Huck Finn

Well, I just finished up The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I enjoyed the book, but I thought it was really far-fetched. To me, the book seems like it is almost a marriage of the adventures a 14 year old boy would daydream about to a cynical view of life. The daydreams aspect comes in because it is very unlikely that a little boy would get himself into and out of trouble in that many strange situations. The cynicism shows in the nasty kind of people Huck gets involved with, the tragic endings to the majority of the scraps he gets in, and the grim way humanity is painted (gullible, hypocritical, completely selfish ect.). I suppose the book isn't meant to be believable anyway.
I had a hard time reading the last few chapters. By that point, I was extremely annoyed with Tom and his complete disregard for anyone but himself. Tom obviously views Jim as less than a human being. He knows Jim has become a free man, but, for the sake of some personal fun, he doesn't tell anyone Jim is free and, instead, cooks up a ridiculous scheme to break Jim out of the cabin he is being held in. Huck fails to see Tom's selfishness and considers Tom a great guy and true friend for his willingness to help "steal" Jim. Tom proceeds to steal from innocent people, scare his family, almost get the slaves in danger, worry half the town, and put several lives in danger for a big game. On top of that, he puts Jim in a lot of unnecessary discomfort and considers it acceptable to simply pay him for his trouble. Ironically, all of Tom's fancy plotting looks very childish compared to everything Huck and Jim have faced while traveling on the river. Moreover, Tom's plans don't even work. Huck's "simple-minded" plans worked almost every time. Needless to say, Tom is not my favorite character.
The end of the book was a little off compared to the rest. From what I understand, Mark Twain really didn't know how to end Huck Finn, and, to me, it's obvious in the way the last chapter kind of just trails off. As the narrator, Huck even expresses some of Twain's frustration with the whole process of writing and ending the novel. I'd just like to say that Aunt Sally is a brave lady if she wants to adopt Huck Finn.
That's all for now. I more or less just wanted to vent about my dislike for Tom Sawyer.

here we go!

Obviously, I've been less than diligent with this blogging stuff so far. I don't think I really have anything deep literary comments to offer, but I'll try to recap my thoughts about the first couple of readings from Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. Due to a high school American Lit class, I'm somewhat familiar with Dickinson. I don't remember covering much of Whitman though. As cheesy as it is, the extent of my exposure to Whitman was the parts in the movie The Notebook where Noah reads bits of Whitman's poetry. He has some interesting views on life and death and God. Some of his lines are quite beautiful; some of them bothered me a little. For example, the following lines jumped out to me because it reminded me of Romans 1:20, which says, "For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God." (New Living Translation).

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and rememberancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and
remark, and say Whose?

-Song of Myself, section 6

I particularly liked Emily Dickinson's #320 (or #258?), because it seemed to capture the gloominess that comes along with those long winter afternoons when dusk sets in early and a person nearly goes crazy from lack of sunlight. I read it on one of the days were the temperatures dropped into the negatives, and I had gotten to the point of wondering if spring even existed anymore. The poem gave me a mental picture of a person from long ago sighing sadly and staring out the window into the gray. My favorite lines were:

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons-
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes

and:

When it comes, the Landscape listens-
Shadows - hold their breath-
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death -