Oh, come on Nerves! Everything's gonna be fine! Have I ever steered us wrong?

Nerves
Um, yes, Confidence, yes you have! Do you remember last week at lunch when you told that hot girl from Biology that she should sleep with us?


Confidence
That wasn't me! That was Horn-dog over there...

Horn-dog
Guilty as charged!

Romance
Despite his shortcomings, I'm still glad Horn-dog here took the initiative to ask our fine lady out tonight! It's sooo romantic!

Horn-dog
Actually Romeo, I, err, I just asked her out so we could get in her pants...

Romeo
You're such a pig! Can't you see the romantic possibilities this night could have in store for us?
Horn-dog
I know ONE possibility that I can't wait for...haha!

Romeo
Why you disgusting...(He tries to hit Horn-dog, but Confidence steps in)

Confidence
You guys need to calm down! Nerves, I know it's not your thing, but I need you to take the controls there, walk us up to the door and ring the bell. My hands are kinda full...

Nerves
But...but...okay. I'll try... (He takes control while Confidence struggles to control the others. Nerves pushes the doorbell) I DID IT! (the others stop fighting and stare at him as he stands staring in fear) uh....uh....uh.... What do I say to her?!?!?!

Horn-dog
            (all rush to grab mic first. Horn-dog manages to get there first)
Hey, hot stuff! How about we skip dinner and go straight to dessert? (he stumbles backwards, as if slapped) Ow! Bitch!

Romeo
(taking up the controls) I'm sorry you had to hear that.  I thought I'd show you my worst first, so that from here on out, it'll only get better! (continues to mime conversation)

Horn-dog
Stupid Romeo......

Confidence
Nice save Romeo, and Horn-dog? Uh... nice try. Okay, Romeo, you've got control, take us back to the car.

Romeo
You're hand, Milady?

Nerves
Be careful, Romeo! Watch the steps! Don't catch her dress in the door of the car! OH! Don't catch yourself in the car door! Buckle up! Check your mirrors! Check--

Horn-dog
Nerves! Shut up! You're beginning to drive me crazy!

Nerves
Yeah, and you're not driving ME crazy? If it weren't for YOUR reckless actions, we wouldn't even be here right now!

Horn-dog
Yeah, and if we were playing by YOUR rules, we'd be back in our room playing World of Warcraft right now!

Nerves
At least we wouldn't be playing this dangerous game right now!

Confidence
Can you guys just NOT fight? Really?

Romeo
Pssssst....guys! I'm running out of romantic things to say! She's getting bored! Give me something interesting to talk about!

Horn-dog
Tell her how big our willy is!

Confidence and Nerves
DON'T!

Horn-dog
Ah, come on guys! Live a little! We could get laid tonight!

Romeo
(Stepping away from controls) Okay, look you swine! You can't talk like that! She is a sweet girl who deserves so much better than some horndog, and we're gonna give her better!

Horn-dog
Yeah, that's great and all, Romeo, but um, in this midst of all this romantic speech-making bull crap, did you ever happen to wonder who's driving the car, now that you aren't?

Nerves
(Screams and takes the controls) Idiot! You could've ruined us! (he talks into the mic) No...uh..no..don't, uh....worry. Everything is, uh...fine! So, do you like..World of Warcraft? (mimes conversation)

Horn-dog
Great, we're never gonna get to bed with him at the wheel! We're completely screwed....

Confidence
Oh, Come on! I have complete confidence in Nerves over there! He'll get us where we're going in his own way!

Horn-dog
You have confidence in everyone, moron. Hence your name? Duh?

Romeo
I hate to say this, Confidence, but Horn-dog's right. You really do trust in people too much. I mean, it's great and all that your confident, but you can take it to extremes...

Confidence
(unscathed) Well, I'm glad you feel confident enough to tell me that, Romeo! Good on you!

Horn-dog
Just punch him, Romeo...You know you want to!

Romeo
I am a lover, not a fighter.

Horn-dog
You're just a homo, Romeo. Admit it.

Romeo
UGGHH! How dare you! (Slaps Horn-dog across face)

Confidence
(pulls Romeo back) Gee, guys! Can't we work together? And Romeo, if you were more confident in your sexuality, it wouldn't bother you so much that you were a homosexual!

Romeo
BUT I'M NOT!!!!

Nerves
(Stepping away from the controls) Okay, guys....we're at the restaurant, but I can't handle another hour of talking to that girl! She doesn't like video games, Pokémon or TV! I'm totally out of my league with her!

Confidence
Nerves, calm down! I'll take it from here. Try to keep these two from killing each other while I'm gone, though, okay? (He takes the controls and mimes conversation)

Nerves
M-m-m-me? How can I keep them from-? Oh, man....

Horn-dog
But yeah, don't worry Romeo, I know you aren't gay....Now Nervy here on the other hand...

Nerves
W-w-w-what? I'm not g-g-g-gay!

Romeo
Don't worry, Nerves! I think it's cute that you're gay!

Nerves
But I'm not. I-I-I-I'm just not very, uh...self-confident.

Horn-dog
Oh, come now! Don't be modest! We see the way you drool after Confidence when you think no one's looking! You want him in bed with you! (Nerves starts to cry)

Romeo
Horn-dog! Is that ALL you ever think about? SEX?
Horn-dog
Um, yeah? Duh. What kind of question IS that? My name is HORN-DOG! What do you THINK I think about all day?

