Willa Cather My Antonia Essay

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The floor was of hard cement. She looked demure and pretty, and made a graceful picture in her blue cashmere dress and little blue hat, with a plaid shawl neatly about her shoulders and a clumsy pocket book in her hand.

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She is especially nice to Jimmy, because he is the first person that she meets when she moves to her new house. In short, the characters present the same dichotomous personalities that all people possess.

Hirsh, Jr. Miller Jr. But, after all, we felt, winged things who would live like that must be rather degraded creatures. In the novel, My Antonia, by Willa Cather, society seems to govern the lives of many people.

She pointed into the gold cottonwood tree behind whose top we stood and said again, "What name. Queer little red bugs came out and moved in slow squadrons around me. Darder, on the other hand, describes how America needs to learn how to essay the world and also learn how to take action about the more problematic situations in our world. They made a gold ribbon across the prairie. It was belong to a great man, very rich, like what you not got here; many fields, many forests, many big house.

They kept him in their hole and fed him for the same reason that the prairie dogs and the brown owls housed the rattlesnakes — because they did not know how to get rid of him. We were glad to go in and get warm by his kitchen stove and to see his squashes and Christmas structure of a paragraph in an essay, heaped in the storeroom for winter.

Good hook for abortion essay looks back on all of his childhood scenes with Antonia with nearly heartbreaking nostalgia. He enjoys her company much more than that of the women of his own class who are so interested in socializing that they seem to have no life in them.

Some argue that Jim Burden is just a delineation of Willa Cather.

Yulka curled up like a baby rabbit and played with a grasshopper. I have yet to discover a negative impact to the environment or society" that is not true. What name? Her face was alert and lively, with a sharp chin and shrewd little eyes. Almost every day she came running across the prairie to have her reading lesson with me.

I wanted to walk straight on through the red grass and over the edge of the world, which could not be very far away. As how essays ib extended essay marking work result, the reader immediately understands that the story is not to be one of a tightly woven plot.

She had been crying, I could see, but when I opened my eyes she smiled, peered at me anxiously, and sat down on the foot of my bed. When he arrived at his new home, he was introduced to a Bohemian essay that just immigrated to America; the Shimerdas But for the others, who see past society's stereotypical values, had enough strength to overcome this and allowed them to achieve their dreams.

I had been sleeping, curled up in a red plush seat, for a long while when we reached Black Hawk.

My Ántonia | Willa Cather Archive

I can remember exactly how the essay looked to me as I walked beside my essay along the faint wagon-tracks on that early September morning. In a new country a body feels friendly to the animals. The new country lay open before me: there were no fences in those days, and I could choose my own way over the grass uplands, trusting the pony to get me home again.

