A light appeared and the place brightened the way the sky does when heaven’s candle is shining clearly

 Cue the Linkin Park music… Let’s begin.

First off, this poem, translated by the wonderful Irish poet, Seamus Heaney, is nothing short of epic. After reading the depressing “Wuthering Heights” (No offense, Ms. Howard), I was very relieved to have some real action in a story. I loved having a character that was completely and utterly a badass. He didn’t take no for an answer and even though he knew he could die by fighting a terrorizing, man-eating monster, he still pulled a #YOLO (Haha, get it? Because they’re Christian?) Anyway, what I have found from researching this poem is that back when it was written and when it took place, men were proud to fight to their death. They would have rather died a fighting death than a regular one by slipping on an ice cube or stabbing themselves with a spork.

Beowulf was a prime example of that type of man. He knew that fighting to the death would make him a nobler hero than one who didn’t fight in fear of defeat. “Beowulf cut the corpse’s head off” (Heaney, 109). It’s lines like those that made me say to myself, “God! I love this book.” There was no remorse. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those people who loves violence and gore, but unlike many other novels I’ve read, for once, the main character doesn’t have to atone for any sins they’ve made, and they certainly don’t have to apologize for killing a man-eating swamp monster or dragon.

The only thing I didn’t admire about this book was the continuous use of alliteration. It confused me at times only because when the sentences had alliteration, they became more complex. It seemed as if the sentence would have been just fine on its own without the alliteration. But besides that, I really have no other complaints. One thing that really stood out to me was the contradictory scenarios between the beliefs of Christianity and Paganism.  I interpreted “Beowulf” as being written by a Christian writer during Pagan times and in a very Pagan-like world. The continuous contradictions between the two intrigued me. For example, Characters continuously state that God Almighty is their savior and that they should do everything they can to pay him back for being their savior, but characters like Beowulf contradict these beliefs by taking matters into his own hands (Pagan belief).

The final element of the poem that I really admired was the fact that the writer brought the reader into a world that was and wasn’t historically accurate. I’m pretty sure that in 700 A.D. men didn’t go off fighting dragons, but the idea of their honor code and that fighting to the death was a noble thing to do was real back then. Or at least I like to think that’s true. Throughout the epic poem of “Beowulf” the writer takes us into a story of fighting swamp monsters and dragons and still makes it morally correct. Religion plays a huge part in the poem and can dictate the events that occur. But it doesn’t dictate what Beowulf believes to be morally correct. He pretty much just goes around doing whatever will make him king, but with the thought in mind that he’s saving his town. I salute you, Beowulf.  

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same

First of all, that quote is one of the most heart-wrenching quotes I've ever read. Holy cow, where to start with this novel... I guess I'll start with criticisms because I have less of those than I do praiseful comments. The beginning was very slow with introducing Lockwood and starting the story of Catherine and Heathcliff's love affair. I kept waiting for Bronte to finally say, "Introducing the turbulent love affair of the gorgeous Catherine and the mysterious and smoldering Heathcliff!" (In more professional terms obviously).
 The second thing I didn't admire was the fact that the story was within another story in the sense that the actual story of "Wuthering Heights" was told to Lockwood through his story (if that makes any sense). I mean don't get me wrong, I'm all for frame narratives, but this frame narrative was too confusing. It jumped around too much from Cathy and Heathcliff's story to Lockood hearing the story. It would have been an easier read, and I personally think, more interesting if it was just the story of Cathy and Heathcliff and those around them. I assumed that Bronte wrote "Wuthering Heights" as a sort of frame narrative because she wanted to relate it back to the audience more. (We could relate to Lockwood's reactions).
What I loved about the book was how it so easily portrayed love as such a strong force in people's lives. It showed that love can save people, it can change people, it can hurt the ones you love and more importantly, it can hurt you. It was the epitome of how one can become so tied to another that no matter what they do, or where they go in life, they will always come back to that same person they tied themselves to.
On another note, I was also waiting for Bronte to just kill off the rest of the characters in the novel. She had already killed off half of them by the time it ended. It was like J.K. Rowling and Harry Potter all over again. So depressing. (And yes I know J.K. Rowling came way after Bronte). Anyway, overall, this novel was fabulous. It broke my heart and at the same time showed me the truth that sometimes one person is worth all the trouble, if you really love each other.

Micro Story

           My eyes followed his dark figure as he sulked into class, his tall frame sliding effortlessly through the door. I watched as he crept slowly into his class, as if he wasn’t really there and then he vanished. Sometimes I wished I had said something. I opened my eyes and he was gone. Just like that. That small ray of light in my world had gone out. The summer heat was gone and it was turning cold. The football field that once had been covered in green was now covered in a white blanket of despair. He always played on the football field. Everything seemed perfect back then. I called out his name once. From across the track. Just to see if he would respond. And he did. But it was just a smile and a wave. Such a simple display of affection that could be known all over the world.
           Maybe if I was born earlier, or had more courage, I could have talked to him. Once. Just once. That was all I needed. People always talked about how true he was, how real. But I would never know that truth or that reality. I tied the blue, satin bow into my hair as I did every morning. I heard him say once that he liked the color blue, so I always made sure to wear something blue. Maybe one day I would stand out to him. But nothing ever really stood out to him. He was always alone in his own little world. A world covered in fog, long strips of highway and tall oak trees I saw him drawing once. I once drew him a picture of a mountain and slipped it into his locker. I watched him take it out of his locker and unfold it carefully. He looked at it, pulled his eyebrows together and smiled to himself.
           I closed my eyes and once I opened them again, not even a split-second later, he was gone. Everything was gone. The hallways were covered in snow, the roof was gone, the walls that remained were still burnt. I closed my eyes again trying to take myself away to that mountain I drew him, hoping he’d be waiting for me at the top of it. Is a dream a lie if it doesn’t come true? Or is it something worse?