Confidence
(Leaving controls) Okay guys, so she's gone to the bathroom. I think we're doing rather well and.... (He notices Nerves crying, and Horn-dog and Romeo at each others' throats) Okay, that's it. I'm getting fed up with you guys! Horn-dog! Can't you get along with anyone!

Horn-dog
I can get along with that fine piece-a ass, if you let me!

Confidence
Unfortunately, It's the only choice I've got, so I'm putting you in control while I do crisis control here!

Horn-dog
            (Giggling maniacally, takes control and mimes conversation)

Confidence
Romeo, you okay now?

Romeo
As long as I don't have to deal with him I'll  be fine! Grrr... I don't know what it is, but he drives me crazy! He goes against everything I believe in!

Confidence
What can I say? It's in his character. We can't do much about that. What we can do, however, is try harder to put up with it, okay? (Romeo nods) Good. Now Nerves, what's wrong? Come on, why are you crying?

Nerves
It's nothing... Don't worry about it!

Confidence
Nerves, these tears aren't “nothing,” now come on! Tell me! What did Horn-dog say?

Nerves
He...he...he called me...gay...

Confidence
(Laughs) So?

Nerves
Oh, Confidence, I wish I could be as self-confident as you! (He hugs Confidence)

Horn-dog
(Leaves controls and sees Nerves and Confidence hugging) Told you!


Confidence
Why aren't you at the controls anymore?

Horn-dog
Oh? Oh, yeah. That. Yeah, I lost her. She ran off.

Confidence, Nerves, Romeo
WHAT!?!?!?!

Horn-dog
Yeah, I think I lost her somewhere between “I'd like to cultivate your garden” and “We could have sex in the elevator right now” (Romeo cries and runs off. Nerves goes after him. Confidence shakes his head)

Confidence
Mission failure guys, let's head home...(exits)

Horn-dog
What???? Come on guys!!! It was an honest mistake! I'll do her better next time! I mean IT! I'll do it better next time!
            (exits. LIGHTS)