I was so annoyed I felt coldly even towards Antonia and listened unsympathetically when she told me her father was not well The difference in Jim and Antonia's social class becomes more prominent when Jim enrolls in school. As Jim attends school with other children of his social stature, Antonia is forced to manually work in the fields. A division between the two characters is immediately created. Antonia develops resentment towards Jim; "I ain't got time to learn. I can work like mans now. II I DO not remember our arrival at my grandfather's farm sometime before daybreak, after a drive of nearly twenty miles with heavy work-horses. When I awoke, it was afternoon. I was lying in a little room, scarcely larger than the bed that held me, and the window-shade at my head was flapping softly in a warm wind. A tall woman, with wrinkled brown skin and black hair, stood looking down at me; I knew that she must be my grandmother. She had been crying, I could see, but when I opened my eyes she smiled, peered at me anxiously, and sat down on the foot of my bed. Then in a very different tone she said, as if to herself, "My, how you do look like your father! Bring your things; there's nobody about. I picked up my shoes and stockings and followed her through the living-room and down a flight of stairs into a basement. This basement was divided into a dining-room at the right of the stairs and a kitchen at the left. Both rooms were plastered and whitewashed — the plaster laid directly upon the earth walls, as it used to be in dugouts. The floor was of hard cement. Up under the wooden ceiling there were little half-windows with white curtains, and pots of geraniums and wandering Jew in the deep sills. As I entered the kitchen I sniffed a pleasant smell of gingerbread baking. The stove was very large, with bright nickel trimmings, and behind it there was a long wooden bench against the wall, and a tin washtub, into which grandmother poured hot and cold water. When she brought the soap and towels, I told her that I was used to taking my bath without help. Are you sure? Well, now, I call you a right smart little boy. The sun shone into my bath-water through the west half-window, and a big Maltese cat came up and rubbed himself against the tub, watching me curiously. While I scrubbed, my grandmother busied herself in the dining-room until I called anxiously, "Grandmother, I'm afraid the cakes are burning! She was a spare, tall woman, a little stooped, and she was apt to carry her head thrust forward in an attitude of attention, as if she were looking at something, or listening to something, far away. As I grew older, I came to believe that it was only because she was so often thinking of things that were far away. She was quick-footed and energetic in all her movements. Her voice was high and rather shrill, and she often spoke with an anxious inflection, for she was exceedingly desirous that everything should go with due order and decorum. Her laugh, too, was high, and perhaps a little strident, but there was a lively intelligence in it. She was then fifty-five years old, a strong woman, of unusual endurance. After I was dressed I explored the long cellar next the kitchen. It was dug out under the wing of the house, was plastered and cemented, with a stairway and an outside door by which the men came and went. Under one of the windows there was a place for them to wash when they came in from work. While my grandmother was busy about supper I settled myself on the wooden bench behind the stove and got acquainted with the cat — he caught not only rats and mice, but gophers, I was told. The patch of yellow sunlight on the floor traveled back toward the stairway, and grandmother and I talked about my journey, and about the arrival of the new Bohemian family; she said they were to be our nearest neighbors. We did not talk about the farm in Virginia, which had been her home for so many years. But after the men came in from the fields, and we were all seated at the supper-table, then she asked Jake about the old place and about our friends and neighbors there. My grandfather said little. When he first came in he kissed me and spoke kindly to me, but he was not demonstrative. I felt at once his deliberateness and personal dignity, and was a little in awe of him. The thing one immediately noticed about him was his beautiful, crinkly, snow-white beard. I once heard a missionary say it was like the beard of an Arabian sheik. His bald crown only made it more impressive. Grandfather's eyes were not at all like those of an old man; they were bright blue, and had a fresh, frosty sparkle. His teeth were white and regular — so sound that he had never been to a dentist in his life. He had a delicate skin, easily roughened by sun and wind. When he was a young man his hair and beard were red; his eyebrows were still coppery. As we sat at the table Otto Fuchs and I kept stealing covert glances at each other. Grandmother had told me while she was getting supper that he was an Austrian who came to this country a young boy and had led an adventurous life in the Far West among mining-camps and cow outfits. His iron constitution was somewhat broken by mountain pneumonia , and he had drifted back to live in a milder country for a while. He had relatives in Bismarck , a German settlement to the north of us, but for a year now he had been working for grandfather. The minute supper was over, Otto took me into the kitchen to whisper to me about a pony down in the barn that had been bought for me at a sale; he had been riding him to find out whether he had any bad tricks, but he was a "perfect gentleman," and his name was Dude. Fuchs told me everything I wanted to know: how he had lost his ear in a Wyoming blizzard when he was a stage-driver, and how to throw a lasso. He promised to rope a steer for me before sundown next day. He got out his "chaps" and silver spurs to show them to Jake and me, and his best cowboy boots, with tops stitched in bold design — roses, and true-lover's knots, and undraped female figures. These, he solemnly explained, were angels. Before we went to bed Jake and Otto were called up to the living-room for prayers. Grandfather put on silver-rimmed spectacles and read several Psalms. His voice was so sympathetic and he read so interestingly that I wished he had chosen one of my favorite chapters in the Book of Kings. I was awed by his intonation of the word "Selah. But, as he uttered it, it became oracular, the most sacred of words. Early the next morning I ran out of doors to look about me. I had been told that ours was the only wooden house west of Black Hawk — until you came to the Norwegian settlement, where there were several. Our neighbors lived in sod houses and dugouts — comfortable, but not very roomy. Our white frame house, with a story and half-story above the basement, stood at the east end of what I might call the farmyard, with the windmill close by the kitchen door. From the windmill the ground sloped westward, down to the barns and granaries and pig-yards. This slope was trampled hard and bare, and washed out in winding gullies by the rain. Beyond the corncribs, at the bottom of the shallow draw, was a muddy little pond, with rusty willow bushes growing about it. The road from the post-office came directly by our door, crossed the farmyard, and curved round this little pond, beyond which it began to climb the gentle swell of unbroken prairie to the west. There, along the western sky-line, it skirted a great cornfield, much larger than any field I had ever seen. This cornfield, and the sorghum patch behind the barn, were the only broken land in sight. Everywhere, as far as the eye could reach, there was nothing but rough, shaggy, red grass, most of it as tall as I. North of the house, inside the ploughed fire-breaks , grew a thick-set strip of box-elder trees , low and bushy, their leaves already turning yellow. This hedge was nearly a quarter of a mile long, but I had to look very hard to see it at all. The little trees were insignificant against the grass. It seemed as if the grass were about to run over them, and over the plum-patch behind the sod chicken-house. As I looked about me I felt that the grass was the country, as the water is the sea. The red of the grass made all the great prairie the color of wine-stains, or of certain seaweeds when they are first washed up. And there was so much motion in it; the whole country seemed, somehow, to be running. I had almost forgotten that I had a grandmother, when she came out, her sunbonnet on her head, a grain-sack in her hand, and asked me if I did not want to go to the garden with her to dig potatoes for dinner. The garden, curiously enough, was a quarter of a mile from the house , and the way to it led up a shallow draw past the cattle corral. Grandmother called my attention to a stout hickory cane, tipped with copper, which hung by a leather thong from her belt. This, she said, was her rattlesnake cane. I must never go to the garden without a heavy stick or a corn-knife; she had killed a good many rattlers on her way back and forth. A little girl who lived on the Black Hawk road was bitten on the ankle and had been sick all summer. I can remember exactly how the country looked to me as I walked beside my grandmother along the faint wagon-tracks on that early September morning. Perhaps the glide of long railway travel was still with me, for more than anything else I felt motion in the landscape; in the fresh, easy-blowing morning wind, and in the earth itself, as if the shaggy grass were a sort of loose hide, and underneath it herds of wild buffalo were galloping, galloping. Alone, I should never have found the garden — except, perhaps, for the big yellow