a window to the world's stories: 21st edition

It's seems people are always being told to look outside; to touch some grass. That's to remain acquainted with the physical beauty of our environment every once in a while. This blog offers something similar, only it deals with the metaphorical beauty our world's literature has in store for you. Now, sit cozily by the window where you'll see everything as it happens. The images that lie behind these glassy panes, as told through my words, is yours to perceive freely.

[dandeliondelee]

Movie Review: Shutter Island

Blog Post 5 (Hooray)

You never know how good this movie is until it's a day before the exam and you're watching it just to satisfy the itch. That's me. Don't be like me and go review (refrain from reading the review to review :o). Once you're done with all your work, all I have for you now is a final note: There aren't any spoilers so read as you please, and enjoy!

- Dany

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Lately, I’ve been catching glimpses of the psychological thriller “Shutter Island” all over my feed. It’s a name of a movie that I’ve always kept at the back of my mind, especially with the steady inflow of praise and speculation it has been receiving even for as long as 13 years after its premiere. So, I began watching clips out of order, and said “Fork it, let’s just watch the whole thing,” seeing the irony in how my clip-watching binge had cost me more time than if I just had streamed the film to begin with. The more I watched, the more my memories started to send little sparks of impulses that signaled to me “Hey, we know this movie!” And indeed I did, as I came closer to the fulcrum of the film, the distinct feeling of being able to watch it for the first time on the couch, 7 years younger, hit me dumbfounded right on the face. Like a fire, it spreads faster than it can be stopped— vivid scenes of the movie started flowing in and ultimately ruined the twist for me, with my long-term memory bearing all the guilt. This goes to show that Martin Scorsese’s ‘Shutter Island’ truly knows how to make a lasting impact for its audience, that even time won’t be able to rid you of the emotions that the movie unfailingly exhorts on the first watch. 

The film follows the journey of U.S. Marshal Teddy Daniels and his partner on their mission to investigate the mysterious disappearance of Rachel Solando, a psychotic murderer that escaped the confines of her asylum room, out into the equally isolating environment of Shutter Island. However, rather than take a step forward with each clue that Daniels uncovers, it does the opposite. A familiar strangeness runs afoot, and it starts to seem as if the things he knows are not how he perceives them to be. Funnily enough, treading deeper into the lies that run havoc on the island is what makes the truth clearer as we discover the subtleties that make it all the more wrong. The question that remains is; will Daniels be able to live with what the truth holds for him?

Right off the bat, the movie entraps you with a stunning cinematography that urges you to keep watching. But aside from being a good hook to capture the audience’s attention, this aspect of the film is among if not the driving factor that gives the truth of the story plainly to the viewers before it was ever revealed. Stated by Scorsese himself, the shots are filmed according to the perspective of Daniels and how he sees things, not the way as they are. From this, it keeps you debating whether the events of the film you see are true or just figments of the characters’ delusions, which makes it a riveting watch that makes it sure to last. 

Moreover, aside from clear-cut visuals that draws you in immediately, it uses muted symbolisms to distinguish fact from fiction through scenic elements of water and fire, respectively. This makes it so that Daniels is often nauseated at the slightest sight of water, pointing to his inability to grasp the truth. Instead, he embraces the moments that are illuminated by the glow of fire— his shelter from what exists beyond lies. This facet to the film gives the audience that excitement that leads them back to it, time and time again; to be among the clues that offer an inkling of the truth outside of how we know them to be. 

If you’re looking to find criticisms toward the film to know whether it's worth your time or not, you’ll be getting none from here. In fact, my criticism lies in how the audience have kept discussions open about the conclusion of the film endlessly since its first showing. Plenty of the creative liberties used by the director to show the unreliability of a character’s perspective have been casted off as continuity errors— and I beg to differ. To say a scene was born of continuity errors, we chalk off the little nuances in cinematography that deliver the overarching message of the film to be one as well. This is only one of the many debates that continues to keep the fire of Shutter Island alive. 