K.D.'s Crash


         I used to be happy, back when things made sense. High school was simple. Everything was blocked out for us. We knew what was expected, and we knew how to break the rules. Monday to Friday was a mix of cutting class and falling asleep. Afternoons were for getting high, or hitting on chicks at the mall. Weekends meant sleep, booze, and parties.
            That’s all gone now. If I’d done things different—if I had finished high school—I might be happy now. But no. Now I’m stuck. The school I dropped out of is now the hell where I work as a janitor. Now my Monday to Friday routine is cleaning. Most days I want to beat the shit out of these punk-ass kids. I’m sure I could’ve found another job somewhere if I had tried hard enough. There was one thing though that I liked about the school, but maybe I was wrong about that too.
            I was never really a bright kid. I repeated a couple grades in primary school before my teachers decided that they needed to pass me so they wouldn’t have to see me again. Dad always worked day shift, leaving me to fend for myself. The only thing that I ever actually got good at was fixing up my bike—it was a piece of shit Suzuki dirt-bike, but my granddad had given it to me when my mom died. He hoped it would help me cope, or something.
            That bike was what eventually led me to meet my first good friends. Dom and Tiff. I was testing the new brakes I’d put on the bike when I nearly ran Dom down. He thought it was funny, and we became friends from there. He liked to think he was a gear head like me, but he was usually too baked to wrap his head around rebuilding an engine. He was the one who got me into pot and booze. We used to shoot the shit every night, cruising around and doing nothing in town. We would talk about girls, and how we’d get the hell out of that shit hole one day.
And then along came Tiff. She wasn’t really hot—in fact, she was plain. She had short-cropped brown hair, and wore overalls. I never thought I’d see a girl in a shop class, but then Tiff came along and showed everyone how it was done. I met her after class one day and told her about my bike. She thought it sounded cool, and even followed me home to see it. And that’s how she met Dom. I should’ve made a move on Tiff earlier, but I ended up losing her to Dom. I don’t know what it was she saw in him. I guess she just wanted to try to “fix him.” He sure needed it.
I lost my chance. Dom and I managed to stay friends for a while, but after the accident, I was never able to face him again. I loved Tiff, and because of him I would never get my chance with her. There’s a memorial outside my school where they list the names of students who died while attending; the closest I can get to Tiff now is when I polish it.
Now I’m a janitor and there’s only one chick I know who’s willing to stick by a loser like me. Kendra Dawkins. K.D. She’s like me: shitty family, shitty home, shitty choices. K.D. is the type of girl who’d take what she could get. Not like Tiff—well…not exactly. It’s not that she isn’t pretty. She’s one of those psycho punk girls: unstable. One day she’s your best friend, and the next she’s stealing from your wallet for her next fix. Crazy bitch….
            I met her last year, after I’d dropped out and I was putzin’ around, looking for a job. We met in the waiting room of T.H. Mitchlin where we were both applying for something—I forget what. I remember her looking across the room at me. I followed her down the hall. I remember our hot sweat and the pounding of my chest against hers, our shadows close in the dangling bathroom light. We were on fire: ablaze, with racing hearts. I could feel the drive between us. I pressed my mouth to hers and she pressed herself to me. Looking into her eyes, I saw. I saw the truth. In that moment—two souls joined—I knew the truth. In her eyes I could see how right this was. I knew I had lied to myself: Tiff wasn’t the end. We never did make it for our interviews that day. Of course, after we fucked up their bathroom, I’d have been surprised if they’d hired us.
            We started seeing each other about once a week. Then twice a week. Then it became a regular thing. I finally caved and took the job at the high school, because she thought it was a good idea. With a salary, I managed to start renting a room off of East Main. It was shit—barely big enough for a bed, but that’s really all I needed. K.D. had a place too, but she never let me see it. We’d usually just find an alley or do it in my single-bed palace.
            My Monday to Friday school routine blurred. Some weeks K.D. would disappear, so I’d find some other easy chick. It wasn’t like K.D. and I were ever exclusive. I’d catch myself thinkin’ about her, though. I’d be in bed with Tina from Walmart, or Lizzy from the Seven Eleven, and my thoughts would always jump back to K.D.’s thin, wiry frame. She reminded me a bit of Tiff in the way that she would care for me. I mean, even though she was usually shooting up when she came around, she still seemed genuinely interested in how I got along with my job, and how I was feeling. She pushed me to make some good changes in my life. She cared about me, but I had to learn to see lies.
            It was during a stretch of one of her absences that I really started to worry about her. She didn’t have a job, as far as I knew, and she had always been hitting me up for some Jacksons. That’s how I knew she’d be back. I almost got fired for thinking about her. I would often take breaks by the school memorial; where I one thought about Tiff, I now thought about K.D. Fatass McGrass, my boss, kept yelling shit at me one day about how I was never ‘round when he needed me and that I needed to quit takin’ smoke breaks there because it encouraged the kids. I swear the man should’ve been a prison warden rather than a principal. I ended up turning around and walking away that day. Fatass said if I ever pulled that shit again, I’d be fired. I tried to just get her out of my head, but then I found myself seeing K.D. everywhere. I hadn’t felt this way since Tiff…
            I really needed to get her out of my head. The feeling of loss was so bad, that I even turned back to working on my bike. I hadn’t touched it since I dropped out of school. It was bad back then. I was a wreck after what happened with Tiff and Dom, and then I learned that my old man had racked up some more gambling debts. That’s when I made the decision to get out of my dad’s place and drop out of school. My plan was to sell the bike and take a bus; I could’ve gone anywhere and started from scratch. But I couldn’t get a buyer, so I just hid it away behind dad’s place. I stole some of mom’s old jewelry that dad left lying around and sold it so I could start myself off. I didn’t do so hot in the beginning, though, so I spent the first couple months doing the homeless bit before I got caught. Cops kept me overnight the first time, but they wouldn’t keep a vagrant like me for too long. With no place to stay, I finally started trying to apply to some jobs. Stupidly, I went back to my old high school, but I kept looking for something else. Meeting K.D. made things…click, somehow.
            Dammit… K.D—I couldn’t get her out of my head. I needed her back in my life. I felt like something was wrong, that something had happened. But days went by and my hopes began to dwindle away. Days became weeks and months until finally I saw her again.
There was a light, misty sort of rain, and she was crouched against the Latimer building next door to my apartment, shivering and coughing into that over-sized coat of hers that carried everything she owned. I almost missed her. She didn’t move when I called her name, so I gave her a shake, then scooped her up and carried her quickly back to my room. She was shaking like crazy, and she was sweating from a fever. When she looked up at me, her eyes were sunken and wrong. Her life had finally caught up with her. She looked at me and whispered my name.