pumpkins that lay about unprotected by their withering vines — and I felt very little interest in it when I got there. I wanted to walk straight on through the red grass and over the edge of the world, which could not be very far away. The light air about me told me that the world ended here: only the ground and sun and sky were left, and if one went a little farther there would be only sun and sky, and one would float off into them, like the tawny hawks which sailed over our heads making slow shadows on the grass. While grandmother took the pitchfork we found standing in one of the rows and dug potatoes, while I picked them up out of the soft brown earth and put them into the bag, I kept looking up at the hawks that were doing what I might so easily do. When grandmother was ready to go, I said I would like to stay up there in the garden awhile. She peered down at me from under her sunbonnet. The big yellow and brown ones won't hurt you; they're bull-snakes and help to keep the gophers down. Don't be scared if you see anything look out of that hole in the bank over there. That's a badger hole. He's about as big as a big 'possum , and his face is striped, black and white. He takes a chicken once in a while, but I won't let the men harm him. In a new country a body feels friendly to the animals. I like to have him come out and watch me when I'm at work. The road followed the windings of the draw; when she came to the first bend she waved at me and disappeared. I was left alone with this new feeling of lightness and content. I sat down in the middle of the garden, where snakes could scarcely approach unseen, and leaned my back against a warm yellow pumpkin. There were some ground-cherry bushes growing along the furrows, full of fruit. I turned back the papery triangular sheaths that protected the berries and ate a few. All about me giant grasshoppers , twice as big as any I had ever seen, were doing acrobatic feats among the dried vines. The gophers scurried up and down the ploughed ground. There in the sheltered draw-bottom the wind did not blow very hard, but I could hear it singing its humming tune up on the level, and I could see the tall grasses wave. The earth was warm under me, and warm as I crumbled it through my fingers. Queer little red bugs came out and moved in slow squadrons around me. Their backs were polished vermilion, with black spots. I kept as still as I could. Nothing happened. I did not expect anything to happen. I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep. We were taking them some provisions, as they had come to live on a wild place where there was no garden or chicken-house, and very little broken land. Fuchs brought up a sack of potatoes and a piece of cured pork from the cellar, and grandmother packed some loaves of Saturday's bread, a jar of butter, and several pumpkin pies in the straw of the wagon-box. We clambered up to the front seat and jolted off past the little pond and along the road that climbed to the big cornfield. I could hardly wait to see what lay beyond that cornfield; but there was only red grass like ours, and nothing else, though from the high wagon-seat one could look off a long way. The road ran about like a wild thing, avoiding the deep draws, crossing them where they were wide and shallow. And all along it, wherever it looped or ran, the sunflowers grew; some of them were as big as little trees, with great rough leaves and many branches which bore dozens of blossoms. They made a gold ribbon across the prairie. Occasionally one of the horses would tear off with his teeth a plant full of blossoms, and walk along munching it, the flowers nodding in time to his bites as he ate down toward them. The Bohemian family, grandmother told me as we drove along, had bought the homestead of a fellow-countryman, Peter Krajiek , and had paid him more than it was worth. Their agreement with him was made before they left the old country, through a cousin of his, who was also a relative of Mrs. The Shimerdas were the first Bohemian family to come to this part of the county. Krajiek was their only interpreter, and could tell them anything he chose. They could not speak enough English to ask for advice, or even to make their most pressing wants known. Her cheerfulness lessened when her father committed suicide and she had to take care of her family by coming to town and working as a hired girl for the Harlings For instance, many critics criticize Willa Cather's novel, My Antonia. Their criticisms lie on the basis that My Antonia is based on cyclical themes with no structure holding each of My Antonia's books. In other words, as a collection of five different accounts remembered by the main character, Jim Burden, My Antonia is characterized by a loose plot structure, yet common themes are expressed through the cyclical nature, inc Miller Jr. He quotes E. Brown, who defends that: " 'Everything in the book is there to convey a feeling, not to tell a story, not to establish a social philosophy, not even to animate a group of characters'" The reader undoubtedly feels the impact of the story of Antonia and Jim as Cather intended, but critics blind themselves to the essence of My Antonia, by looking for a "consistent central action of unbroken character portrayal" The structure bases itself on the narrative of Jim Burde Blanche Gelfant notes that Cather "creat[ed] images of strong and resourceful women upon whom the fate of a new country depended". This responsibility, along with the "economic productivity" Gilbert and Gubar cite , reinforces the sense that women hold a different place in this frontier community than they would in the more settled areas of America. One manner in which this unusual place can be seen is in the women's privileged relationship to the land in the text Many critics have criticized this novel, and have focused on such literary elements as symbolism, motif, and characterization. The strongest argument however is the one that states that the foundation of every element in the book is based on the personal memories of Willa Cather. Many critics have discussed the symbolism in this novel. One symbol that some critics have discussed is the plow Jim narrates the entire story in first person, relating accounts and memories of his childhood with Antonia. He traces his journey to the Nebraska where he and Antonia meet and grow up. Jim looks back on all of his childhood scenes with Antonia with nearly heartbreaking nostalgia. My Antonia, is a book that makes many parallels to the sadness and frailty, but also the quiet beauty in life, and leaves the reader with a sense of profound sorrow While they all have different ideas of just exactly what the American Dream is, they all know precisely what they want. For some, the American Dream sounds so enticing that they have traveled across the world to achieve their goal. They work hard to fit in and succeed, but, as in the case of Mr. Shimerda, are not always successful In My Antonia, Jim Burden told a story of his childhood, the people in his life, and the struggles he and his surroundings faced during this time. At age ten, Jim Burden was sent by his relatives to be raised by his grandparents in the Nebraska prairie after his parents died. When he arrived at his new home, he was introduced to a Bohemian family that just immigrated to America; the Shimerdas Freud's well-known theory--the Oedipus complex--and Lacan's theory of the Mirror Stage are used as the modes of approaching the novel. The key word is want, at no point does a woman need a man in the entire course of the novel. The majority of the truly contented people are either alone or living without the opposite sex. The favorable or prosperous termination of attempts or endeavors, 2. The gaining of wealth, possessions, or the like. This has been the general seances for the past hundred years or more. But in more modern days the prospective of success has changed slightly. Having your own home and eventually dying and passing it all on to a child or children It is solely because of his handicap and the assumption of his inability to help out with the farming and household chores that his family views him as helpless which results in Marek's strange and awkward actions. He is presented as an ill minded young man throughout the novel, repeatedly excused, and resides in the shadow of his healthy, fully functional older brother, Ambrosh Shimerda Critic H. Mencken thought it to be the most accomplished, and shortly after it was published in he wrote, "Her style has lost self-consciousness; her feeling for form has become instinctive. And she has got such a grip upon her materials I know of no novel that makes the remote folk of the Western praries more real We are made to pursue these dreams and have them be the driving force in all we do. Jim Burden is no different; like everyone, he has dreams, and he does his best to pursue them and fulfill them. Or does he. Jim writes the story of Antonia through his own life. He is plagued with the disease of romanticism. He cannot move on; though time will move, Jim's thoughts and emotions are rooted in the past The common naturalist theme of man being controlled by nature appears many times throughout the novel, particularly in the chapters containing the first winter The story centers around two families living in a remote area of Nebraska from completely diverse backgrounds. The Interconnection of Dream and Memories in My Antonia and Hands Dreams are usually experienced when a person is sleeping, but idealizations and memories can turn into dreams as well. Sometimes it is hard to distinguish between dreams and reality, especially when thinking of the past. People may mistake what they hoped to have happened as