Truly, ‘Shutter Island’ is a piece of work that will keep you pondering for years on end. The search for the truth is never what it seems to be, and we hold the choice of either upholding or disregarding what we discover from it. The film offers a scary realization that tugs at the deepest corners of our brain to make a decision whether the efforts to attain that final puzzle piece that makes reality a full picture is worth it in the end. Shutter Island parts imploring us to pick between living happily in ignorance or sorrowful in awareness: “Which would be worse? To live as a monster, or to die as a good man?”

[dandeliondelee]

Book Review: The Appeal

Blog Post 4

Here’s a book review from my latest murder mystery read. It’s not anything like I’ve read before, that’s for sure. Think of it like dork diaries-meets-unlucky murderer, set in the theater world. Want to know more? Here’s a 1200-word review that will waste your time— time you could’ve used to start reading the novel— but will help you make a decision nonetheless whether or not this book is truly worth your time that you would risk 10 minutes of your life for the review. Shh, the curtains are being drawn so enjoy!

- Dany

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The world of theater is often so caught up in bringing forth a compelling and enjoyable ride for its audience that it isn't uncommon for it to tread past the point of exaggeration— or sometimes, understatements— and deliver a completely embellished version of the original story. The actors are there to play the marionettes of the people who work behind the curtains, all to give their audience a reenactment of a one-sided narrative. However, when you take the theatrical path to solving a murder, you’ll find the results would be much different as the dialogue, costumes, and props hinder you from catching a sight of what goes on beyond the stage. Seeing as how covering up a murder is like theater, how long would it take a spectator to reveal the truth amidst all the carefully-choreographed lies?

This is the concept that Janice Hallett’s ‘The Appeal’ plays around with. Written on the front cover in big, red letters: “One murder. Fifteen suspects. Can you uncover the truth?”, the book immediately invites you to sift through the clues and evidence to find the real culprit. 

The events of the Appeal takes place among the close-knit circle of people in the community theater troupe, dubbed ‘The Fairway Players’. However, as luck would have it, tragedy strikes the family of director Martin Hayward and his wife Helen, the play’s star. Their granddaughter, Poppy, becomes sick with a rare form of cancer. Given the illnesses’ uncommon nature, the treatment is equally hard to find and thus comes at a hefty cost. It is now up to the Hayward Family to raise funds— of course, with the help of the members of the play.

Raising a million dollars is a difficult task on its own, but when faced with even the slightest notion that the money is being used for anything other than the treatment of a sick child, it breaches impossibility. As the fundraising efforts reach their heights, so do the people’s suspicion. More inconsistencies begin to come out the closer the troupe seem to be reaching their goal. Doubts grow into tensions, and tensions into negative feelings— that when left to fester, results in a murder. The responsibility of chasing the killer through a series of whodunnit encounters are left to two young lawyers, with only the correspondence between the actors as their clues. 

In just a span of less than 500 words, Hallett’s novel entangles the reader in a string of both truths in its rawest form and lies presented as truths, leaving its readers tugging at it with the hope of finding the end that would bring everything to a neat weave. The first thing that you would notice is the unique way the book tells its story. It diverges from the traditional description and dialogue, and instead, embraces a purely epistolary mode of storytelling in its modern form. The format of the book is arranged in a sequence of chronological emails, text messages, and other important snippets of interaction. 

Drawing in the readers with an engaging look is one thing. But, once you really start to take note of the good things about this kind of format, you would see how this way of presenting the correspondence between the members of the play from an omniscient perspective serves the core goal of the book; being able to effectively introduce the context and situation that ultimately set the stage (no pun intended) for the upcoming murder. For one thing, the power dynamics is among the most evident external forces that act upon the characters, which is seen through the different ways the people in the story adjust their language and demeanor depending on who they’re conversing with. Hallett does a great job of projecting this theme onto the reader transparently that they won’t be able to miss it. In this way, it gives them an idea of who the possible murderers are before they are even aware of who was murdered, due to some characters being written in a light that puts them above others, socially. There are particular parts in the story where you might think you know who did it, but later on will be proven otherwise— multiple times. Essentially, the book challenges you to anticipate the people who may be guilty of the murder, making it a thrilling read right from the beginning.