            “Craig… I—I need—I need—get Dom…”
            She could barely stay conscious, but if she was asking for Dom, I knew what was wrong. I grabbed some cash from the shoe box under the bed, and bolted out the door. Although I hated him, I knew where Dom would be—he’d been dealing behind the Sheetz for months.
The thought of seeing him again after these past couple of years…it made my head explode with vivid memories of the wreck. It had been one of those warm summer nights—the kind that feels like it’ll last forever. Dom had just used a blotter of LSD. We had been out riding around—I was following their car on my bike—when the selfish bastard ran off the road. Tiff didn’t stand a chance in his car. I jumped off the bike as fast as I could. When I got there he was laughing his head off beside her. The front of his car was splattered red. The moonlight reflected red in the spears of windshield around her. She was on the ground gasping for air—a blade of glass in her neck. She died that night to the sounds of Dom’s mad laughter. He later called it an accident, but no one laughs at an accident like that. No matter how high he was.
            Dom managed to weasel his way out of jail time thanks to his dad, the lawyer, who then kicked him out of the house. Last I heard about him, he was dealing down West Third by the old Sheetz. I had to pass by the school to get to Third, so I had to take out the bike. I hadn’t touched the thing since the night Dom’s car went off the road, but I knew time was an issue. K.D. couldn’t last long...
            I could see the Sheetz as I rounded the next corner. I looked around. Dom would be in the alley, high or dealing. Somewhere.  I parked the bike by the store. He had to have customers. But I didn’t see him. I was going crazy. I asked inside the Sheetz, but he was nowhere. Nowhere. I crouched beside a wall in the alley, and pulled my knees up to my chest.
            It began to drizzle. Water ran down my face. What was I doing? I was losing it. Here I was, trying to get a gram of heroin for a girl who had disappeared for months, then only came back to find me when she needed to get high. That’s all she wanted. Why was I putting myself through all of this? A crack of thunder and then I looked up. The rain began to fall harder. I sat there soaking it up, getting drenched. My body was numbed out, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the cold, or from the shock. I shivered and realized that I had been crying. I knew I should just get out of town. I should just leave—pack up my few belongings, hop on the Suzuki, and get out. But I couldn’t.
            I stood up and ran back to my bike. The engine growled, then sprang forward. It seemed like I went even faster this time. The rain was darts. I tore off down the street, swerving through traffic. I rode through a back-lot short cut, throwing up mud in my wake. I got back to the room, and jumped up the stairs.
            The room was quiet when I returned. I opened the door and lit a candle to see that she was still there. I felt for a heartbeat. Nothing. Her body was on fire though. I started shaking in fear. What happened? I wasn’t gone that long… I tried to remember everything I knew about CPR. I pulled K.D. close and was overcome with the most vivid sense of déjà vu.
Like that first night we met, I felt her hot sweat mixed with my pounding chill. Our shadows were close in the candle’s light. I was on fire now. I pressed my mouth to hers and pushed. I did all I could. Then, looking into her eyes, I saw. I saw lies. In that moment—two souls split—I knew the truth. She didn’t need me to get drugs. In her dilated eyes I could see how wrong this was. I knew I had lied to myself. This night…everything I’d forced myself to believe… it made me sick. Her eyes were deep pools of black and in their depth, I saw the way she had pulled me in. She had played me a fool from that very first day at T.H. Mitchlin’s. She wasn’t the one I’d love—she was just one more tragedy in my life.
But there was nothing I could do now. I had tried so hard to convince myself that I hadn’t loved this girl. I tried to force myself to leave—to forget. But I couldn’t. This was just like Tiff all over again. K.D. was dead, and now I’d never be able to tell her –she would never know that I loved her. I pulled her tight. My eyes were dry by the time I pulled away.
The light was growing dim. The sun had descended, and the candle’s wick had almost burned down. I pulled the coat off of K.D. and tossed it on the floor. When it landed I heard shattering glass. I dug into her pockets, and recovered a needle and spoon. I stared in my hands.  She had done this to herself. She’d overdosed. Surely she came here for my help. Right? But why did she send me to get Dom if she already had her smack?
Empty is a good word. I was emptiness. I stood up, letting the diary fall to the floor. I looked around at the mess I was living in. The mud I had tracked in was everywhere. Garbage was strewn on the floor. In fury, I grabbed the keys to my bike, and ran out the door. The rain had stopped again. I jumped back on the bike and everything began to blur. I felt a sick nausea. Tiff kept popping in my head, but she was actually K.D. I kept seeing Dom; kept seeing myself, and us. Everything was wrong. My whole life was wrong.
Dusk, now. I stopped my bike a couple blocks away. I could see Dom, leaning against the wall of the Sheetz, smoking. I watched for a while. It must have been a busy night—I saw two deals go down within thirty minutes. I couldn’t remember why I had come here, but I saw myself in Dom’s place. I was leaning against the wall like he was. I could see his life—our life—my life: day after day, pushing my wares. I come home at night to find Tiff—not Tiff…K.D.—in bed waiting for me. I’m making money: real money. I’m not washing bathrooms or scraping gum off desks. I’m my own boss. My work schedule is flexible. And if I get tired of a girl—tired of Tiff…of K.D—I get rid of her and move on. My life—no, his life—is perfect.
It wasn’t as if I envied his life, though. I just found it all unfair. Everything Dom had done, these two dead girls, his drug dealing, everything…. And yet he was still doing well for himself. He doesn’t deserve to live this way. I heard K.D.’s command echo in my head: “get Dom…” Get Dom. Get him. With a newfound purpose, I moved forward. I’d get him, alright. I felt all the pain—Tiff’s, K.D.’s…mine. It was pumping me up.
Dom saw me as I approached, but he made no attempt to move. As though he had accepted his fate and punishment, he allowed me to do what must be done. Even with my fists connecting with his face, rising bloody each time, we both knew this was right. He heard me now as I laughed, mad. His screams—the ones he must’ve meant for Tiff those years ago—they finally sounded now. His wails of pain were loud, but I could hear acceptance and personal blame in his cries. And then there was silence.
All was still. There were no sounds. No cars. No sirens. No rain. Just silence.
I stepped back from the scene. Dom was limp. I could no longer tell if he was breathing. My knuckles were sore and dripping red. My breathing was hard and heavy, my eyes blurred with tears. What had I done? I ran back to my bike, hopped on and took off. I had no idea where I was going. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t stay here. I had to leave.
When I peeled out of that alley and left the town behind me, I knew I was never going back. That was when my life would have begun. I could have hidden myself away, and gotten a real job. Maybe started a family with someone who would have actually cared about me. I could have been a success. I could have been any number of things, but now I was free of all those dreams.