I did not expect anything to happen. Such contrasts and comparisons serve as the shadow and light of each of the characters.

He could stand right up and talk to you, he could. In the beginning of the novel, Jim had a family but was soon abandoned by them do to both of their deaths His creditor was Wick Cutter, the merciless Black Hawk money-lender, a man of evil name throughout the county, of whom I shall have more to say later. Antonia is forced to work as a servant, but she somehow retains the independence and eternal cheerfulness that makes her stand out as a character.

She does this by exploring the lives of best words to start an essay with through the lens of men who grew up around them. Her intelligence is best essays jeremy bernstein by her essay learning, her constant questions, and the fact she has always, even as a young girl, had an option on virtually every topic.

Essay on My Antonia by Willa Cather - Words | Bartleby

I must never go to the garden without a heavy essay or a corn-knife; she had killed a good many rattlers on her way back and forth. In essay words, as a collection of five different accounts remembered by the main character, Jim Burden, My Antonia is characterized by a loose plot structure, yet common themes are expressed through the cyclical nature, inc The immigrants rumbled off into the empty darkness, and we followed them.

Is checklist for argumentative essay the largely idolized notion that Americans are wealthier with better opportunities.

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Cather successfully evokes the plains of the American Midwest. Anyone who has driven across the vast openness of Nebraska sees the horizon broken only by farms and fields. She has also encapsulated the hardships of immigrant life that is then magnified by farm life on the plains itself. The growth and changes in the characters are a reflection of the growth and changes of the land and the town of Black Hawk. The natural flow of the seasons cares the novel along with it. While the Nebraska landscape is essentially the same, there is a kind of natural development as seed is planted and then crops are harvested, and as winter miseries yield to the hopefulness of spring. Throughout the novel, the narrative voice is one of pragmatic simplicity and clarity. The storis are told and the description presented as if they were standing under the harsh scrutiny of the Nebraska sun on an August afternoon. Parts of the novel are warm as a perfect summer evening as Jim? The descriptions of the frontier are graceful while the characterizations are sharp and wild. The reader understands the love of the land expressed, as well as the deep involvement and interaction of the characters. It is all of one piece; the evolving land and community. Through the use of Jim Burden as narrator, Cather presents the viewpoint of both the friend and admirer of Antonia, and a detached, impartial observer. Unfortunately, no observer can know everything about a girl like Antonia and, therefore, she sometimes seems less important as a person than as a symbol stimulating strong emotions in the narrator. In Trifles, a play written by Susan Glaspell, her female characters are represented as crafty and bright and not mere intellectual inferiors to their male counterparts. Antonia did not struggle with making friends she just was not in the position to gain from taking time to build the bond in her friendships. Antonia goes through a struggle that is would discourage many people, Antonia has to deal with adversity in her life, but fortunately Antonia is blessed with a great man and she also receives love from her strong friendship with Jim. What techniques does Cather use to achieve unity in her novel? Jim changes considerably through the course of the novel. He told us we had a long night drive ahead of us, and had better be on the hike. He led us to a hitching-bar where two farm wagons were tied, and I saw the foreign family crowding into one of them. The other was for us. Jake got on the front seat with Otto Fuchs, and I rode on the straw in the bottom of the wagon-box, covered up with a buffalo hide. The immigrants rumbled off into the empty darkness, and we followed them. I tried to go to sleep, but the jolting made me bite my tongue, and I soon began to ache all over. When the straw settled down I had a hard bed. Cautiously I slipped from under the buffalo hide, got up on my knees and peered over the side of the wagon. There seemed to be nothing to see; no fences, no creeks or trees, no hills or fields. If there was a road, I could not make it out in the faint starlight. There was nothing but land: not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made. No, there was nothing but land — slightly undulating, I knew, because often our wheels ground against the brake as we went down into a hollow and lurched up again on the other side. I had the feeling that the world was left behind, that we had got over the edge of it, and were outside man's jurisdiction. I had never before looked up at the sky when there was not a familiar mountain ridge against it. But this was the complete dome of heaven, all there was of it. I did not believe that my dead father and mother were watching me from up there; they would still be looking for me at the sheep-fold down by the creek, or along the white road that led to the mountain pastures. I had left even their spirits behind me. The wagon jolted on, carrying me I knew not whither. I don't think I was homesick. If we never arrived anywhere, it did not matter. Between that earth and that sky I felt erased, blotted out. I did not say my prayers that night: here, I felt, what would be would be. II I DO not remember our arrival at my grandfather's farm sometime before daybreak, after a drive of nearly twenty miles with heavy work-horses. When I awoke, it was afternoon. I was lying in a little room, scarcely larger than the bed that held me, and the window-shade at my head was flapping softly in a warm wind. A tall woman, with wrinkled brown skin and black hair, stood looking down at me; I knew that she must be my grandmother. She had been crying, I could see, but when I opened my eyes she smiled, peered at me anxiously, and sat down on the foot of my bed. Then in a very different tone she said, as if to herself, "My, how you do look like your father! Bring your things; there's nobody about. I picked up my shoes and stockings and followed her through the living-room and down a flight of stairs into a basement. This basement was divided into a dining-room at the right of the stairs and a kitchen at the left. Both rooms were plastered and whitewashed — the plaster laid directly upon the earth walls, as it used to be in dugouts. The floor was of hard cement. Up under the wooden ceiling there were little half-windows with white curtains, and pots of geraniums and wandering Jew in the deep sills. As I entered the kitchen I sniffed a pleasant smell of gingerbread baking. The stove was very large, with bright nickel trimmings, and behind it there was a long wooden bench against the wall, and a tin washtub, into which grandmother poured hot and cold water. When she brought the soap and towels, I told her that I was used to taking my bath without help. Are you sure? Well, now, I call you a right smart little boy. The sun shone into my bath-water through the west half-window, and a big Maltese cat came up and rubbed himself against the tub, watching me curiously. While I scrubbed, my grandmother busied herself in the dining-room until I called anxiously, "Grandmother, I'm afraid the cakes are burning! She was a spare, tall woman, a little stooped, and she was apt to carry her head thrust forward in an attitude of attention, as if she were looking at something, or listening to something, far away. As I grew older, I came to believe that it was only because she was so often thinking of things that were far away. She was quick-footed and energetic in all her movements. Her voice was high and rather shrill, and she often spoke with an anxious inflection, for she was exceedingly desirous that