It isn’t until we’re three quarters into the story that the murder happens, and only then will we find out about the nature of the murder: who gets killed and the circumstances at which it happens. Despite this, the whole thing remains a fast read since we’d only be technically consuming a bundle of emails and the like. For that reason, as much as I enjoyed accompanying Hallet’s characters on their journey to reveal the truth, I wouldn’t be able to say the same with respect to admiring the story’s prose. If you’re looking to enhance your vocabulary with a book that keeps you hooked from start to finish, this will be severely lacking in that aspect as it only deals with conversational exchanges at the most. Rather than tell a story visually with the common literary devices that we’ve come to know in literature, ‘the Appeal’ puts greater emphasis on the plot, hence opting for the most effective way of delivering it— which is through virtual transactions between the characters. 

I get the impression that reading it for the sake of the plot is what people seek to get out of it, less so on the writing styles. If you’re looking to enjoy a nice, relaxing read that allows your brain to conjure mental illustrations from flowery words, Peter Swanson’s “The Kind Worth Killing” or Gillian Flynn’s “Gone Girl” may be better murder mysteries in that regard. 

Moreover, provided that “The Appeal” is a plot-heavy read, it does keep you on your toes for the most part as you go down multiple paths of what anybody could possibly do at any moment. Rather than enlight you, you are shrouded deeper in suspense as more of the truths unravel, making it hard to put the book down. This leads us to the second drawback of this writing format, which is how it probably won’t hold up as much in a reread. Since we would know how the story ends in our first read, there is no reason to go through the whole thing over again, only to arrive at the same conclusion.

Be that as it may, I did find it exciting to return to the initial pages of the book and read the exchanges between the characters for a second time knowing the truth of what happened, just to see how the circumstances affected the characters and led them to do what they did. There are little nuances that I would not have otherwise picked up on, which further shows the genius of Hallet’s abilities to build a fully-deconstructed track of logic around the different characters’ situations. 

If I were given the chance to read ‘The Appeal’ for the first time all over again, I would take it any day. The thrill of being oblivious to things as they happen around you is an experience that Hallet immerses you in. It’s quite a surreal read that reels you in, with a fervor that even makes you second-guess yourself in the briefest of moments. Through all the book’s flaws, a 5-star rating is what it wholeheartedly deserves from me, given its extraordinary ability to grant you a passage to a world as if you were always part of it. The only question that awaits you now is will you play the spectator in this chase for the truth?

[dandeliondelee]

Blog Post 3 is just me answering all the burning questions that come after reading Liam O'Flaherty's 'The Sniper'. The video may be accessed in the link below the photo. Enjoy!

Click me to read the full transcript :)

[dandeliondelee]

Looking Back: A Take On Donna Minkowitz's "How I Broke, and Botched, the Brandon Teena Story"

Blog Post 2

“Stories constitute the single most powerful weapon in a leader’s arsenal.” - Dr. Howard Gardner

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With a title as straightforward as “How I Broke, and Botched, the Brandon Teena Story,” Donna Minkowitz wastes no time to tell the world of her shortcomings in delivering the tragedy of Brandon Teena. Minkowitz’s youthful and ignorant mistake has garnered great criticism from trans activists during its time for reasons she used to not understand. But now in a time of fervid debates about body politics, she realizes her fault in the matter and attempts to reconcile the harm she has done by revisiting the pages long forgotten and setting the story straight. Her apology puts great caution on the role of how our preconceptions shape the way we tell the story of others and how our audience will perceive these based on our words. 

