Essay #1 (English 4)

Sophialaurenea Destine

February 1st, 2011

Essay # 1

The Final Solutionby Michael Chabon

The author, Mr. Chabon’ style of writing was considerably challenging. The lexis he chose made me doubt my astuteness. Critically, I felt his terminology of The Final Solution altered into live fits: slapping, punching and choking me. My cranium ached. I grew frustrated. Quitting was never my option; I am too nosy to surrender in most situations. Like being in a gym; I intuited my skull creating more muscles from interpreting this manuscript.

Chapter one was really visual to me. His description of Linus and Bruno sauntering on the railroad tracks; made me view it like on TV.  I mean Mr. Chabon was so precise in Linus’s frame, gait and the weather. I thought to myself, “Am I reading a book or watching a movie?” It created a reflection so real when I was a child strolling on the train tracks. I giggled because I too recalled day dreaming while walking.

Chapter two caused my teeth to grind. I didn’t like the author choice of vocabulary portraying Mr. Panicker. Fine, fine maybe being dark skinned I can’t be objective. The details “black as a boot heel” not only speaks of color: It also suggest status of lower rank in my opinion. It left a bad taste in my mouth. I dislike it! I don’t agree with his association “black as a boot heel”. Mainly, Mr. Panicker was a character of action. He didn’t let anyone walk all over him. Mr. Panicker was sharp enough to suspect Mr. Shane. I took it personal. I am a firm believer in setting limits and boundaries. I refuse to let anyone walk all over me. Nevertheless, on page 19 Mr. Michael Chabon had me chortling so loud. When Mrs. Panicker whacked Reggie across his visage for negatively commenting on her fish dinner; I instantly remembered my father striking my sister diagonally on her mug for chirping at the dinner table. Her lip was swollen for days!

Chapter three I so agree with the author’s correlation between Detective Constable Quint and Inspector Michael Bellows.  There are so many examples: I am too excited to write! Well, I must or my plainspoken professor, Mr. Syd will lower my grade. I have brothers who are on the police force in New York. I vividly recollected “The get into the car phase.” Please, note New Yorkers and Bostonians have a distinct accent. All through my elementary, middle and high schools days if I got out of school early: A patrol car would pass by then stop. The police officer recognized me not by my name; he only knew I was the sister to his co-worker. He sternly inquired, “Why are you not in class?”

I retorted with my hands on my hips, “I have a half day!” The police officer averted, “Get in the car.” Late at night after my numerous basket ball / soft ball games: I would walk on Manhattan sharp streets. There was the blue / white vehicle; the window rolled down. The man with the badge questioned, “How come you are not at home?” Endeavoring to maintain my annoyance; I calmly averted, “I had a game tonight.”  We look at each other. Dreading those four words, I closed my eyes because my team mates were with me. Like the rooster crows when the sun comes up; I heard those embarrassing four words “Get in the car”.

In Boston, it was different. After ambling a 26 miles marathon for the March of Dimes Foundation; I welcome the sight of the government vehicle. We smiled at each other. My ears heard the famous phase “Get in the car.” My legs got a its second wind. I jumped into car. I heard the siren as we pass through the thong. I got treated to McDonalds by police officers who adapted me into their families.

I also must point out the famous homicide case: Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman. The difference between the NYPD and LAPD handling Mr. OJ Simpson was unbelievably pathetic. The famous car chase with Mr. Simpson would never happened in Manhattan, NY.  New York DA would never entered the gloves without double checking if in fact it fit Mr. Simpson’s hands in his private office. Of course this district attorney; would have film the fitting of the glove on camera. Unlike LAPD, they used the glove as a surprise element asking Mr. Simpson to try on the glove in open court with TV cameras. LA prosecutor allowed Mr. John Cochran bellow the notorious sentence “The gloves don’t fit, you must acquit.”

I have a strong aversion to chapter nine. Pages 87 to 94 made me uncomfortable. I always wondered why people rather take a pill; gulp a drink to avoid their pain. Mr. Panicker self judged himself too harshly. He identified himself as a clergy man with honor. Mr. Panicker forgot he is a man susceptible to flaws. Mr. Panicker pickling himself with whiskey hindered his ability to think clearly. Driving while drunk is a definite no, no in my book. I am strongly against guilt by association when an individual is merely a relative or a member of a race. Reggie Panicker was arrested not his father. I didn’t comprehend why Mr. Panicker felt so ashamed.

I personally had a sister who died from Aids due to using the illegal drug, Crack. Am I suppose to be ashamed because Jennifer used drugs? Should I disown her because she got Aids? I may be bold and have no tact. I believe in judging one actions regardless if the person is related to me or not. My sister, Jennifer took illegal drugs. I never did!  My ex-sister, Georgette murdered our father. Does Georgette unlawful deed make me a slayer too?  I never killed anyone. It is so absurd. It is like the Washington Sniper shooting all those innocent people. The dark shinned pair was caught.  So, are all Blacks people responsible for these victims’ death? Mr. Syd, I really wanted to burn those pages!

On page 98, I did share some emotions with Mrs. Panicker. Her character was afraid of water. Mr. Chabon writing made me comprehend Mrs. Panicker trepidation. I so connected with her character because I witness a rape and murder; when I was four year old.  Still today, I have a great fear of butcher knives. When I was with my boyfriend, I was so afraid he might hurt me or worst I may injury him. My body would shake. My voice would stutter. Needless to say, I develop skills so sharp: I am a king of evading intimate issues. After all I am a New Yorker; I have to be tuff!

Mr. Syd I mentally put chapter 10 in a garbage can filled with dynamite. In my mind, it blew up several times!  The character Kalb was too infatuated with Bruno supposed fortune.  Kalb craved wealth so much it led him to kill Mr. Shane. I watched all the TV shows and movies. I will never get what makes people coo-coo over money. I was hit personally with the realization that I am not in one of Stephen King’s movies. It was fact not fiction. Georgette along with my father’s fourth wife murdered my hero, friend and dad. Their greed made them ugly just like Kalb the character in the book. And in some ways, Georgette and Vernmel became madly insane. They were too focus on trying to get my inheritance they could not live their lives. Funny, they never got my inheritance.  In 2007, NYPD convicted them of murdered and fraud. Georgette died on April 14, 2008. Vernmel expired on December 22, 2008.

It is hilarious: Society assumes I steal and I have been a victim of people stealing from me. For years, I attempted to be successful on my own. My first book failed miserably. I repackage my manuscripts on the Internet. In total, I got only two dollars and change. Still, people do see my work. Incredibly no one gave me a bad comment. I have huge dreams of being an excellent entertainer. I crave to be an actress on the silver screen. I yearn to be a singer sashaying vertically on the stage. I fantasize of being a plus size model walking the runway giving the fashion designer a real challenge emulating beauty. I adore my father who raised me. He means more to me than any amount of money.  Years and years went by without me pursuing my inheritance. I didn’t listen to my family because I wanted to be an adult making it on my own.  It took a bus driver in Livermore, CA to make me look into my inheritance. I have been living outside for 11 months. It is not fun. With great hesitation, I am looking into my inheritance. Mr. Syd just between you and me: I rather won the lottery.