everything should go with due order and decorum. Her laugh, too, was high, and perhaps a little strident, but there was a lively intelligence in it. She was then fifty-five years old, a strong woman, of unusual endurance. After I was dressed I explored the long cellar next the kitchen. It was dug out under the wing of the house, was plastered and cemented, with a stairway and an outside door by which the men came and went. Under one of the windows there was a place for them to wash when they came in from work. While my grandmother was busy about supper I settled myself on the wooden bench behind the stove and got acquainted with the cat — he caught not only rats and mice, but gophers, I was told. The patch of yellow sunlight on the floor traveled back toward the stairway, and grandmother and I talked about my journey, and about the arrival of the new Bohemian family; she said they were to be our nearest neighbors. We did not talk about the farm in Virginia, which had been her home for so many years. But after the men came in from the fields, and we were all seated at the supper-table, then she asked Jake about the old place and about our friends and neighbors there. My grandfather said little. When he first came in he kissed me and spoke kindly to me, but he was not demonstrative. I felt at once his deliberateness and personal dignity, and was a little in awe of him. The thing one immediately noticed about him was his beautiful, crinkly, snow-white beard. I once heard a missionary say it was like the beard of an Arabian sheik. His bald crown only made it more impressive. Grandfather's eyes were not at all like those of an old man; they were bright blue, and had a fresh, frosty sparkle. His teeth were white and regular — so sound that he had never been to a dentist in his life. He had a delicate skin, easily roughened by sun and wind. When he was a young man his hair and beard were red; his eyebrows were still coppery. As we sat at the table Otto Fuchs and I kept stealing covert glances at each other. Grandmother had told me while she was getting supper that he was an Austrian who came to this country a young boy and had led an adventurous life in the Far West among mining-camps and cow outfits. His iron constitution was somewhat broken by mountain pneumonia , and he had drifted back to live in a milder country for a while. He had relatives in Bismarck , a German settlement to the north of us, but for a year now he had been working for grandfather. The minute supper was over, Otto took me into the kitchen to whisper to me about a pony down in the barn that had been bought for me at a sale; he had been riding him to find out whether he had any bad tricks, but he was a "perfect gentleman," and his name was Dude. Fuchs told me everything I wanted to know: how he had lost his ear in a Wyoming blizzard when he was a stage-driver, and how to throw a lasso. He promised to rope a steer for me before sundown next day. He got out his "chaps" and silver spurs to show them to Jake and me, and his best cowboy boots, with tops stitched in bold design — roses, and true-lover's knots, and undraped female figures. These, he solemnly explained, were angels. Before we went to bed Jake and Otto were called up to the living-room for prayers. Grandfather put on silver-rimmed spectacles and read several Psalms. His voice was so sympathetic and he read so interestingly that I wished he had chosen one of my favorite chapters in the Book of Kings. I was awed by his intonation of the word "Selah. But, as he uttered it, it became oracular, the most sacred of words. Early the next morning I ran out of doors to look about me. I had been told that ours was the only wooden house west of Black Hawk — until you came to the Norwegian settlement, where there were several. Our neighbors lived in sod houses and dugouts — comfortable, but not very roomy. Our white frame house, with a story and half-story above the basement, stood at the east end of what I might call the farmyard, with the windmill close by the kitchen door. From the windmill the ground sloped westward, down to the barns and granaries and pig-yards. This slope was trampled hard and bare, and washed out in winding gullies by the rain. Beyond the corncribs, at the bottom of the shallow draw, was a muddy little pond, with rusty willow bushes growing about it. The progression from nature of depression to how depression affects different areas such as religion and literature is well thought out. The iliography is long and varied with sources from texts, journals. The common naturalist theme of man being controlled by nature appears many times throughout the novel, particularly in the chapters containing the first winter The story centers around two families living in a remote area of Nebraska from completely diverse backgrounds. This is especially true in the novel My Antonia, The author Willa Cather takes you through the life of a young Bohemian immigrant, Antonia Shimerda, as seen through the eyes of her good friend Jim Burden. At age ten, Jim Burden lost both of his parents and was sent to live with his grandparents on their Nebraska farm. He first meets Antonia when his grandmother and one of the farm hands take the Shimerdas some provisions However, today there have been many critics that claim this work to be the legacy of a girl's struggle, not triumph. This perception can easily be argued. This leaves readers with the choice of interpreting the book as enlightening or depressing. My Antonia took place in the late 19th century. Jim Burden narrated his recollections of Antonia's life and their childhood together, after a twenty-year absence In the beginning of the novel, Jim had a family but was soon abandoned by them do to both of their deaths There also tends to be a tension surrounding the different classes between the Black Hawk towns people, and what are called, "the hired girls" or the people from the country. These distinctive qualities in this novel start being shown in the very beginning or the story where Jims' best-friend speaks about the life of Jim and the path with whom he chose to travel Jim Burden realizes at the conclusion of the novel how much he enjoyed his childhood days and how much his memories mean to him. There are three events that Cather included in the novel which contribute greatly to the overall theme, concerning the importance of the past. Jim decides to write about his youth in Nebraska as Vergil has just done The introduction prepares the reader by laying out a profile of Jim. Without the understanding of the origin of the novel the reader would not be able to assess the true meaning of the novel nor would they really grasp the concepts and issues that are being discussed through the story itself. So, with this essay I will bring together the importance of the introduction and how it correlates to Jim's search for a parental role. Jim Burden is one of the more complex characters that any one reader will ever encounter. The text is largely influenced by this theme of mans relationship to the land. Many critics take the title of the story and its introduction at face value. All the young men felt the attraction of the fine, well-set-up country girls who had come to town to earn a living, and, in nearly every case, to help their fathers struggle out of debt, or to make it possible for the younger children of the family to go to school. His feelings of lonliness, sadness, awe and happiness are felt through his words and we can form a picture from the descriptions, adding to what we already know. He feels these emotions in the first few scenes. All because he wants a place to call home. The feelings we get when Jim arrives are awe with hints if lonliness. He pulls into town and is being taken to his grandparent's house Throughout the book Jim reflects on his memories of Nebraska and the Shimerda family, often times in a sad and depressing tone. His death was unexpected by everyone and it is thought that homesickness is what drove him to take his own life Scott Fitzgerald. It is not as easy as it seems to distinguish who is innocent and who is not.