Brandon Teena is transexual male, originally from the conservative Lincoln, who had recently moved to Falls City. In his new home, he had managed to find both happiness and problems— the two things that would ultimately set the stage for his death. Falls City was not only where he met his girlfriend Lana Tisdel, but also where he would be later discriminated against after the police department’s hand in publicly declaring his biological sex to the public in the news report of his check-forging charge. A few days after the report came out, he was physically and sexually assaulted by Tisdel’s friends, John Lotter and Tom Nissen. The police’s inaction against this incident is what further led to the same perpetrators’ coercion in his murder a week later. 

This story captured the attention of publisher, The Village Voice, which tasked Minkowitz on the hunt to write a feature article about the events leading up to the death of Brandon Teena. Her take on the issue inadvertently casted Teena as a lesbian who hated his body because of prior experiences of childhood and adolescent sexual abuse. She stated as much in her original article that the very action of Teena converting genders was “bold,” but she also made the wrong choice of assuming this was an action prompted by fear, as a result of internalized homophobia. Looking back at the original article, Minkowitz acknowledges her misconceptions about the context of the circumstances. Hence, the way in which she wrote the article reflected the subtleties of her anti-trans ideologies, ones that she failed to take heed of— but they weren’t subtle enough to go unnoticed by her readers. 

From this, several external factors may be pinpointed as to why the death of Teena and its telling took its sinuous path. Firstly, culture is a domineering presence in almost all aspects of life from the moment we’re born that no person is immune to its influence. The culture in the traditionalist hometown of Teena has helped Minkowitz diverge into speculations about how his environment contributed to his decision to identify as a transexual person. For instance, she cites that the sexual abuse he endured as a child became the avenue for him to favor female partners, rather than male ones. Aside from this, the article she released branches out wildly from her original notes— those taken raw from the mother of Teena. At first, she had always seen Teena’s mother as a homophobic parent because of her extreme, albeit justified, reaction to Teena’s transition. Failing to see the gray areas that people under the immense pressure of culture tread over, Minkowitz never once asked the question of how Teena’s decisions affected his mother and what the rationale was behind the next steps his mother took upon processing this news. 

Another thing is the confusion about gender and sex. These are two terms that are often used synonymously— despite being vastly different from one another in definition and in nature— that it’s funny when people become offended over the realization that gender and sex are two separate things that stand independently. And to rub salt into the wound, there used to be very little distinctions made between the different descriptors for how LGBTQ+ people identified themselves on the spectrum. Minkowitz fell victim to these ideals at the time, which led to more of her conjectures about Teena: becoming trans was a way of living a relatively heterosexual life with the body that he was not given. 

Lastly, the law seemed to reflect these transphobic notions, which— again, like with culture— helped Minkowitz’s appeal to cast Teena as a victim of society’s keen eye and authority. The police department of Falls City did nothing to shield Teena from the discrimination that would come his way after they revealed his birth sex, all because of a petty forgery charge. If that wasn’t already bad enough as it is, after Teena’s rape, the police refused to arrest the perpetrators for reasons that would not hold up on court. There is only one common denominator from these three aforementioned themes that has muffled Teena’s voice after his death; assumptions about other people is what leads us into the trap of seeing them the way we’ve been told to do so by our upbringing.

The actions of Minkowitz sheds light on the weight of our biases guiding the way we think and act. Take for example the murderers of Teena and Minkowitz, they were all motivated by the underlying ideas they had of LGBTQ+ people which led to their failure to regard this population as people same as them, only with different ideals. However, that’s not to say that they are the same, far from it. They are dissimilar by a giant leap— a misinformed article is nothing next to the murder of a human being— but it’s also undeniable that they have caused significant negative effects to the people around them. Mainly, it was Minkowitz’s own prejudices that allowed the story of Brandon Teena to take the path it did, rather than the narratives of those who knew him. Now, Minkowitz offers the option of living in a world where we tell the stories of others the way they want to be remembered, far from the illusions that fog our rose-tinted lens.