Taryn


For a moment, I’m flying. I’m heading straight for the night sky. My target is the moon. It is smeared with storm clouds that black out the stars, but its nocturnal glow lights my way. And then I crash through the surface. The sky, the moon, the clouds—it all runs past my bare chest. My entry echoes across the sky, and there is darkness beneath. It is cold and quiet. I’m in space now, weightless. There is nothing around me, until I look back. Again, I see the moon floating above me. It pulls at me now, dragging me back. But I don’t want to go back. Not yet. I fight it, but the moon is winning. I’m running out of breath and strength. It keeps pulling me up until…

            I break the surface of the water, gasp for air, and shake the water out of my hair. I take a look at my familiar surroundings. The dock behind me creaks. I can hear the lapping sound of the small waves smacking against the dockside. It’s dark out here, too. Across the way I can see the few speckled lights of the homes belonging to the late-night dwellers, like myself, who find themselves restless until the earliest morning hours. Granny Lynn’s house is dark behind me. It had been a long day, and she had gone to bed shortly after we left the reception at Taryn’s house. There is a soft glowing light coming from one of the upstairs windows next door. Taryn’s mother wouldn’t be able to sleep well, but that’s understandable.
            The wind began to pick up, chilling the wet skin on my face. Some would say I’m crazy for swimming at night like this, but I find it soothing. Everything is so much more peaceful at night, when no one else is around. My cousin Kyle and his gang aren’t around at night to harass me about being an out-of-towner and all the other things they hate about me. There aren’t summer tourists everywhere, asking for directions or making messes. It’s just me and the lake. Just me, floating in space. And besides, there are better reasons than this to call me crazy.
            The water is real. It’s always felt more real to me than the land. In the water I’m weightless. I’m not burdened by the weights of the world around me. In the water I can fly. I can glide across the surface, and leave all my troubles behind. Under the water is a whole different world. It’s mine. It’s a place that no one can take away from me. But it’s also a place I can’t share.
            I go back underwater and I’m with Taryn. She’s sitting on the bench, clothes drenched. Taryn’s got my jacket wrapped around her, and I’m standing there shirtless. Girls walk by on the boardwalk, checking me out, but then move away when they see her—this girl, Taryn—blubbering beside me. I saw it happen from the beach.

It was my first day back that summer, and I was in town, looking out at the water. Behind me I heard a scream and saw Kyle and his gang. They were blasting Taryn with super-soakers, and she was screaming like it burned her. I ran over and told them to cut it out. They sprayed me, too, but quickly ran off.
“You okay?” I had asked her. She had collapsed into tears, right there in the middle of the path. People were standing around staring. She was wearing baggy clothes to cover herself. She was dead weight, but I managed to help her up and walk her over to the bench.

I resurface with a gasp. The storm clouds are really rolling in now. The moon is obscured, and the only light I can see is coming from the window in Taryn’s house. There is a light drizzle falling. Over the sound of my own breathing, I can hear the raindrops tap tap tap on the dock. They plunk against the canoe, and drip on the surface beside me.
Underwater again, and I’ve taken Taryn home.

 She had moved into the vacant house next door last winter. Taryn’s mother greeted me warmly and offered me a shirt to wear, since Taryn still had my jacket. I accepted her offer, and she sent me downstairs with Taryn to get a shirt. I remember the look in Taryn’s eyes when she held it out to me. There was sadness and admiration. There was also recognition. I tried to take the shirt, but she was gripping it pretty hard.
“Are you okay?” She looked down at the shirt, and quickly let go.
“I’m sorry. That was my brother’s shirt.” She was quiet and I could already see the tears forming. I asked her about her brother, and she told me about Michael. He had drowned the year before in a flood that forced Taryn’s family to move. The shirt and some of Michael’s other belongings were in the room.
“You can have it though,” she told me. “You remind me of—”

I take a deep breath when my head breaks the surface again. The rain is falling hard now. I can’t see the glow from the window in Taryn’s house. I’m as wet above the water as below it now. The rain pelts my face and stings my arms. All I can hear is the rain hitting the lake and the rapid fire of it on the bottom of the overturned canoe. It is too dark to swim now, but I’m not leaving. I go back under.

I was only at Granny Lynn’s during summers. I was away at school the rest of the year. I always looked forward to returning, though. I loved swimming, and everything about the water. I knew it was dangerous, of course, but I taught myself not to fear it.
Taryn couldn’t recover from tragedy like I could, though. Since her brother’s death, she had locked herself inside, and eaten. She threw herself into fantasy and science fiction novels; anything to escape reality. She was happiest when she didn’t have to think about the real world.
I could relate to Taryn’s sadness, and I think that’s why we became friends. The locals, like my sadistic cousin Kyle, didn’t like me because—among other reasons—I was a “seasonal,” and they always picked on Taryn because of her weight and shyness, so she was the only person I thought I could be friends with. Every day for two summers, I would go over, and we would play games, or dream up safer, happier worlds—worlds where none of our troubles existed.
Some rare nights, we would talk about her brother, and all the things he had dreamed of.  I would talk about my mother, or what I could remember of her. It took me a while to tell her about the boat accident. I told Taryn that, since I survived, I felt it was my duty to keep surviving, for her—for my mother.

It doesn’t feel like I’ve broken the surface when I have. The rain is a constant flow, so I duck under the dock. Rainwater is pouring in vertical sheets through the cracks between the dock boards, but at least I can breathe. I hope that this storm doesn’t wake Granny Lynn. Hurricanes have made her nervous, too, since the accident.
My mother—Granny’s youngest daughter—owned a boat on the lake; one they left at Granny Lynn’s. We had gone out in it one day in June, but we weren’t able to make it back to the dock before the hurricane struck. Mom plowed through the waves as best as she could, but when we finally made it back to Granny’s, a freak wave tossed the small boat against a rock. I was flung up on the bank, but my mother’s head slammed against the rock, and she fell back into the water with the broken up boat.
The lake has killed my mother. Water has taken Taryn’s brother. But I can’t let it take me. I swim to grow stronger because of my mother’s death. When the lake comes for me, I’ll be able to make the choice that my mother couldn’t. Despite the torrential downpour, I go under again, and swim away from the dock.