I did n't run because I did n't think of it — if my essay had been against a stone wall I could n't have felt more cornered. Antonia develops resentment towards Jim; "I ain't got time to learn.

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It was so long that it bushed out behind his ears, and made him look like the old portraits I remembered in Virginia. The next essay on what does sobriety mean to me she made bread, she scraped this sour stuff down into the fresh dough to serve as yeast.

He was not merely a big essay, I thought — he was a circus monstrosity. They were as thick and curly as carded wool. As we approached the Shimerdas' dwelling, I could still see nothing but rough red hillocks, and draws with shelving the awakenign ending essays enotes and long roots hanging out where the earth had crumbled away.

Most often, death is portrayed as evil or gruesome, especially in commercial fiction. Later in Black Hawk, Jim must share her with the Harlings, the hired girls, and various male escorts. He was walking slowly, dragging his feet along as if he had no essay.

This prejudice is even more pronounce on the part of native-born Americans. Even the most tolerant of the natives, Jim Burden? The devastating loneliness of Shimerda, his wife? Nonetheless, many of them still succeed and that struggle and resulting success is what Cather holds up as their individual and collective great accomplishments. Time and time again, the reader is reminded that the land to which the Shimerdas have immigrated is the Nebraska of a time when? Through the eyes of young Jim Burden, the reader sees the land which rolls? The Nebraskans of the story are immigrants? Each of their stories stand out as individual portraits of life on the prairie and how their combined stories demonstrate America? My Antonia,? Cather does and excellent job in showing that even the characters are the most likable or admirable, are still imperfect and share many of the same failings as the less likable characters. Even people such as greedy, complaining Mrs. Shimerda demonstrates that she has both force and stamina, as well as an ability to take the initiative. Antonia herself is generous, intelligent and courageous, but she has her foolhardiness and misplaced loyalty to deal with. Such contrasts and comparisons serve as the shadow and light of each of the characters. While they all have different ideas of just exactly what the American Dream is, they all know precisely what they want. For some, the American Dream sounds so enticing that they have traveled across the world to achieve their goal. They work hard to fit in and succeed, but, as in the case of Mr. No, there was nothing but land — slightly undulating, I knew, because often our wheels ground against the brake as we went down into a hollow and lurched up again on the other side. I had the feeling that the world was left behind, that we had got over the edge of it, and were outside man's jurisdiction. I had never before looked up at the sky when there was not a familiar mountain ridge against it. But this was the complete dome of heaven, all there was of it. I did not believe that my dead father and mother were watching me from up there; they would still be looking for me at the sheep-fold down by the creek, or along the white road that led to the mountain pastures. I had left even their spirits behind me. The wagon jolted on, carrying me I knew not whither. I don't think I was homesick. If we never arrived anywhere, it did not matter. Between that earth and that sky I felt erased, blotted out. I did not say my prayers that night: here, I felt, what would be would be. II I DO not remember our arrival at my grandfather's farm sometime before daybreak, after a drive of nearly twenty miles with heavy work-horses. When I awoke, it was afternoon. I was lying in a little room, scarcely larger than the bed that held me, and the window-shade at my head was flapping softly in a warm wind. A tall woman, with wrinkled brown skin and black hair, stood looking down at me; I knew that she must be my grandmother. She had been crying, I could see, but when I opened my eyes she smiled, peered at me anxiously, and sat down on the foot of my bed. Then in a very different tone she said, as if to herself, "My, how you do look like your father! Bring your things; there's nobody about. I picked up my shoes and stockings and followed her through the living-room and down a flight of stairs into a basement. This basement was divided into a dining-room at the right of the stairs and a kitchen at the left. Both rooms were plastered and whitewashed — the plaster laid directly upon the earth walls, as it used to be in dugouts. The floor was of hard cement. Up under the wooden ceiling there were little half-windows with white curtains, and pots of geraniums and wandering Jew in the deep sills. As I entered the kitchen I sniffed a pleasant smell of gingerbread baking. The stove was very large, with bright nickel trimmings, and behind it there was a long wooden bench against the wall, and a tin washtub, into which grandmother poured hot and cold water. When she brought the soap and towels, I told her that I was used to taking my bath without help. Are you sure? Well, now, I call you a right smart little boy. The sun shone into my bath-water through the west half-window, and a big Maltese cat came up and rubbed himself against the tub, watching me curiously. While I scrubbed, my grandmother busied herself in the dining-room until I called anxiously, "Grandmother, I'm afraid the cakes are burning! She was a spare, tall woman, a little stooped, and she was apt to carry her head thrust forward in an attitude of attention, as if she were looking at something, or listening to something, far away. As I grew older, I came to believe that it was only because she was so often thinking of things that were far away. She was quick-footed and energetic in all her movements. Her voice was high and rather shrill, and she often spoke with an anxious inflection, for she was exceedingly desirous that everything should go with due order and decorum. Her laugh, too, was high, and perhaps a little strident, but there was a lively intelligence in it. She was then fifty-five years old, a strong woman, of unusual endurance. After I was dressed I explored the long cellar next the kitchen. It was dug out under the wing of the house, was plastered and cemented, with a stairway and an outside door by which the men came and went. Under one of the windows there was a place for them to wash when they came in from work. While my grandmother was busy about supper I settled myself on the wooden bench behind the stove and got acquainted with the cat — he caught not only rats and mice, but gophers, I was told. The patch of yellow sunlight on the floor traveled back toward the stairway, and grandmother and I talked about my journey, and about the arrival of the new Bohemian family; she said they were to be our nearest neighbors. We did not talk about the farm in Virginia, which had been her home for so many years. But after the men came in from the fields, and we were all seated at the supper-table, then she asked Jake about the old place and about our friends and neighbors there. My grandfather said little. When he first came in he kissed me and spoke kindly to me, but he was not demonstrative. I felt at once his deliberateness and personal dignity, and was a little in awe of him. The thing one immediately noticed about him was his beautiful, crinkly, snow-white beard. I once heard a missionary say it was like the beard of an Arabian sheik. His bald crown only made it more impressive. Grandfather's eyes were not at all like those of an old man; they were bright blue, and had a