Beloved in Striped Pajamas

      I am definitely having difficulty with beginning this comparison blog but here I go…

Beloved, a reincarnation of Sethe’s dead baby whom she killed about 18 years ago, arrives back to her family at 124. Her presence reiterates the damage and dangers of slavery’s past for practically anyone she comes in contact with. For instance, she constantly brings back memories to Sethe regarding her own mother’s death, her choice to kill Beloved, and many other memories related to the years of her past when she was still a slave. Another case includes Paul D.’s abandonment of his “tobacco tin buried in his chest where a red heart used to be” to Beloved when she seduces him. Prior to this incident, Paul D lived by the fact that he would never love anyone too much so that he will still have some love left over for the next person. He lives by this statement because of his past like at Sweet Home where he was forced to perform oral sex on the white men. Furthermore, Beloved causes Denver to a deeper fear of her mother from her past of killing her children and Denver decides to keep a motherly keen watch on Beloved.

                 Beloved’s prominent reminder of slavery and how these people where abused because of their heritage strongly relates to the Boy in the Striped Pajamas. The story of Nazis enslaving Jews clearly reflects discrimination of African Americans. Just as slaves were dehumanized by their white owners, so where the Jewish people who were sent to concentration camps. For example, Pavel, a servant to Bruno’s family, who was once a doctor was sent to a concentration camp, denied his past status, and had to work along the sides of other Jews; he later was beaten to death for no other reason than his heritage. The history of enslavement based off of heritage is a cursing affect that scars generations of people leaving them insecure and weak.

The theme of slavery and its attachment to heritage portrays those soulless people for who they truly are. They felt that beating, whipping, and killing was nothing too horrible because they were convinced it was for the right reason. The innocence, of both Beloved and Bruno, further highlights the monstrous decisions of men and women. In Manohla Dargis’s article, Horror through a Child’s Eyes, proves a very true point that Bruno is told that “Jews are supposed to be bad, and yet Shmuel is nice.” This is also a factor in Beloved because she is still a child though not physically one. Denver’s desire for Beloved becomes increasingly strong as she feels she needs protection and feels as though she is incapable of providing for her enslaved love to her mother Sethe. This similarly occurs when Bruno decides to are for Shmuel, bringing him food, keeping him company, and eventually coming to the other side to be with his friend. The concept of slavery is not limited to physical boundaries and abuse but also refers to the incapability of control over one’s emotion. Boundaries are greatly symbolized through the house 124 that Denver, Sethe and Beloved live in as well as the fence that divides Bruno and Shmuel.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/07/movies/07paja.html?_r=0

Montana Dalton Flash Fiction - Over the River and Through the Woods

Her eyes daggered over to mine; they were piercing, cold, and unforgiving. I couldn’t help but to stare back making things uncomfortable to me because I didn’t think her dilemma was as dramatic as she was making it to be. “Frederick, we have no milk”, she said percussively leaving a sting at the end of each word; yet, I couldn’t help but let a grin creep up in the corner of my mouth, no matter how hard I try to resist it. This, of course, only increased her frustration, so I offered to make the distant trip to the store in hopes it would ease her pain. Satisfied with my offer, her head bobbed up and down as if she had just asked to be queen and then began to brew her coffee knowing the milk would be present by the time it had finished. 

Bothered by my current situation, I dragged my feet to my car and began on my journey to retrieve the golden egg; aka, milk. I wouldn’t have been as vexed if the closest grocery store wasn’t through some woods and over a river adding up to be a good twelve miles, but I was committed and rather than being irritated by this road trip, decided to distract myself with the radio. Luckily my favorite old song by The Red One Rocketman, Benny and The Jets, came on; so I cranked the volume and hardily thought about the milk or the trip anymore. Other songs came on after the end of Benny; none quite as brilliant as Benny though, so the trip became quite extensive and began to drag on and reminded me of my ultimate task; milk. Soon enough I pulled into the parking lot of Tom Thumb, got out of my car, and was back in my car just about two seconds later. I let out a cheapish laugh, still perplexed at why she made such a big deal over this two percent milk; couldn’t she have survived one day without it? Not really phased whether she could or not, the thought that this exasperating trip is now half way over was enough to motivate me to get on the road again.

Retracing my currently made path, back over the river and through the woods I’d go. Once again I turned on my radio, but was quite annoyed with it and not in the mood for music anymore; so I peered out my window and realized how gloomy of a day it actually was. I also was approaching the bridge, now realizing how much I hated it. The color, a faded red, reminded me of rust and made me somewhat uneasy towards it, but, “It’s held people for hundreds of years”, I thought as I crossed the little bump indicating I was now inevitably on the bridge.  Anxious to get off, I noticed I was just about to be half way over it, until I felt a comfortable drop in my stomach. Focusing forward, I saw no more road in front of me and cars were uncontrollably dropping as I realized that the bridge was collapsing underneath me. Not knowing what to think, I saw the river below me zoomed in as if I could almost touch it, but just before my body reached the water, my head flung up from my pillow. 

    Sleepy Self Portrait by Bryon Otis