It was the end of last summer when Taryn told me she loved me. We were down in her basement, like usual. I thought she meant that she loved me like a brother. I was touched, and I said as much.
“No. I mean it. I really think I love you, Trey.”
            “What?” I grew hot around my ears. I mean, I loved her too, but not in the way she was talking about. She was my best friend. She was the one I could confide in, and talk to.
“I really want to be your girlfriend…I mean, I know you wouldn’t feel the same about me… I mean, look at us. I’m just a fat whale—”
“You’re not fat…” I tried to comfort her, but she was on a roll now with all of her unhappiness pouring out.
“Yes I am! And you—you’re like some sort of supermodel.” She rolled her eyes when I scoffed at her remark. “Don’t be modest, Trey. I see you out there on the lake every day. You walk around the town half naked ninety percent of the time. You’re thin and muscular. Your hair’s always perfect. You’re friendly and likeable. You’re—you’re more than just my best friend—you’re my soul mate.” She turned away from me and tried to stop crying.
“I—I had no idea you felt that way, Taryn.” I was in dangerous waters now. I didn’t know how to break it to her that I didn’t feel the same without crushing her heart and ruining our friendship. My father still paid for my private school, but it was several states away. I decided to use that as an excuse. “But you know we can’t date…right?” She sniffled and shifted around while I said what needed to be said. “I’m only here during summer…only about three months in the year. And I’m almost done at school too. I’ll be going to college, and trying to start a new life. I can’t stay around the lake forever… It just won’t work between us. I wanna stay friends, of course. I’ll call and write you when I can…But…”
“Just stop.” Taryn stood up, but kept her back toward me. “I understand. It’s getting late. You should go.”
“But Taryn—”
“Seriously. Go.” She got quiet and still, and I knew she needed to be alone. So I left. I went home and packed my bags. The next day, Granny drove me to the airport so I could go back to school.

Today was Taryn’s funeral service.
I can’t tell if I’m crying or if the rain is on my face. I can see nothing around me. I cannot feel the lake’s bottom. I can’t hear the canoe or the dock. I am freezing and in darkness.
“It had been a bad holiday for Taryn.”
“No, she was lonely because no one liked her.”
“No, she hated being fat.”
 No one understood why it had happened. They found her in the lake on New Year’s morning. It must’ve been an accident. It had to have been.
But Taryn wouldn’t have gone near the water unless she had planned something like this. I, at least, know that. She can see her brother now. But where was I now?
It was strange to see the lake in winter. It was strange to be here alone with no one around. But here I am in my own space and time. I’m under now, the universe is around me. I’m with Taryn again. My mother has her hand on my shoulder, and Taryn holds hands with her brother Michael. As I fall deeper into space, I smile and close my eyes, loving the warmth.

That Sense of Loneliness


I felt a sense of loneliness,
Of loneliness and what was lost,
Of what was lost and what I found:
That sense of loneliness.

And at the cost of what was lost—
Of what was lost and never found—
I gained a sense of feeling past
That sense of loneliness.

And with that gain I wish I’d found
I’d lost more than I had,
Though when I had it, wish I’d lost
That sense of loneliness.

And if I lost it yet again,
And yet again I lost it all,
Then yet again I’d find that sense—
That sense of loneliness.

But knowing that I could not lose
That feeling that I’d found,
I took some solace that I felt
That sense of loneliness.

Watching Leaves


They say to watch the leaves and they will fall,
And as they fall the rake keeps them at bay;
But give it time—the darkness takes us all
And when it takes us away, they will say

It takes some time to wait through night all night,
And every day we wait, and wait, and hope,
And when we wake and hope we fight and fight,
And when we fight and lose, we learn to cope

With fragile dreams and count the leaves and watch
Leaves fall and fall, and cover dying grass
Which dies from frost, and fragile life is lost
To seasons, time, and love that love lost last.

Meaning Through Language, Story, and Discourse: A Comparative Analysis Between the Structure of "The Wife of Bath’s Tale" and "The Tale of Florent"


        The Wife of Bath’s Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer and The Tale of Florent by John Gower, both tell the story of a knight’s quest to answer a question: What is it that women desire most? Both stories come to the same conclusions and share multiple aspects of plot, but despite these similarities the tales exhibit different reactions in the reader. Chaucer and Gower share an almost identical discourse in their tales, yet there are elements within the writing, itself, that turn these quests into two very different stories. Through-out the discourse of this essay, I will attempt to show that (1) the narrative flow of these stories can be broken down into a genre-form and explained formulaically while at the same time (2) delineating from the formula to reveal opposing binary themes of public vs. personal ideals (3) which is done through careful word choice and structure.
            Before continuing, I must first bring definition to some of the ideas that will be presented here. In any form of literature there is a distinct difference between the discourse and the story. The discourse of a story refers to what is actually written. In the terms of this essay, I shall henceforth refer to the discourse of the works in question in terms of their plot points. The story, however, refers to the entirety of the work, including that which is not actually written. The story, therefore, brings in the reader’s inferences (based on textual knowledge) on what is not on the page, such as background details, the political influences of the characters, and even the intertextuality between the narrators and the place of the narrator’s character within their own work (Alisoun, in Chaucer; Genius, in Gower). It is also important for the reader to understand my meanings of “public” and “personal”. Public refers to the way the tale displays a self-conscious need to recognize the importance of public affairs and the way that that need would impact the story. The personal, on the other hand, is an emotive approach that emphasizes the way the story creates lessons and ideas through characterization; the personal approach will also characterize the narrator of the tale in a way that the public approach cannot. The personal and public approaches provide different readings to each tale, and are therefore important to consider herein. With terms thus explained, we shall move on to my first point.
        (1) Narrative flow can be broken down into genre-form and explained formulaically. A genre, in terms of literature, is a simplistic category into which texts can be broken down and grouped together based on form, style, and subject matter. By breaking down The Wife of Bath’s Tale and The Tale of Florent, I have been able to identify the main identifying features of each tale, and listed them into a sort of flow chart:

Knight commits a “crime” à Knight is held accountable à An authoritative female intervenes à Quest is assignedà Knight finds answer with help of old woman à Knight is pardoned because of his correct answer à Knight lays with his new wife, who gives him a choice à Knight gives sovereignty to wife àWife transforms àThey live happily ever after

This chart can be broken down into even simpler terms now:

ProblemàQuestàComplicationàComplication SolvedàQuest ContinuesàQuest Completed with Lesson Learned from ComplicationàHappily Ever After

Each tale’s discourse relies on the same narrative plot points. This discourse closely resembles the form of a fairy tale: the knight must go through a redemptive process by fulfilling a request, and when faced with a hardship, he makes a clever decision based on what he has learned on his quest in order to fix the problem, and live happily ever after. Now, as far as the importance of these similarities goes, that’s about as important as it is going to get: The similarities are important in so far as they reveal the way each writer is writing about the same material. I could expand on the way that these tales are similar, but the important bit is that they are structurally similar enough to exist inside the same genre. The plots are similar, the characters are similar, and the problems are similar, so it should be safe to assume that the messages are similar, right?
            Unfortunately, by simplifying these tales into a genre-form, we exclude the details of the delineations, and if we fail to recognize these differences, then we will also fail to realize that the messages are not, in fact, similar at all. To elaborate, think of a fairy tale that would fit this genre. Let’s use “Little Red Riding Hood” as an example: Red, (the ‘knight’) is on her way to her grandmother’s house (the ‘quest’), when she encounters a wolf (the ‘complication’). She manages to escape the wolf, and continue to her grandmother’s house, but when she gets there, she discovers that the wolf is pretending to be her grandmother (and thus the quest is solved with knowledge gained from the complication). The woodsman chops up the wolf and they live happily ever after. “Little Red” has many variant forms, but the framework is still there. By breaking the tale down into parts, however, we lose the main point: the moral theme.
This brings us to my second point: (2) delineating from the formula reveals the opposing binary themes. In “Little Red”, we learn not to talk to strangers, or we can learn to trust our instincts, or we could learn any number of things, depending on how the tale is told. In Gower’s tale, Genius reports on the “facts” of the story which reveal the effects of social standing and morality in the tale. In Chaucer’s tale, the narrator Alisoun uses narrative digressions from the plot line in her telling to reveal aspects of the plot that make it a tale that is more about the personality of the fairy tale. Because each tale is told using delineations and differences from the basic plot structure, different themes can be created.
            Let’s look, first, at Gower’s tale: The Tale of Florent has a complex structure that relies solely on ‘reporting’ the details of the story until the very end, where Genius speaks directly to Amant in order to deliver the moral of the story. In this report of Florent’s quest, we can pick up on the specifics of the story. Refer back to the narrative flow-chart. Florent (the knight in this tale) is guilty of accidentally killing Branchus, the son of the land’s ruler. Though Branchus’s parents want revenge, they cannot simply kill him, due to his social standing (as the emperor’s nephew). The “grantdame” therefore tasks him with finding out “What alle wommen most desire.” (pg.2). This bit of social commentary differs severely from Chaucer’s version in which the (unnamed) knight is guilty of raping a girl. Alisoun (The “wife of Bath”) tells a personal story, rather than simply reporting the details. In addition, by leaving the knight nameless, his personality can be applied to connect with anyone (whereas, assigning the name “Florent”, the connection is lost). When Alisoun’s knight is being given his task, Alisoun takes great stride to point out many of the answers that the knight receives on his quest. This view provides insight on the types of things that a woman (Like Alisoun herself) might desire. By placing a focus on these feminine details, rather than on the sociopolitical commentary, Chaucer’s tale becomes much more personal than Gower’s.
            Chaucer also uses an interesting narrative device to add more personality to his tale. The Wife digresses in her tale, which is to say that she breaks away from the main tale to report on details of another tale. The intertextuality that Chaucer uses, specifically in the wife’s digression about Ovid’s tale about Midas (ll. 952-82), provides a feel to the text, giving it properties of a story actually being told. In addition, if we look closely at Alisoun’s report on the tale of Midas, she seems to purposefully misreport details, taking the role of Midas’s confidant away from the barber (In Ovid’s tale), and giving it, instead, to Midas’s wife. It is the wife, in Alisoun’s report, that cannot keep the secret about Midas’s “two asses eres.” The wife’s focus on women was also metatextually represented earlier in lines 925-34, when she described the way in which some women answered the knight’s question:
Somme seyde women loven best richesse,
Somme seyde honour, somme seyde jolynesse,
Somme riche array, somme seyde lust abedde,
And oftetyme to be wydwe and wedde.
Somme seyde that oure hertes been moost esed
Whan that we been yflatered and yplesed.
He gooth ful ny the soothe, I wol nat lye.
A man shal wynne us best with flaterye,
And with attendance and with bisynesse
Been we ylymed, both moore and lesse.