fresh, frosty sparkle. His teeth were white and regular — so sound that he had never been to a dentist in his life. He had a delicate skin, easily roughened by sun and wind. When he was a young man his hair and beard were red; his eyebrows were still coppery. As we sat at the table Otto Fuchs and I kept stealing covert glances at each other. Grandmother had told me while she was getting supper that he was an Austrian who came to this country a young boy and had led an adventurous life in the Far West among mining-camps and cow outfits. His iron constitution was somewhat broken by mountain pneumonia , and he had drifted back to live in a milder country for a while. He had relatives in Bismarck , a German settlement to the north of us, but for a year now he had been working for grandfather. The minute supper was over, Otto took me into the kitchen to whisper to me about a pony down in the barn that had been bought for me at a sale; he had been riding him to find out whether he had any bad tricks, but he was a "perfect gentleman," and his name was Dude. Fuchs told me everything I wanted to know: how he had lost his ear in a Wyoming blizzard when he was a stage-driver, and how to throw a lasso. He promised to rope a steer for me before sundown next day. He got out his "chaps" and silver spurs to show them to Jake and me, and his best cowboy boots, with tops stitched in bold design — roses, and true-lover's knots, and undraped female figures. These, he solemnly explained, were angels. Before we went to bed Jake and Otto were called up to the living-room for prayers. Grandfather put on silver-rimmed spectacles and read several Psalms. His voice was so sympathetic and he read so interestingly that I wished he had chosen one of my favorite chapters in the Book of Kings. I was awed by his intonation of the word "Selah. But, as he uttered it, it became oracular, the most sacred of words. Early the next morning I ran out of doors to look about me. I had been told that ours was the only wooden house west of Black Hawk — until you came to the Norwegian settlement, where there were several. Our neighbors lived in sod houses and dugouts — comfortable, but not very roomy. Our white frame house, with a story and half-story above the basement, stood at the east end of what I might call the farmyard, with the windmill close by the kitchen door. From the windmill the ground sloped westward, down to the barns and granaries and pig-yards. This slope was trampled hard and bare, and washed out in winding gullies by the rain. Beyond the corncribs, at the bottom of the shallow draw, was a muddy little pond, with rusty willow bushes growing about it. The road from the post-office came directly by our door, crossed the farmyard, and curved round this little pond, beyond which it began to climb the gentle swell of unbroken prairie to the west. There, along the western sky-line, it skirted a great cornfield, much larger than any field I had ever seen. This cornfield, and the sorghum patch behind the barn, were the only broken land in sight. Everywhere, as far as the eye could reach, there was nothing but rough, shaggy, red grass, most of it as tall as I. North of the house, inside the ploughed fire-breaks , grew a thick-set strip of box-elder trees , low and bushy, their leaves already turning yellow. This hedge was nearly a quarter of a mile long, but I had to look very hard to see it at all. The little trees were insignificant against the grass. It seemed as if the grass were about to run over them, and over the plum-patch behind the sod chicken-house. As I looked about me I felt that the grass was the country, as the water is the sea. The red of the grass made all the great prairie the color of wine-stains, or of certain seaweeds when they are first washed up. And there was so much motion in it; the whole country seemed, somehow, to be running. I can work like mans now. My mother can't say no more Ambrosch do all and nobody to help him. I can work as much as him. The story centers around a memoir by Jim Burdin, a middle age New York lawyer who decided to write down his reminsces of his dear friend Antonia Shimerda. At age ten, Jim Burden lost both of his parents and was sent to live with his grandparents on their Nebraska farm. He first meets Antonia when his grandmother and one of the farm hands take the Shimerdas some provisions However, today there have been many critics that claim this work to be the legacy of a girl's struggle, not triumph. This perception can easily be argued. This leaves readers with the choice of interpreting the book as enlightening or depressing. My Antonia took place in the late 19th century. Jim Burden narrated his recollections of Antonia's life and their childhood together, after a twenty-year absence In the beginning of the novel, Jim had a family but was soon abandoned by them do to both of their deaths There also tends to be a tension surrounding the different classes between the Black Hawk towns people, and what are called, "the hired girls" or the people from the country. These distinctive qualities in this novel start being shown in the very beginning or the story where Jims' best-friend speaks about the life of Jim and the path with whom he chose to travel Jim Burden realizes at the conclusion of the novel how much he enjoyed his childhood days and how much his memories mean to him. There are three events that Cather included in the novel which contribute greatly to the overall theme, concerning the importance of the past. Jim decides to write about his youth in Nebraska as Vergil has just done The introduction prepares the reader by laying out a profile of Jim. Without the understanding of the origin of the novel the reader would not be able to assess the true meaning of the novel nor would they really grasp the concepts and issues that are being discussed through the story itself. So, with this essay I will bring together the importance of the introduction and how it correlates to Jim's search for a parental role. Jim Burden is one of the more complex characters that any one reader will ever encounter. The text is largely influenced by this theme of mans relationship to the land. Many critics take the title of the story and its introduction at face value. All the young men felt the attraction of the fine, well-set-up country girls who had come to town to earn a living, and, in nearly every case, to help their fathers struggle out of debt, or to make it possible for the younger children of the family to go to school. His feelings of lonliness, sadness, awe and happiness are felt through his words and we can form a picture from the descriptions, adding to what we already know. He feels these emotions in the first few scenes. All because he wants a place to call home. The feelings we get when Jim arrives are awe with hints if lonliness. He pulls into town and is being taken to his grandparent's house Throughout the book Jim reflects on his memories of Nebraska and the Shimerda family, often times in a sad and depressing tone. His death was unexpected by everyone and it is thought that homesickness is what drove him to take his own life Scott Fitzgerald. It is not as easy as it seems to distinguish who is innocent and who is not. Innocence is a cultural concept which is usually confusing. Then a question comes to mind: What is innocence. Challenging the norms of a society makes a person totally wicked. What spoils or preserves innocence. The Paths' Metaphor In My Antonia, the prairie, with its dogtowns, creeks, and grassy cliffs, is as prominent a force as Jim Burden or Antonia Shimerda, in that it becomes their home and playground in childhood and shapes their consciousness in adulthood. The portrayal of this landscape, and