[dandeliondelee]

What Mirrors Can't See

Blog Post 1

What Mirrors Can’t See is a short story inspired by Sylvia Plath’s ‘Mirror’. This piece takes you through the thoughts that run wild from the perspective of the woman in the original poem. The short story offers a nice cocktail blend of sarcasm, obsession, and self-loathing that brings the correspondence between the mirror and the woman to a full circle. So, note from the author, look closely (but not scrutinize) and enjoy!

- Dany

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The mirror sits on the far side of the wall tauntingly.

It’s a view that I’ve come to detest over the years. What once greeted me with a sense of anticipation and satisfaction throughout every face-to-face encounter now turns to disdain as time bears its weight on me. 

Look at it there.

Its hideous rectangular frame argues with the rounder decorative pieces that adorn the room. As things should look kind and inviting, the mirror does the opposite. One should assume the shape itself is a warning of its unkind intentions; a thing to be avoided. 

The color is another matter. It is far too tacky when thrown into the mix of speckled pink walls. I’ve imagined a conversation in my head countless times with the urchin who failed to veto this eyesore before I had the chance of moving in. One would mistake it for a hole in the middle of the room. A reprimand is a must when a space in the wall suffers the misfortune of being sucked into the mysterious abyss that lies behind the mirror’s frames.

It’s almost funny. An object whose purpose is to look and see falls short in doing so with itself. Grime meets the depths of its intricate carvings and splotches of gray glide freely across its reflective surface. 

It seems like time chooses no particular being to be hurtful towards. That makes two of us.

Given its ugly appearance, I would’ve let it rot for all I care. However, I would be lying if I said I didn’t hold envy for it despite its shortcomings. The mirror does not have a mirror to gaze into so it can’t see its own ugliness. Only the opposite wall, and oftentimes me. 

Whereas I have to face the punishment of mortality— a luxury that comes to the mirror at no cost. What’s worse, society has no regard for the negative feelings I hold for this punishment that I seem to be struggling with silently. They would throw dismissals my way and expect it to mend the patch. Naturally, I would always have something to say. 

“Every jut of crow’s feet is what remains of a happy memory.” You mean, I used to be happy.

“Take the world off your shoulders! Frown lines are a reminder of a worry long gone.” Who’s to say the worry’s long gone?

“You’re lucky, wrinkles like yours show your wisdom.” Simply, I’m old.

Those things are easy to say when you’re young, dashing, and charming, with suitors lined up, holding date nights, wine, and flowers toward you like offerings on an altar. These gifts are only a glimpse to the larger thing they mean with the little they have to give— the hope of a future with them.

It’s a hope I once held. But truth be told, it isn’t as glamorous as they say. Not really. 

But, what do I know? I’m only living it, aren’t I?

As much as I’d hate to admit it, their pesky nasally words eventually get to my head one way or another. Their voices mold the way the mirror reflects things. Except, not in the way that I like. 

I’ve found that the moon and candlelight are better companions. They know me and see me the way I see myself. The moon casts a soft glow that makes my eyes shimmer the way it used to when it was still unmarred and oblivious of the future I was headed for. The warm kiss of the candlelight brings about a blush that can only be reminiscent of the vigor of youth. 

I don’t like to think about the mirror. Not when it drains me of the little happiness these comforts in life give. And I especially don’t want it to find out about the power it has over me. 

It whispers to me in the form of a reflection. Then I would be able to hear its harsh words go through me, as if it has known me for so long.

Worst of all, it gives me false hope. It would say a little stretching of the skin is all it takes to make a wrinkle go away. My hands fumble across my face in a flurry of frustration as I struggle to find that perfect touch that would make everything look good as new. 

Sometimes, the frustration is good. Too much of it makes me cry. Uncontrollable tears run down my face and I let it.

If you’ve cried for as long as I have, you’ll find that it brings a plumpness that takes you back to nineteen. You’ll be ten years younger for a few hours, or until your next bout of frustration comes. 

At a certain point, you fall prey to its taunt. So, obviously, I look again and see me.