Alisoun begins speaking in third person terms (“somme seyde”), but then, whether intentional or not, she slips into the first person (“oure hertes”, “that we been”). Genius, in Gower’s tale, never breaks into the first person in this manner, which keeps his personality out of the telling.
            Building off of that last point, I will now steer us toward my final point: that the binary themes of public vs. personal are achieved through (3) careful word choice and structure. We’ve already touched on this point when looking at the way the wife of Bath breaks into first-person terms. Let’s look even closer now, and examine the actual writing style of these two different tales. Both Gower and Chaucer’s tales use structured meter in a way that emphasizes the binary oppositions. Gower’s tale is written in Rime Royal (iambic tetrameter with an ABABBCC rhyme scheme). The effect of this form gives the tale a formalistic sound. Just as the “grantdame” is conscious of the political ‘audience’ she has, and the way Genius is sensitive to the duty of reporting on the story, without personal influence, Gower is intent on using the rigid form to progress the tale. Chaucer’s tale, however, uses couplets written in iambic pentameter to push his narrative along. This style gives the tale more “bounce”, if you will, and keeps the tale lively and personal. The iambic pentameter, which prevails through the tale, is used to allow emotive personality to exist, in place of self-conscious textual awareness.
        Looking even closer than the specific line structure, we can even pick up on the themes by examining the use of verb voices. Let’s compare the “grantdame” (Gower) to her Chaucerian equivalent, the Queen. When speaking to Florent, the grantdame uses passive constructions: “thou stoned in juggement”, “There schal non other thing availe,/ That thou ne schalt thi deth receive.” (pg.2) These constructions reflect Genius’s passive role in reporting the story. The Queen, however, uses active constructions: “I grante thee lyf, if thou canst tellen me…yet wol I yeve thee leve for to gon” (ll.904-908). These active constructions imply impulsiveness and a sort of on-the-fly storytelling, which characterizes Alisoun’s personal influence on the story. The techniques of voice control exhibited by the character speakers reflect, doubly, upon the writers of the stories, themselves.



Gower à Genius à Grantdame 
Chaucer à Alisoun à The Queen

Gower writes in a passive, reporting way, and so Genius narrates that the Grantdame speaks in a passive, reporting way. Likewise, Chaucer writes in an active way, and therefore tells the story of Alisoun who is actively telling a story about a Queen who speaks in an active manner. The differences between the passive and active, and therefore public versus personal are then linguistically called back directly to the author himself.

            To help demonstrate what this all means, let’s look at dialogue from each tale:

Gowerà Geniusà Grantdame
(page 2)
Chaucerà Alisounà The Queen
(lines 902-12)
“Florent, how so thou be to wyte
Of Branchus deth, men schal respite
As now to take vengement,
Be so thou stoned in juggement
Upon certein condicioun,
That thou unto a questioun
Which I schal axe schalt ek swere,
That if thou of the soothe faile,
There schal non other thing availe,
That thou ne schalt thi deth receive.
And for men schal thee noght deceive,
That thou therof myht ben avised,
Thou schalt have day and tyme assised
And leve saufly for to wende,
Be so that at thi daies ende
Thou come agein with thin avys.”
And seith: “Florent, on love it hongeth
Al that to myn axinge longeth:
What alle wommen most desire
This wole I axe, and in th’empire
Wher as thou hast most knowlechinge
Tak conseil upon this axinge.”

“Thou standest yet,” quod she, “in swich array
That of thy lyf yet hastow no suretee.
I grante thee lyf, if thou kanst tellen me
What thing is it that wommen moost desiren.
Be war, and keep thy nekke-boon from iren!
And if thou kanst nat tellen it anon,
Yet wol  yeve thee leve for to gon
A twelf-month and a day, to seche and leere
And answere suffisant in this mateere;
And suretee wol I han, er that thou pace,
Thy body for to yelden in this place.”

The two speakers are essentially saying the same thing. I have highlighted the sections that correspond between the passages in different colors. Now we can apply my numbered argument to the two dialogues: 

The Tale of Florent
The Wife of Bath’s Tale
1) Grantdame says:  Florent has committed crimeàI will ask a questionàYou’ll die if you don’t answeràYou have time to look for an answeràWhat do all women desire?

2) The way that the grantdame arranges her words makes it more formal. She states the crime, then punishment. She reveals the conditions that will allow him to repent, and the amount of time he has to do so. And then she concludes with his task. The grantdame’s dialogue reveals nothing of her character, but, instead, gives a ‘show’ for the court.


3) Gower writes in passive constructions, which comments on the way Genius narrates the way the grantdame speaks. Things happen to Florent in a very consequential manner, and those consequences are laid out in the grantdame’s speech.

1) The Queen says: Knight has committed crimeàI will ask a questionàWhat do all women desire? à You’ll die if you don’t answeràYou have time to look for an answer

2) The way that the Queen arranges her words makes it more personal. She states the crime, but then immediately tells what the knight can do to repent. Then she warns him to be careful, and closes by letting him know that he has some time to answer the question. The dialogue’s arrangement gives more character and emotion, and acts in a more informal tone.

3) Chaucer writes in active constructions, which comments on the way Alisoun narrates the way the Queen speaks. The knight has done things, and he must do things in order to save himself. He’s spoken about actively, and it is his activity that will save his life.

By comparing the two texts in this manner, one can graphically see the way that language, story, and discourse can affect the theme of a story. Though the tales are similar in base-structure, the differences in the structures create two entirely different stories. In addition, the minute word choices which differ create solid founding for the implication that they are, indeed, told in different manners. The Tale of Florent and The Wife of Bath’s Tale appear, in basic terms, but the only way they could truly be the same, is to remove the language from them. In truth and closing, the only way they could be the same, is if they were, in every aspect of language exactly the same.

Bibliography
Chaucer, Geoffrey. “The Wife of Bath’s Tale.” The Riverside Chaucer. Ed. Larry D. Benson. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1987. 105-22.
Gower, John. “The Tale of Florent.” Confessio Amantis vol.1. Ed. Russell A. Peck. Trans. Andrew Galloway. Kalamazoo, Michigan: Medieval Institute Publications, 2000.