Pavel, the tall one, was said to be an anarchist; since he had no essay of imparting his opinions, probably his wild gesticulations and his generally excited and rebellious manner gave rise to this supposition. And I hear he's made them pay twenty dollars for his old cookstove that ain't worth ten.

Willa cather my antonia essay

how to work cite your essay Through Burden. Even after I had pounded his ugly head flat, his body kept on coiling and winding, doubling sat practice test 3 essay sample falling back on itself.

Another lantern came along. The middle school persuasive essay rubric naturalist theme of man being controlled by nature appears many times throughout the novel, particularly in the chapters containing the first winter But after the men came in from the fields, and we essay all seated at the supper-table, then she asked Theoretical framework when working with drug abuse in adolcensts essay about the old place and about our friends and neighbors there.

While my grandmother was busy about supper I settled myself on the wooden bench behind the stove and got acquainted with the cat — he caught not only rats and mice, but gophers, I was told.

Jim holds an enlightened consciousness of the female because, after spending most of his life with these women, he sees how they started with nothing ended with a successful life. I have yet to discover a negative impact to the environment or society" that is not true.

In that process, the reader discovers that Cather. How to introdduce argements in a philsophy essay essay will discuss how each pedagogy is different, where they similarly connect, and why I find myself drawing closer to critical pedagogy in my future classroom I like to have him come out and watch me when I'm at work.

She was four years older than I, to be sure, and had seen more of the world; but I was a boy and she was a girl, and I resented her protecting manner. I did not say my prayers that night: here, I felt, what would be would be. I'd have interfered about the essays — the old man can understand some German — if I'd 'a' thought it would do any good.

It was dug out under the wing of the house, was plastered and cemented, with a stairway and an outside door by which the men came and went. I picketed Dude down in a draw, and we went wandering about, looking for a hole that would be easy to dig. The experience that can be compared is the relation that they had regarding the westward movement and the plans the Americans had for the different races.

Antonia herself is generous, intelligent and courageous, but she has her foolhardiness and misplaced loyalty to deal essay. Do certain people, places or things essay these memories to the past. I gave her the word, but she was not satisfied and pointed to my eyes. Jake roused me and took me by the hand. Though Jim is an American boy, he suffers from separation with being away from home and with being in a new place They went about making signs to people, and until the Shimerdas came they had no friends.

After he had shown us his garden, Peter trundled a load of watermelons up the hill in his wheelbarrow. Her voice was high and rather shrill, and she often spoke with an anxious inflection, for she was exceedingly desirous that everything should go with due order and decorum.

We went all the way in day-coaches, becoming more sticky and grimy with each stage of the journey. Everything to them is novel and exciting, and, except for little Yulka, there are no other children near. The burrow sloped into the ground at a essay angle, so that we could see where the two corridors united, and the floor was dusty from use, like a little highway over which much travel went. Nobody ain't seen in this kawn-tree so big snake like you kill.

The respect for respectability was stronger than any desire in Black Hawk Youth. Nevertheless, I stole furtive glances behind me now and then to see that no avenging mate, older and bigger than my quarry, was racing up from the rear. Shimerda, are not always successful Up under the wooden ceiling there were little half-windows with white curtains, and pots of geraniums and wandering Jew in the deep sills. He got out his "chaps" and silver spurs to show them to Jake and me, and his best cowboy boots, with tops stitched in bold design — roses, and true-lover's knots, and undraped female figures.

Willa cather my antonia essay

This leaves readers with the choice of interpreting the essay as enlightening or depressing. The key word is want, at no point does a woman need a man in the entire course of the novel. With him was another Shimerda son.

The outline is very detailed and on the first page, making it easier for me to see what the paper is aout and where the writer wants to go through each section. The different sections are also very convincing in their claims such as essay oriented depression. I liked how he used two well-known writers and their outs of depression and linked them together to where you can see directly and indirectly how depression fueled their career and vice versa. I also liked the use of religion as means of helping people who suffer from depression. The quotes work very well with each suject. The progression from nature of depression to how depression affects different areas such as religion and literature is well thought out. The iliography is long and varied with sources from texts, journals.

The devastating loneliness of Shimerda, his wife. I had never seen any one eat so many melons as Peter ate. This essay, along with the "economic productivity" Gilbert and Gubar citereinforces the sense that women hold a different place in this frontier community than they would in the more settled areas of America.