Friday 26 October 2012

Evaluation of Eli

As one man’s life connects with countless others, it brings out their true colors. Eli, a short-story written by ‘Vincent Lam’, depicts the tale of unexpectedly shady characters, and their interactions within a hospital. The story initiates with two police officers dragging in Eli, their hysterical drug abusive captive, to a room where a seemingly regular doctor will nurse his gaping head wound. The author uses stereotypes, irony, and foreshadowing to paint the mural which is Eli.

            “The man in cuffs,” Eli, “with his wrists behind his head,” classically portrays a captive of law enforcement. While the police have his “arms twisted high,” they demand that he “behave.” All the while blood, a “”thick opaque” dribbles down his face. The idea is truly stereotypical. There is always speculation over the overpowering demeanor of law enforcement. Cases arise in the news, social media and printed moveable type. In Eli their abuse is dramatized, scouring blood not only on Eli’s face, but on the reputation that local authority upholds.

            Doctors, they’re the perfect picture of health. They pledge to heal the wounded, and worship life as if sacred. But in Eli, as Dr. Fitzgerald “places the scissors” beside “Eli’s cuffed hand,” he tempts fate’s hand to murder, only egging Eli further down a destructive path. The use of irony is astoundingly violent in the novel. For as he places down the scissors, “malevolent [thoughts]” stir within doctor Fitzgerald. He goes against his ethics, and purposely endangers another’s life.

            As Dr.Fitzgerald sees that the “scissors [are] gone”, one can accurately assume the worst will happen to the 2 police officers, escorting him to a barred confinement. And as the “speeding police cruiser with sirens on, [blazes] towards the hospital,” one does assume that their thoughts have come to fruition. The use of foreshadowing is used to lead to the climax. And as the cops drive away, the wretched tale of Eli, is complete, with one final stroke.

Tuesday 23 October 2012

Parallel Structure


           
My name is William Giles Lester Wright. My name is speed, power, and focus. And I just ate your dog. Born on the eve of November 5th, 1995, I am the messiah. Praise me! Praise cocoa skin! Praise my feet! I walked into walmart the other day and they upped the price of my favorite cereal. That is not alright.

I am versed in several types of sign language. The stop sign, rosedale boulevard, all have been concocted by these battered fists. These eyes have seen the darkness of the Vancouver riots. These hands have grabbed the very essence of life. And this mouth, with these lips, has have had more influence than Helen on Troy. Thy bosom, bellows through the mountains, thundering with rage!! And every now and then I talk to my sister Samantha on the phone. She goes to Queen’s university now. She says it’s alright.

Malinteripe, conrutation, gamloodrondle. Fascleflop, iopenrulan, hamrenhoggle. These are words I made up because I can. I can make up words. I can flintendrop. I can make you eat. Because, because I am Mohmar Ghadafi. I dictated the Egyptians, Dictated the heavens, Dictated god himself. And when Eve ate my apple I made sure she paid the price. She now mops floors in Safeway.

If you looked into my eyes, you’d lured into an abyss of azure and grandeur. If you searched my hair you’d find a realm full of dwarfish Nomads, scouring the plains of my scalp in search of herds of zebra. If you cut my toenails, I’d give you a weird look, almost to say “why are you cutting my toenails.” But if you looked at my face you’d realize. You’d realize I’m gorgeous. I’m hotter than grendel on a Saturday morning after a night out. Peace, out.